Belated Battleship
by Obssesed Nuker
Summary: Abyssal forces have a stranglehold on mankind, and it's taking everything the combined naval and kanmusu forces of the world can to just to break even. USS New Jersey finds herself thrust into the middle of this world, but how much difference can one battleship do? Are you really waiting for an answer? The answer is a LOT. Seriously. She's a frigging BATTLESHIP.
1. Chapter 1: In Which We Get Pie

**Disclaimer:** This fanfic is not mine. It has been copy and pasted with the permission of it's original author, who goes by the username "theJMPer" on Sufficient Velocity forum. Minimal Editing has been made to part titles. Kantai Collection is neither mine nor his either.

 **Belated Battleship**

 **Chapter 1: In Which We Get Pie.  
**

She'd been beautiful. As beautiful as however-fucking-many tons of steel and fire and slopped-on gray paint could be. Now she was just… a stain. A fucking… sucking chest wound bleeding inky-black fuel oil into the Delaware, a casket of metal scrap twisted into a display almost as macabre as the unholy… _things_ that came from the abyss to gut her from the depths.

"Hey, Professor Crowning, right?" a voice sounded from somewhere over his shoulder, a smooth female contralto, with just a note of tender concern.

He ran a hand though his long, graying hair, taking a second to compose himself before… had to be one of his students. "Yeah, uh… if you're looking for an extension-"

"I'm not," the girl leaned around, her weight on one foot as she let herself fall sideways against the waterfront railing. She was… well, the kind of girl that makes American-lit professors wary to be alone with. Easily taller than him, even leaning on the railing, she had the thick-thighed legs of a cross-country runner. Legs that were… rather overly displayed in her _very_ short running shorts. How she wasn't freezing in the brisk mid-autumn breeze was beyond him.

"Then, uh…" Crowning locked his eyes on hers. Or tried to, but her oversized aviator shades only showed his own haggered reflection. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Honestly, I dunno," the girl shrugged, her navy-blue puffer vest spreading around her… generous bust. If she caught his errant glare, she didn't show any signs of it. "Just started running and, well, I wanted to make sure you're okay."

Crowning turned back to the railing, staring at the charred corpse of the once-great museum ship _New Jersey._ "Attack hit you pretty hard?"

"You could say that," the girl spun the other way, resting her back against the railing as she stared at the city skyline. Her strawberry-blond braid cascading out of the navy-blue baseball cap she wore backwards.

"I was supposed to be there, you know," said Crowning, barely registering that he'd let the words slip out until the girl's steeply-canted eyebrow sneaked up her brow.

"On _Jersey_?" she asked, idly fiddling with the orange-foam headphones cradling her neck. "The hell's a Lit prof doing on a battleship?" a teasing smile graced her snow-white face.

Crowning nodded, tracing the wires of her headphones down to the… was that a walkman on her hip? He didn't risk looking longer to verify it. Not with hips like that in shorts like…. _that._ "Navy's trying to summon her-well, at this point they'd take a freighter if they could get it. I think they were just throwing everything they could at the problem." He smiled in spite of himself, letting out a little self-conscious cough. "Saw Victory waving her sword at some… witches, I think who tried to mess with her tea leaves. I actually- the day of the attack, I was supposed to be trying something new."

The girl dipped her head, lazily waving one hand at him to get him to continue, the three watches around her wrist glinting in the afternoon sun.

"Wanted to bake her an apple pie. Figured… her spirit's an American, maybe that'd coax her out."

"Goddamn, I could go for some pie right now," said the girl, patting her belly with a frustrated grunt. "you sure it didn't work?"

"How could it?" Crowning scuffed his shoe against the concrete. "Car broke down on the way there… I just barely made it there to see her get shot."

"Torpedoed," said the girl, her voice suddenly curt and clipped.

"Pardon?"

"That was a torpedo," said the girl, pushing her vest aside and pulling up the hem of her shirt, exposing a mottled bruise on her muscled belly. "Right here."

Crowning's eyes went wide.

"Took you long enough," the girl smirked as she spun her hat around, letting Crowning read the proud golden embroidery above the bill. "USS New Jersey: BB-62."

"You're-"

"Jersey, yeah." the girl—or rather New _fucking_ Jersey—offered a cocky grin. "Now where's my fucking pie?"

 **...**

"This…" Jersey paused, wiping a few stray bits of juicy apple filling from the corner of her mouth, "This is _amazing_ pie."

"I, uh, figured that much," said Crowning his hand sneaking back to his wallet as the battleship admired her reflection in the polished-clean pan. He'd taken her to the best pie restaurant he knew of. After all, the first (and so far only) ship spirit of the United States deserved a hero's welcome before the Navy delivered her to a life of wartime rations.

That was before she'd munched her way though half a dozen apple pies without even slowing down. He was starting to suspect she'd only stopped out of mercy. "I told you, it's the best in the state."

Jersey nodded, scrunching up her face to edge her aviators higher up on her nose.

"I'm actually surprised you liked it," said Crowning, hoping to capture Jersey's attention before her stomach wrested control. "I didn't-" he shrugged, waving his hand idly in the air as he searched for the right way to broach this.

"Didn't think… what?" Jersey slumped back in her chair, her arms splayed over the back, showing off the ridiculous number of watches around both wrists. "That I knew what pie was like?"

"Not in so many words, but… yes."

"You didn't- oh, right. I was your first," Jersey flashed a cheeky grin before pulling herself up from her lazy slouch. "Okay… what _is_ a ship?"

Crowning steepled his fingers, waiting for her to continue before he realized the question wasn't just rhetorical. "Well…" he thought back to the handful of science classes he'd taken all those years ago, "It's a buoyant structure that-"

"Wrong!" Jersey slapped her palm on the table with a resounding thunk, a wicked grin spreading across her face at the shocked look from the remaining patrons of the restaurant. Those who hadn't already been surprised by her ravenous appetite.

"I- I'm sorry?"

"This…" Jersey made a box in the air with her hands, "this ain't a ship. That's a hull, maybe."

Crowning pursed his lips, he recalled something along these lines from Victory. But she never spent much time with the academics, and it was hard to separate truth from bravado with her anyway.

Jersey let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. "Okay… uh, a hull is like…" she grabbed at a pie tin, spinning it so it sat in the center of the table. "It _could_ be a ship, but it isn't," said Jersey, brow furrowing in frustration. This was all so obvious to her, why wasn't he getting it!

"And… you need the crew to… make you live?" asked Crowning.

"Yeah! yeah, exactly!" Jersey slammed her fist on the table again, waving her free hand at Crowning's face with increasingly energetic gestures. "Like… the crew's actions, their conduct in the war… it makes the ship who she is."

"Like the body and the soul?"

"Hmm?"

"The hull is your body," said Crowning as he finally put the pieces together," but without your crew… you don't have a soul."

"No, no that's-" Jersey's face froze as the cogs in her mental computer ground to a halt. Crowning could almost see her mind backstep and recompute what she was saying. "Actually, yeah. Yeah, it's exactly like that."

Crowning smiled, glancing past her shimmering hair for a moment to check if that "Ship-spirit transport" the Navy had mentioned had arrived yet. "You're not used to having a body, are you?"

"Well… no," Jersey shrugged, "But also… yes?" She lazily waved her hand around in the air, drawing little spirals next to her head. "Everything's all hazy, you know?"

"How much do you-" Crowning paused, glancing past her again as a huge olive-green _something_ rumbled to a stop in street outside. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it looked like somewhere between a semi-truck and a house. "Um… is that-"

"Our ride?" finished Jersey, clearly confused to see the mammoth vehicle apparently waiting for them outside.

As if on cue, a man in the choppy brown-green fatigues of a US Marine hopped out of the cab and straightened his cover. After a few seconds' deliberation, he made for the doors—moving just a little too deliberately for anyone who wasn't a little uneasy.

"Hey! Devil dog!" Jersey barked at the top of her lungs, sending Crowning recoiling back in his chair. "You our wheels?"

"Yes, ma'am!" snapped back the blond-haired Marine without a moment's pause. "Lance Corporal Jon Sherman"

Jersey sighed, pulling herself out of the chair and up to her shockingly full height. "No salute for an old battle-wagon?"

The Marine's hand quivered by his side, his face a sea of churning thoughts as he clearly tried to figure out what he should do with it. Crowning braced himself for the oncoming storm. He'd seen a good Marine ass-reaming when he was working on the museum ship.

"Ma'am, I-" Sherman was abruptly cut off as the battleship _New Jersey_ , the newly returned spear of America's ship spirits, the last big-gun battleship to retire from active duty, _pounced_ on him.

She flung her sinewy arms around him, picking him up with ease as she let out a wordless—surprisingly girlish-squeal of delight. If Sherman made any reply, it was muffled into nothingness by the excessive battleship-girl-cleavage cradling his face. "Always loved my Marines!" said Jersey, giving him a good squeeze before setting him down again.

"Tha- thank you, ma'am," wheezed Sherman, struggling to get his breath back after the 'hug.'

Jersey's face instantly flipped from utter glee to borderline despair. "I… I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Sherman shook his head, wincing at the sudden motion. "No ma'am," he said, the tendons in his neck just a little tauter than usual.

Jersey pursed her lips, clicking the chunky soles of her running shoes together as she offered a perfect salute. Or what looked to Crowning like a perfect salute, she certainly had the poise. "Lance Corporal Sherman," she paused, chewing on the corner of her lip for a moment- "I don't have a rank, do I?"

Sherman shrugged.

"Fuck it," Jersey stiffened her back as she returned to full attention. "Battleship New Jersey, reporting for transport."

"Right this way, ma'am," said Sherman, waving her towards the hulking truck parked outside. "Sir, after you," he added, motioning for Crowning to follow in trail.

"This what they're using for jeeps now?" said Jersey, her hands going to her hips as she glanced from Sherman to the eight-wheeled tactical truck and the Spartan passenger cabin built up in the bed.

"No ma'am. This is a Mark 14 LVSR," said Sherman, hauling himself into the cab with a grunt.

Jersey raised one eyebrow over the rim of her mirrored aviators.

"Uh… a ten-ton truck, ma'am."

The battleship laughed, "A ten ton truck," she hopped onto the ladder leading up to the bed, "Do I look like-" she abruptly stopped as the suspension groaned under her weight. The shock absorbers let out a pathetic metal _tink_ as they hit their stops.

Crowning spun on his heel, trying to hide his colossal grin. Sherman ducked further into the cab and erupted in a violent coughing fit.

"I hate _all of you_ ," scowled Jersey.

 **...**

Save for the jostling every time the hulking truck slowed or accelerated, Jersey hadn't moved for a solid half-hour. Crowing was fairly sure she was asleep, but it was impossible to tell with her eyes hidden by those mirrored aviators. Then again, he couldn't shake the feeling that her eyes were following his every move.

"You know," he said, content to address the towering battleship when she was too tired to retaliate. "I was going to ask how much you remembered."

"Hmm?" one eyebrow creeping up over the rim of her glasses was the only motion the battleship girl made.

"At the restaurant," said Crowning, mentally steeling himself for whatever retaliation she might inflict. She had a good foot on him, and those bare legs rippled with muscle. If he really made her mad, there wouldn't be anything he could do but take it. "I wasn't asking how much you weighed."

For what felt like hours, the truck's bed was silent except for the weary rumble of an overstrained diesel engine. Then the front end of the truck exploded in the squeal of air brakes and the bellowed tirade of one thoroughly fed-up Marine.

Jersey's head pivoted towards the cab with such mechanical precision, Crowning swore he could hear the bearings glide in their raceways. "The hell, Marine?"

After a few minutes of frustrated growling at max frequency distinguished only by amplitude, Sherman finally forced out a coherent sentence. "Not my fucking fault the truck only makes fifteen fucking miles per hour."

Jersey rolled her eyes so hard Crowning could see it though her shades. "Yeah, we get it. I'm a fatass."

Sherman grumbled back something too quiet to be heard though the cab walls. Crowning just stared at the battleship girl, his mouth hanging half-open.

"What?"

"You weren't offended?" said Crowning, throwing away all the well-laid plans he'd made for broaching the subject.

"The hell would I be?" said Jersey, smirking as she crossed her arms. "I'm fifty-eight thousand tons, and I _still_ make thirty-three knots!"

"But you-"

"Have these?" Jersey glanced down at her chest, her mouth dropping open in one of the most painfully overacted displays of surprise Crowning had ever seen. "My god, clearly these override the fact that I'm… ya know… a _fucking battleship_."

"I.. see your point," said Crowning, hanging his head and trying very hard not to watch the newly-incarnated battleship prodding her chest. "Then why were you so quiet this whole trip?"

Jersey let her hands fall onto her lap, dipping her head so she could look though the top of her shades. "I was hungry."

Crowning's jaw dropped, his hand reflexively wandering to his wallet. "You ate two dozen apple pies."

"At full power, I burn fifty tons of fuel an hour."

His hand clenched tighter. "I… I'll count myself lucky then."

Jersey shrugged, a glint of a smile on her face. "But, uh… the answer's 'not much'."

"Pardon?"

"How much I remember," said Jersey, holding her hands out ahead of her, her fingertips touching in the general shape of a ship's prow. "From when I was a ship." She made little wave sounds, bending her arms to make her 'hull' rock in the imaginary seas. "It's just… feelings. Maybe a flash here and there. My crew doing their duties, shit like that."

"Nothing specific?" Asked Crowning, fumbling for the notepad in his jacket pocket. "Even… when you were summoned?"

Jersey shook her head, pursing her lips as she stared intently at her toes. "I'm sorry…"

Crowning set the notepad back down, tapping a loose rhythm against the paper with his pen.

"If I could help, I would," said the battleship, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the pathetic screeches of suspension springs. "I just… I knew I needed to _be_. That's- that's something, right?"


	2. Chapter 2: More Brass All of the Brass

**Chapter 2: More Brass, All the Brass**

Jersey stretched her legs as best she could in the cramped ten-ton's bed. Her toes squished into the front of her navy-blue running shoes as the bumped up against the opposite wall. She'd been under tow before, back when she was a ship proper, but this… this was something very different.

"Leg falling asleep?" asked Crowing, obligingly scooting down the bench seat to give the battleship more room to stretch.

"Hmm?" Jersey tilted her head to the side, peering at him though the tops of her shades. "Oh, no…" she trailed off, trying to think of how she knew what 'leg falling asleep meant.' "I don't think. Just a new experience for me."

Crowning nodded, then slowly let out a soft chuckle. "I keep forgetting you're less than a day old."

"Hey now," Jersey sat up, resting her arms on her bare thighs. "I was laid down in '39."

"And yet, this is your first car ride."

Jersey scowled. "Fine, you got me. I'm grouchy." She crossed her arms over her chest, puckering her down vest so the yellow-gold liner showed. "I'm not meant to spend this long cooped up in a box."

"We've been driving for an hour and a half."

"Don't tell me," Jersey glanced at one of the watches around her wrist, making sure it agreed with her ship's chronometer. A minute or so fast, but that didn't make her sore... stern? maybe? feel any better. "'least we're almost there."

Crowning glanced over his shoulder. The windows were little more than narrow slits, impossible to get a good set of bearings without your nose pressed up against them. "With this traffic, who knows?"

Jersey smirked.

There was a sharp bang against the front of the cab. "Yo," Sherman's voice was hoarse from screaming at traffic and the truck's overstressed engine. "we're here!"

Jersey's smirk graduated to a full-blown Cheshire-cat grin.

"How could you possibly know?"

"Simple," said Jersey, her body sloshing forwards against the cabin bulkhead as the truck ground to a stop. "We made two stops in quick succession. That was our driver stopping to exchange ID, then wait for the inner gate to open."

Crowning sat back in his bench, shaking his head with a disbelieving grin.

"Oh, and I launched a kingfisher before we met. Had it trailing us for the past four hours." Jersey closed her eyes, letting the faries in her scout plane see for her.

"That… that's cheating."

Jersey shrugged, waving a hand at the back door, "And in three… two… one…"

The latches swung open with a crunch of metal-on-metal, and the door swung open to reveal a half-dozen men in splotchy gray tiger-stripe fatigues. The nearest offered a pearly smile as he stepped back to make room. "Welcome to JB-MDL, ma'am?"

Jersey ducked as she made her way out the rear of the truck, letting out a pleasured sigh as her shoes hit the comfortingly still tarmac. "Jay-Bee-what-what?" She pulled her cap on, squinting into the amber evening sun. "We name bases with a can of alphabet soup in the future?"

"Uh, no, ma'am," said the main in the tiger-stripe fatigues. "It stands for Joint-Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst."

Jersey was only half-paying attention as she whistled for her kingfisher. The fairy'd been happy to _finally_ get in the air again. But four hours was a long time to stay in the air, and the poor thing was getting grouchy. "Bit of a mouthfu- wait, what?"

"Ma'am?"

Jersey glanced over at the man, her eyes picking out the details of his uniform. "Hey, Sherman!" she barked, her floatplane all but forgotten.

"Ma'am!" Sherman trotted over as fast as the limp he was dependently trying to hide would allow.

"We let zoomies on our bases in the future?"

"Well… ma'am, it's technically our base now." said the Airman. "JB-MDL is under Airlift Mobility Command."

Jersey let out a grunt, flashing a smirk at the airman. "Well," she said, splitting her attention between the airman infront of her and the kingfisher angling in on said airman's cover, "Thank you for letting an old salt onto your fancy little base."

"You're very welcome ma'am," said the airman with almost painful earnest.

"One question."

"Ma'am?," he said, blissfully ignorant of the tinny _whrrrrr_ of a teeny-tiny Pratt  & Whitney.

"Is the pattern full?"

"MaaAAA The FUCK!" His voice jumped almost a solid octave as the kingfisher sent his cover flying with the nose of its float.

Sherman bit his lip to keep from laughing along as the tiny airplane flew a victory roll around Jersey's head before vectoring off to land.

"You, uh, might want to advise the tower."

"Will do, ma'am," said the airman, waving at one of his subordinates to do the deed.

"Ma'am-" Sherman stepped a bit closer to the battleship, "General Carter and Admiral Williams want to talk with you."

Jersey huffed, crossing her arms with a cocky smirk. "No more bothering zoomies?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am."

"Fiiiine."

* * *

"You want me to land _what_?" Tech Sergeant Kenny Chung could only stare at his own bewildered expression reflected in the smooth black plastic telephone.

 _"A, uh… floatplane, Tower."_ the tinny voice on the other side of the seemed to flip between confusion and a tinge of fear with every word.

"A floatplane." Chung's voice was flatter than the miles of concrete runway he looked after. Any other day, he _might_ have brushed this off as some sort of prank, the poor airman on the other end certainly sounded like he didn't believe what he was saying. Then again, the base—the _landlocked_ base— was currently playing host to a battleship from WWII.

 _"Uh… yes, sir."_ there was a pause, and Chung could just make out rapid, if muffled, conversations on the other end of the phone. _"A kingfisher, sir. We think."_

Chung sighed, cradling the phone against his shoulder as he reached for his coffee. "And do you have a vector for me?"

 _"Uh, negative. She just told us to tell you."_

"She?"

 _"New Jersey, tower."_

"Well, tell her that-" Chung's voice was abruptly lost in the throaty rumble of a Pratt & Whitney Wasp Junior engine ripping past the control tower windows with all the speed a portly little kingfisher scout plane could manage. "FUCK!"

 _"Yeah,"_ said the airman, clearly struggling to suppress a chuckle as muffled laughter sounded though the phone. _"She, uh… likes to do that."_

Chung growled something incoherent and slammed the phone back down. "Tapping!"

"Sergeant?" the blonde airman looked over from her station.

"Get me a line to that plane, WWII frequencies!"

"Uh… okay, Sergeant." said Tapping, her normally doe-like blue eyes as wide as dinner plates with confusion.

"Have to vector in a WWII naval float plane," said Chung, hoping if he explained enough it would make sense to him.

"But… we're landlocked."

"Yeah," Chung sighed, hanging his head in resignation. "Just… tell me when you have the freqs."

"Wait one," Tapping ducked under her desk for a few minutes, coming back with her cover askew and a triumphant smile on her face. "Try it now."

Chung held the phone like a lifeline as he brought it up to his face. "MDL tower to…" he paused, trying to guess how to even address the buzz-happy little floatplane, "New Jersey kingfisher. How copy, over?"

The little blue plane dipped one wing, then the other as it blissfully cruised past the tower.

"Sergeant, that plane has a float," said Tapping, setting her binoculars down.

"I know."

"I mean- It doesn't have wheels."

"I know."

Tapping leaned in, pressing her binoculars against the control tower glass. "We're on a landlocked base."

"Yeah, I know." Chung let out a low whistle as he tried to think. "Uh, Kingfisher, due west of the tower is a lake, you'll have about twelve-hundred feet of open water."

"That's not much," muttered Tapping. With her eyes glued on the little floatplane, she utterly missed the razor-sharp glare Chung was sending her way.

The kingfisher, however, seemed to disagree. Flipping one haze-blue wing over the other, it did a little barrel roll over the tower.

"Uh… let's get a fire-control team down there," said Chung, "So we can fish out the, uh, WWII floatplane." he added, hanging his head. This was going to be a _strange_ night.

* * *

The General's office stank of long-forgotten coffee and messy piles of paperwork made the room seem half the size it truly was. Jersey nearly knocked over a pile of binders resting precariously on a chair as she ducked under the lintel, her sneaker stopping just in time.

An exhausted-looking woman—her rumpled tiger-stripe fatigues nearly lost in the mess of forms and stained-brown coffee mugs— stood to greet the returned battleship.

"Battleship USS New Jersey reporting!" said Jersey, throwing her shoulders back as she stood at full attention, the brim of her cap just brushing against the overhead light fixture. "Ma'am!" she added, snapping her hand up in a salute.

"At ease…" the General returned the salute with a considerably looser version. For a moment, she looked lost for how to address the towering girl, before finally settling on, "Jersey. Sorry about the mess, managing airlifts' been hell."

"Oh, of course ma'am." Jersey nodded, tipping the brim of her hat at Crowning as the civilian awkwardly shuffled in behind her. "And, ah, this is Professor Crowning. He's the one who summoned me." She paused, biting the corner of her mouth, "I- think."

"If she's telling the truth, we're in your debt," said the General, letting herself fall back into her chair. "Brigadier General Sarah Carter," she added, fishing her name-plate out from a toppled pile of… some kind of paperwork.

Crowning rocked on his heels, suddenly very interested in anything but the General. "You should save the thanks for when I figure out how it happened."

Carter nodded, letting out a quiet sigh as she let her chin loll down against her collar bone.

"Um, ma'am," Jersey stepped a little closer, making sure to duck under the lights this time. "Isn't there supposed to be an Admiral here?"

Carter coughed, nodding in the direction Jersey and Crowning walked in. A huge flat-screen television dominated the wall, leaving just enough room for the door frame and a few shelves with books and scale-models of transport aircraft Jersey didn't recognize.

On the television was a silver-haried man who managed to somehow look even more exhausted than that general Carter. His duty whites were fraying around the collar, and his face had the tell-tale stubble of at least a few days without a shave. A subtitle identified him as "VADM: Samuel Williams, COMPACFLT"

"Oh," Jersey was suddenly very glad for the mirrored shades hiding her eyes, and blush. "That's cool," she said weakly.

 _"Miss Jersey, Doctor Crowning,"_ said the Admiral, his voice surprisingly commanding for all the stress he was obviously under. _"I can't tell you how good it is you have you with us."_

"It's, uh… good to be here, sir," said Jersey, somehow forcing her spine straighter as she stood rapt attention.

 _"Doctor Crowning, before we continue… I'm afraid I must ask something of you."_

"Yes?" Crowning stepped forwards so he wasn't being dwarfed quite so much by the battleship.

 _"I won't lie to you, either of you. We are in desperate need of ship spirits to continue this war,"_ said the Admiral, his gaze piercing even though the jittery webcam. _"And so far you're the only American to summon one, regardless of how accidental."_

"Sir, I'm not sure-" Crowning abruptly stopped when Jersey put her hand on his shoulder.

"You did," she said, giving him a brief reassuring pat, "I'm pretty sure."

Williams gave the two a moment before continuing, _"Jersey is to be transferred to our research facility in Bremerton. Doctor, you're on contract for another month of research on Jersey, though… obviously the situation has changed."_

"No, no- I mean…" Crowning shook his head, sneaking a glance at the stern visage of the returned battleship-girl. "I signed on for this, I'm not leaving her."

 _"Excellent,"_ said Williams, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a vague approximation of a smile. _"Carter will have a modified C-5 prepared-"_

"Sir," Jersey leaned forwards, biting her lip as she interrupted.

 _"Yes, Jersey?"_

"The pacific isn't the only coast under attacks," said the battleship, her hands on her hips as she stared down at the little plastic webcam. "Why send me across the country."

 _"Because so far every attack, including the one that sunk you, has been carried out by submarine,"_ said Williams, humoring the battleship girl for now. But Jersey could see his temper wearing thin before her eyes. _"Perhaps in the future your surface warfare skills will be needed. But they_ are needed in the pacific. Desperately."

Jersey scrunched up her nose, risking one more question before she was satisfied. "But… New Jersey is my home, we're not leaving it defenceless."

 _"The RCN has twenty ASW girls patrolling the coasts, with more on the way,"_ said Williams, _"They'll do the job a hell of a lot better than you could. Understood?"_

Jersey nodded, the heels of her sneakers coming together with a squeak of rubber on polished flooring. "Perfectly, sir."

 _"One final thing. As per US Navy protocol, you're promoted to the brevet rank of Lieutenant Commander, with official recognition to follow after you've proven yourself. Williams out."_ The transmission abruptly cut to a black screen with a blue "Signal Lost" message dominating the upper quarter.

Crowning was the first to speak. "I- I thought you were the first we summoned," he glanced from Jersey to Carter, "And there's already a protocol?"

"You think the Navy would try and summon a shipgirl," said Carter, "without knowing what to do if they got one?"

Crowning shrugged, but Jersey was too busy wordlessly staring at her reflection in the television to notice.

"C-5'll be prepped in two hours," said Carter, flipping open one of the hundreds of folders littering her desk, "Do what you got to do."

* * *

Jersey didn't say a word as she picked at her twelfth plate of chicken-fried steak, her face an emotionless mask behind her aviators as she sliced off a bite-sized morsel.

"Haven't said two words since…" Crowning set his cup down, gingerly clearing a spot between the two towers of plates the battleship had produced. "Well, since that talk with the Admiral."

Jersey glared at him, her stare piercing even though her shades.

"And… you've barely touched that," he added, nodding to the mostly-intact piece of breaded meat on her plate.

"Not hungry," grunted the battleship, tossing her fork down against the plate with a clatter of steel-on-plastic.

Crowning smirked in spite of himself, nodding to the stack of messy dishes. "I should hope so, after all that." He took a sip from his own cup—coffee, one cream two sugars—before addressing her again. "But something's bothering you."

"You don't know that," said Jersey, weakly toying with her fork, turning it over and over against her plate.

"You saying I'm… wrong?"

Jersey huffed slouching back in her chair until her face all but disappeared into her navy blue scarf. "Fine. I'm not okay. I just… that was a Vice Admiral we talked to."

Crowning settled on his chair, taking a sip as he waited for her to continue. Hopefully, she'd put it in terms a civilian like him could understand.

"CINCPACFLT's a four-star billet," said Jersey, scowling as she flung her fork down, crossing her arms with a huff. "If… if a three-star's holding the post, either everyone above him's dead, or" she bit her lip, looking over her shoulder at nothing in particular."

"Or?"

"Or we've lost so many ships a three-star's all it takes," said the battleship. She bit her lip, pulling her shades off to run her hand over her face, barely letting out a tiny sniffle. "Or both," she said, her rumbling contralto replaced by a quiet wimper, "And, uh…" she stopped, coughing as she fought to get her voice back. "And I'm pretty sure it's more the second one."

Crowning stared into his coffee. The horrific losses the Navy'd been suffering were common knowledge, and that was _after_ whatever propaganda mills the DoD had working for them put their spin on it. It was just a fact of life for him.

"I was born after Midway," said Jersey, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

"Hmm?"

"The turning point of the war," Jersey sniffed, pushing her shades back on as she turned to face him again. "I served for fifty-nine years, and I _never_ knew a time when we weren't… when we didn't own the seas."

"Times have changed-"

"Fuck that!" said Jersey, slamming her fist on the table so hard her plate shattered, sending bits of jagged plastic flying into the tables around her. "I'm an _Iowa_ class battleship. You know what that means?"

"That-" Crowning was cut off by a guttural snarl from the battleship girl. Behind her, a pair of airmen glanced between the suddenly-shouting battleship and one another, both frozen in place.

"It means," said Jersey, grinding her hand into the table. "It means that my _job_ is to _protect._ I was a flak screen for our carriers, I was artillery support for our troops… I was… I was…" She snarled again, wiping her free hand across her face. "I let my country bleed dry when they needed me!"

Crowning was lost for words. He'd gotten used to the battleship's relaxed, if rather trollish, personality. "Jersey, we need you now. You didn't miss your calling, it's still here."

The battleship was silent, and Crowning could somehow tell her eyes were fixed on his though those mirrored shades, her lip quivering ever so slightly.

"Hell, we need you now more than ever," said Crowning, "We're up against the wall, and we need… spirits like you." He stopped, running a hand though his hair as he cobbled together another sentence. "We would have taken a _destroyer_ , hell, a _freighter._ But we got you, a- no, _the_ battleship."

Jersey sat up a little straighter, her head canting to the side as she listened to him.

"I'm no historian," said Crowning, "but from what I've been told… your class were _the_ ultimate battleships, The floating embodiment of America's industrial might. You're more than a ship, you're a symbol. A Symbol that will lead our fleet into battle. And into victory."

Jersey smirked- no, _smiled_ , her teeth shining in the mess hall lighting a she wiped at her face. "The hell'd you learn to talk like that?"

" _Henry the Fifth_ ," said Crowning with a shrug.

"Well, it helped," said Jersey, plucking her fork up again.

"Uh… ma'am?" One of the airmen Crowning'd spotted before gingerly walked up, holding his clipboard before like a shield.

"Hmm?" Jersey spun in her seat, her running shorts swooshing against the smooth plastic.

"There's been an… uh…" the airman glanced over for his comrade, who was still standing in the doorway flashing him a thumbs-up. " _incident_ with your plane."

"Oh shit," Jersey, bounced to her feet, her shoes briefly leaving the ground from the energy of the manuver. "What'd she do- wait." She skidded around, grabbing her mostly- untouched piece of chicken-fried steak, "What'd she do now?"


	3. Chapter 3: The New Normal

**Chapter 3: The New Normal**

Major David "Trip" McMann sat back in his F-16's reclined ejection seat, his face stuck between irritation and sheer befuddled confusion. He'd thought flying an old-style standing-air-patrol had been unusual. And then command sent him hunting for diesel-powered _pigboats_. That were also magic. Because why not.

Then, _just_ when he and his crew were settling into the numbing routine of fly-land-repair-repeat, the subs started launching float-planes, Float planes with fucking… _plague_ bombs slung under their wings. Except they were _Magic_ float planes that were fucking _invisible_ on radar until you get close enough to throw a knife at the little bastards.

And then they insist on dogfighting. With a forth-generation fighter. And they normally make a decent enough account of themselves. Some-fucking-how.

All this had become the new normal for Trip and his squadron. Normal to the point that a perfectly-pristine navy scout-plane getting wheeled in to the hanger barely rated a raised eyebrow, even when it inexplicably _shrank._

No, the weirdest, most utterly inexplicable part of his current situation was the tiny bobblehead of a girl perched on his instrument cowling. Her tiny little arms were crossed over her khaki flying suit and yellow life preserver, her over sized face crossed with a minuscule look of determination.

"No, you can't!" said Tripp, sighing as he stared down the diminutive girl, "No and…" he shook his head, "Are you even _rated_ to fly a jet?"

The girl let out a barely-audible sound, her chin jutting out in defiance as she stared down the infinitely-larger Viper driver.

Trip was about to respond when the door burst open. An Airman almost stumbled though the door, blabbering as fast as his lips would let him. "ma'amIswearitwasbiggerwhenwefoundit."

A second later he was joined by a… girl. A very _very_ tall girl in very _very_ short shorts, with a pair of aviator shades on her smirking face. If the scuttlebutt was even close to the mark, she'd be the battleship _New Jersey_ given human form. Because of course she was. "Okay, first of all… breathe."

Tripp glanced back at the minute girl sitting on his instrument cowling, and the two pilots exchanged a mutual shrug.

New Jersey was joined by an older, academic-looking man in a civilian sweater, but he looked too out of breath to contribute anything.

She gave him a smile before wheeling around to the airman. "And second of all, they… sorta do that," she said, walking over to where the little kingfisher was sitting. Next to the Vipers, it looked like a child's toy resting sideways on its float.

"Hey, you," she said, offering a finger for the tiny floatplane's equally teeny gunner to shake. "Where's your pilot?"

The gunner must have said something, because the next thing Trip knew, the towering battleship-girl was leaning on the cockpit railing, her massive braid hanging right in front of his face. "Hey, this is cool and all, but you know it's air force, right?"

The tiny pilot made a face, her bubbly cheeks going red as a rose.

"There there, c'mon," the _fucking battleship_ intruding in his cockpit held out her hand, motioning for the girl to hop aboard. "Sorry about that," said Jersey, slouching back to smile at Trip. "She, uh… loves _Top Gun._ "

Trip shrugged. First thing this month that actually made sense.

"Hey, Jersey," the scholarly-looking man finally got enough wind in him to speak.

"Yeah?" Jersey jumped down the ladder, her shoes hitting the ground with a thundering _thump_.

"What, uh, happened to the plane?"

"Picked it up," said Jersey, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her vest.

"Where, uh-" the professor held his hands out in imitation of the plane's foot-or-so wingspan, "where'd you put it?"

"Oh, it's back on the cat," said Jersey.

"But-"

"On. The. Cat."

* * *

In her brief time as a human, Jersey had experienced all the emotions she'd only known about second-hand from her crew. Confusion, when she first manifested in the wreck of her own body. Pleasure, when Crowning had introduced her to the marvels of apple pie. Despair, when her Admiral told her how truly dire the situation had become. And now, she got to add one more emotion to her experience.

Misery.

"I hate flying," she muttered, her voice so weak it was lost in the rumble of four turbofan engines. The battleship stared into the five-gallon bucket clenched between her thighs, hoping the unnaturally pale shade of her legs was because of the aircraft's lighting.

"Pardon?" Crowning leaned over, doing his best to avoid the sickly-black mix of partially-digested pie chunks and fuel oil sloshing around in her bucket.

"I said I HATE FLYING!" snarled Jersey, whipping her head up to glare at him. And instantly regretting it. "Oh- fu-" she barely managed to get her head over the bucket before her dinner came surging up her throat.

"How are you motion sick?" said Crowning, carefully holding the battleship's braid clear. "You're a…" he stopped, glancing up the girl's body as she vomited for the tenth time, her spine quivering as her muscles tensed and relaxed. "A- uh, a ship," he finished weakly.

"Not-" Jersey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, "Not the same." She let her head fall back against the jump-seat, her eyes closed as she panted.

Crowning wanted nothing more than to pull the girl in for a tight hug, but contended himself with a sympathetic nod. One of the aircrew—the load-master if he recalled correctly—wordlessly handed her a wet-wipe, which the exhausted battleship took with a weak nod of thanks.

"In the sea, no matter how rough, I've got my hull under me," she said, her chest heaving as she struggled to get her breath back. "This is…" she looked over, her face utterly drained, "This fucking sucks, man."

"Maybe we could land early," said Crowning, glancing towards the cockpit, "See if there's a tr-"

Jersey's grasp was hard as steel around his wrist, her nails biting into his skin as she shook her head. The muscles in her neck tensed as she fought down another wave of nausea, her demanding stare fixed on him.

"Or… not."

Jersey let go, immediately going for her bucket with a thundering wretch.

"Damnit, Jersey!" said Crowning, frantically waving for the airman to fetch another bucket. The flip-side of her bottomless appetite was rearing its ugly head. Only this time it wasn't funny. "If you can't make it-"

"I'll make it!" snarled the battleship, doing her very best to sound threatening with a tiny rivulet of fuel oil running down the corner of her mouth. "They-" she closed her eyes, hissing as the C-5 trundled though a patch of turbulent air.

"Jersey?" Crowning fished a handkerchief from his sweater pocket.

"They need me in the Pacific," she said, dabbing at her face as best she could. "I'm _going_ to the Pacific."

"Stubborn one, aren't you?"

Jersey nodded, her head lolling over until it fell into Crowning's lap. "I'm…" her voice was so quiet it was almost lost in the thrum of jet engines, "I'mma sleep now."

The last thing she remembered before she slipped into unconsciousness was Crowning's hand running though her hair.

— | — | —

Jersey bolted upright with a gasp, her eyes burning as they adjusted to the glaring florescent lights all too slowly. "Ah!, what-" she felt a tug on her arm. Her shirt was soaking wet her skin was deathly pale and someone had stabbed her in the elbow with- no, that's an IV. Shiiiiiiit.

"Huh," said someone off to her side. A quick glance confirmed it was doctor. Navy this time though, not Air Force. Yay. "Her vitals look-" he glanced at Jersey, his face a tortured mess of confusion, "I mean… uh, she's awake."

"Clearly," grunted Jersey, reaching over with her free hand to fumble with the IV line. Before anyone could say anything, she wrapped her fingers around the little plastic needle and ripped it out of her arm. "Fuck!"

"Jersey!" Crowning was by her side in an instant, cradling her bleeding arm in his hands.

"Why did I think that was a good idea!" snarled the battleship, her muscular arm taut as she tried to stem the trickle of sticky blood.

"You got me, Commander," said the doctor as he darted off to collect… some medical item, Jersey couldn't see what. His voice was a mix of tender care with just a dash of 'what the hell were you thinking you stupid thing.'

"It looks so cool in the movies," said Jersey, tilting her head so her hat all but hid her face. "What, uh… what happened to me?"

"You passed out," said Crowning, moving his hands as the doctor came back with gauze to bandage her elbow. "On the plane, we couldn't wake you."

"You mean I'm-"

"Not dead," Crowning almost yelped the words out. "You're in Washington."

Jersey narrowed her eyes.

"The State. Joint Base-" Crowning glanced to the doctor.

"Lewis McChord."

"That," said Crowning, smiling as Jersey's skin started to regain its color. "Doc here rushed down from the naval base as soon as we realized we couldn't wake you."

"What, uh… what happened?" asked Jersey, swinging her legs over the side of the stretcher, experimentally poking at the floor with her toes.

"We, uh, think you were out of your element."

Jersey gave him a look so deadpan you could _hear_ it.

"He's not wrong," said the doctor, offering her a glass of water. "Nothing we did could wake you, until…" he motioned for Crowning, "Your friend here had the brilliant idea to splash salt water on your face."

Jersey glanced down at herself, plucking her soggy shirt off her chest. "So…"

"Yeah…" Crowning made sure his eyes were well and truly averted.

"Thanks," said the battleship, throwing her arms around him and pulling him in for a tight, though slightly damp-hug.

"When you two are done," said the doctor, already busying himself with tidying up the exam… room… thing, "There's someone else who'd like to meet you."

"Hm?" Jersey slid off the stretcher onto her feet, leaning on Crowning as she tested her legs, "Yeah, sure. Send him in."

"Her."

"what?"

Before anyone could respond, a bubbly woman in an impossibly short orange-black skirt burst though the door. She was easily a foot shorter than Jersey—not saying much, nearly everyone was—but she more than made up for it with the size of her personality.

"Konnichiwa!" she said, her high-pitched voice positively oozing cuteness, her black-gloved hands coming up in a adorable little wave.

Jersey grunted in abject confusion.

"I'm Naka-Chan!" said… apparently INJ _Naka_ given form. "Idol of the fleet, and liaison of kanmusu operations to the United States!" Her knees bumped together as she effortlessly shifted into yet another pose, this one somehow even cuter. "It'll be so nice to have another kanmusu around!"

For what felt like hours, Jersey didn't even breath, her head slowly pivoting to face Crowning with all the oiled mechanical precision of her main battery turrets. "Crowning?"

"Yeah?"

"What the _fuck_ did we do to Japan?"

* * *

Jersey didn't say a word as she followed the… frilly orange traffic-cone of a light cruiser towards a truck. A bigger one this time, a semi-tractor rig some vague memory of hers identified as a tank-transporter. "You're Sendai class, right?"

Naka nodded, effortlessly pulling herself up into the trailer-mounted cabin. To Jersey's chagrin, the suspension didn't even budge. The slight Japanese girl might only be a light cruiser, but she _still_ displaced almost—Jersey bit the corner of her lip, mentally rifling though the stacks of musty recognition manuals filling her CIC shelves— almost six thousand long tons.

"Still getting used to it, aren't you?" said Naka, offering the towering battleship girl a hand.

"Hmm, what?" Jersey shook it off, climbing into the cabin under her own steam. So to speak. Maybe? She could feel her turbines humming along inside her, like that… phantom limb thing she—or rather her crew— had heard about.

"To being a girl," said Naka, her skirt frilling up with each movement as she slid further into the cabin to make room. "I can tell by the way you look at me."

Jersey frowned. Was she really _that_ easy to read? "Okay, fine." She crossed her arms, her damp shirt wet against her bare forearms. "When I look at you, I see…"

"You see more than a girl, right?" said Naka, her bubbly sweet smile effortlessly transitioning into something a little more… genuine, for lack of a better word. "You're not sure how, but you can tell I've got four stacks, two masts-"

"And a 'cat on your stern," finished Jersey. "It's weird as hell."

"Yeah, well," Naka leaned over, glancing past Jersey as a soldier slid the cab door closed. "You'd better get used to it."

Jersey glanced between the door and Naka. "Why… where's Crowning?" she said, the hair on her neck standing up as she slipped towards General Quarters.

"What we're about to tell you is… very classified," said Naka, "Your friend's riding up front."

"We?"

Naka pointed to the flat-screen mounted on the cab's front bulkhead,"Admiral Williams."

"Oh, shit!" Jersey swore, glancing down at her soaking shirt with distraught. "Shit shit shit…" her head swung back and forth as she looked in vain for something presentable to wear, already shrugging off her vest.

"Uhm…" Naka coughed as the battleship started to pull her shirt up.

 _"Commander."_ The familiar scratchy tones of Vice-Admiral Williams' video call echoed though the cabin.

"Sir," said Jersey, her reddening cheeks the only chink in her otherwise perfect deadpan.

"Admiral!" chirped Naka, pushing the cute up to eleven as she beamed an incandescent smile. Jersey swore she saw the little cruiser shoot her a wink.

 _"Am I interrupting something?"_ said the Admiral, his tone gruff and full of Admiraly 'if I am, drop that shit and listen up.'

"No sir!" said both shipgirls, more on reflex than anything.

For a moment, Williams just glared at Jersey, his tired stare burning holes in her shades. _"Very well… Ladies, I'm not going to sugar coat this. Sixty-percent of all pan-pacific convoys flows though the Pac-North-west. Without those convoys, Japan… hell, most of the Pacific will fall or starve."_

"Holy Hannah," whispered Jersey.

 _"The JMSDF and their… Kanmusu-_ the Admiral nodded to Naka by means of explanation, " _-are doing their best to keep their half of the ocean clear. But their best is just barely cutting it."_

"What about us, sir?" said Jersey. She _knew_ she should just sit quietly and let her Admiral brief her. But…damn it, she was a battleship of the American Navy. She couldn't bare the thought of her country doing nothing!

 _"We don't have the ships to put up a fight,"_ said Williams. He sounded just as bitter about it as Jersey. _"And even if we did, we wouldn't have the missiles to fill their magazines. Hell, half the Atlantic CAP's flying with just gunpods, or nothing at all."_

"Damn…" Jersey ran her hand over her face, her eyes starting to water in spite of her best efforts.

 _"I'm… afraid that's not all."_

"Sir?"

"Abyssals… they're like us," said Naka, twisting in her seat to face Jersey. "They're… more spiritual than physical."

 _"Bastards don't show up on radar if they don't want to… or until you get close enough to see the whites of their fucking eyes."_

"We're different though," said Naka, the little cruiser resting one gloved hand on Jersey's bare leg, giving her the tiniest of reassuring nods. "We're… uh, on the same plane as them-" she drew a little shape with her hands "-our sensors work just like they should."*

 _"Even your early-war kit was world-class,"_ said Williams, _"Especially compared to the jap sets."_ He let out a long sigh, _"I know convoy duty isn't what you're made for-"_

"Sir," Jersey sat up as straight as she could in the cramped cab, "BB-62, USS New Jersey… point me where you need me."

 _"That's my girl."_

"Welcome to Puget Sound Naval Shipyard, ma'am," the sailor barely opened the door before his hand snapped up in salute, his face beaming with a smile he couldn't quite suppress.

"T-thanks," Jersey said, returning the salute as best she could. The base looked… different than she remembered. Two massive container ships were tied up in dock, refit crews scurrying around them like ants. It looked like they were hurriedly slapping on whatever guns and missiles they could find wherever they'd fit, along with a fresh coat of messy camouflage paint.

"My pleasure, ma'am," said the sailor, "It's… it's damn good to have you with us."

"Pleasure's mine, sailor," said Jersey, her stomach rumbling in agreement. "Now, uh… where's the mess?"

"I'll show her the way," said Naka, smiling sweetly at the sailor before hooking one arm around Jersey's. For all the good that did her, the battleship displacement was ten times the slender cruiser's. "Uh… Jersey?"

"Oh, yeah," said Jersey, letting herself be dragged along, her head swinging wildly from one Exciting New Thing to the next, the end of her braid nearly taking out a passing contractor. She couldn't take three steps without someone saluting her or running up to welcome her. "You're not the only… what did he call you?"

"Kanmusu?"

Jersey shrugged, "You're not the only one here, are you?"

Naka shook her head. "Fubuki's out escorting a convoy up the straight of…"

"Juan de Fuca?"

Naka smiled, spreading her short little skirt in a girlish curtsey. "Thank you. And Yuudachi's in the docks at the moment."

Jersey nodded. Two destroyers and a cruiser… not the best fleet, but- Her ears perked up as her VHF set sputtered to life. "Naka-"

"I hear it too," said the cruiser, one hand holding her air bun like a wireless headset. "Dreadnoughts"

 _Shit._ Jersey heard the desperate screams of destroyers, but human and 'kanmusu' as if they were right next to her. Valiant cries of tin-can ships going up against armored battle wagons ten times their size. "No," she whispered, pressing her eyes closed.

"J-Jersey?"

"I left seven destroyers to die off Samar," Jersey's eyes snapped open, her vision tinted an angry, burning red. "Never again." her voice was calm. So calm it would have scared her, if there was room in her heart for anything more than flaming, seething rage.


	4. Chapter 4: The Battle of Juan De Fuca

**Chapter 4: The Battle of Juan De Fuca**

Naka sprinted after Jersey, her slender legs struggling to close the distance with the towering, rage-fueled American. She wanted desperately to help, Fubuki was one of her closest friends, and she liked to think the Americans aboard _Shoup_ and _Turner Joy_ were her friends too.

But Jersey was… was a newly returned ship. A battleship ten times her displacement who could crumple her like so much shredded tinfoil with a single volley. A battleship seething with so much bottled fury the light Washington drizzle was flashing to steam as it hit her skin.

"HEY!" barked the American as she sprinted down a pier, her voice thundering louder than a gunshot. "NAKA!"

"H-hai?" stuttered Naka, instinctively veering to the side to throw off the big American's firing solution. If that'd even matter, the girl was an _Iowa_ class. With those radar-guided fire-control computers, she'd re-acquire in seconds. If it was even _possible_ for her to miss at this range.

"What's your flank?" Jersey barked over her shoulder, swan-diving off the end of the pier. The air around her seemed to shimmer as she summoned her rigging, air flowing around her as guns and armor manifested themselves. But this wasn't the gentle breeze of Naka or a destroyer summoning their gear. It was a gale-force whirlwind of air molecules fleeting the furious warship.

"What?" Naka zigged to port, her legs hurling her back on track towards the battleship. Distance… if she could get close enough, maybe the American's batteries wouldn't be able to traverse fast enough…

"What's. Your. Flank." Jersey snarled, plucking the two massive revolvers from where they hung—low off those wide American hips—and spinning them around into her hands.

"T-Thirty-five knots."

"Tubes hot?"

"Yes!" Naka nodded, her own rigging swirling around her as she jumped into the water. Her guns might be pathetic, her armor tissue-paper, but the four 61cm Oxygen Torpedoes—"Long Lances" as the Americans called them—were her trap card. Her ace in the hole, as it were, her one saving grace as a warship.

Jersey smiled, her grin devilish as she thumbed her Walkman on, "Then stay on my ass."

Naka felt her mouth hang open, her turbines screaming as she pushed herself to keep up with- with a _battleship_? How fast _was_ Jersey anyways!

"Let's wreck shit, you thick nip!" Jersey almost laughed, waving for the torpedo-cruiser to come alongside.

All that Naka manged to say was a quiet "Hai."

— | — | —

"She's doing _what_?" Admiral Williams tore his eyes from the turkey-shoot ensuing at the mouth of the straight to stare at the petty officer who'd gotten his attention.

"She's sortieing, sir," said the petty officer in question, seeming to wilt under the Admiral's gaze as he pointed to one of the dozen sixty-inch TVs filling NAVSTA Everett's CnC bunker.

A grid-overlay map of the Puget Sound displayed the location of every ship Wiliams had under his command. _Shoup_ , _Turner Joy_ , and Fubuki were flickering around at the northern corner. But down at the bottom, a single blue dot, labeled helpfully with "CL: IJN NAKA (KANMUSU)" was making its way up Sinclair inlet at what had to be almost thirty knots.

"Naka, what the hell?"

 _"I'm escorting Jersey, Teitoku,"_ said the cruiser, her voice slipping back into her native Japanese as her tiny blue-dot representation wheeled around Point Glover.

Williams squinted at the map, which had a notable absence of any "BB-62: USS NEW JERSEY (KANMUSU)" dots.

One of the CnC techs was the first to speak up. "She arrived on-base at PNSF about… thirty minutes ago."

 _"Hai. She didn't have time to eat, much less get a.."_

 _"BLUFOR tracker"_ said another voice. A voice low and resonant, but unmistakably female. _New Jersey_ , it had to be.

 _"Yeah, one of those."_

Williams shook his head. Any other day, he'd be weeping in joy at the thought of having a big-gun battleship.. _the_ big-gun battleship rolling into brawl. "Jersey."

 _"Sir?"_

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!" barked the Admiral, not so much yelling as speaking in capital letters.

" _I-_ "

"You were unconscious an hour ago," William's voice was a finely-tuned mixture of professional detachment and disappointing-father rage. "After puking almost a solid ton of fuel oil up."

 _"Admiral!"_ Jersey's voice dropped to a rumbling roar, _"This is what I was_ built for. _How do you intend to stop me._ "

Williams glowered at the single blue dot, his eyes boring at the blank space where New Jersey must be. "The convoy's a hundred nautical miles away, even at flank, it'll take you three hours to-"

 _"Two and a half."_

Williams scrunched up his face. "Jersey-"

 _"I haven't eaten,"_ said the battleship _"I've got two-hundred tons of fuel left. Loaded that light I can make thirty-five knots._ " A pause, Williams almost swore he heard tiny voices speaking just barely loud enough for the mic to pick up, _"If I overload my boilers, I might be able to push it to thirty-six."_

"Sir," one of the CnC techs leaned back in his chair, waving for the Admiral's attention, "At that speed, she'll only have four hours before she's dry, maybe less."

Williams nodded, "Jersey-"

 _"I know, I've run the math. You can tow me back. Drag me before a tribunal… fucking… scrap me, throw me in Miramar until I rust away. I don't give a_ fuck. _I'm not running from this fight._ "

"Naka?" asked Williams.

 _"H-ai?"_ came a tiny voice, almost a wimpier. The cruiser had bad odds against a pissed-off Jersey and she knew it.

"You have your cell phone with you?"

 _"Oh, yes!"_ the cruiser's voice staggered back to its normal bubbly sweetness, _"An idol is never-"_

"Toss it to Jersey," said Williams, snapping his fingers to draw the attention of a C3 tech, "We're down-linking all the recce data we have."

— | — | —

Jersey deftly caught the slender black… plastic? glass maybe? rectangle Naka's tossed her, spinning it around in her fingers as she held it up to her face. "What the hell…"

They were aerial-recon photos, like she—or rather her crew—had seen a hundred times before. Photos of ships, older-ones, but ships. Dreadnoughts by the look of them. Jersey counted six twin turrets, each with a pair of long-barred guns—probably 12 inchers—, in the hexagonal arrangement so popular before the war.

But there was something… wrong. Something twisted and evil about the photos that made her want to hurl the phone away in disgust. Her stomach churned at the jagged… _teeth_ lining the dreadnoughts' waterlines, the hungry mouths to those blackened gun barrels, the pillars of sickly black smoke bellowing from their triple stacks.

"Abyssals," said Naka, her quiet voice almost lost in the foamy churn of Jersey's wake.

"This… this is what we're up against?"

Naka nodded.

"Hell…" Jersey gave the photo another glance. She closed her eyes, focusing on the boiler rooms deep within her citadel. She knew her faeries were doing their very best… but today she asked them for just that much more. She willed herself faster, tapping every shred of steam her body could generate and sending it straight to her turbines.

She felt her screws bite into the water, churning it white with foam as she plowed ahead into the sound. "You with me, Naka?"

Naka nodded, her face tight as she sprinted to keep up.

— | — | —

Crowning hunkered down in his seat, surrounded on all sides by a sea of navy-blue uniforms as sailors huddled around the CNN broadcast. "Isn't it dangerous to have a chopper that close?" asked the professor, his eyes not moving from the scene.

"Nah, those old barges don't have any AA," said the worryingly unsure voice of a sailor off his shoulder.

Crowning nodded, trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding on the jerky camera feed. Three destroyers—one sleek modern-looking one, and two clearly-older designs— jinked left and right though the towering waves, their bows kicking up sheets of spray as they bounced about like toys.

Ahead of them, barely visible in the corner of the camera's view, were the lumbering masses of two container ships breaking for safe harbor with all the speed they had.

"They're chasing splashes," said a Sailor.

Crowning glanced at him for the briefest of seconds.

"The DDs. Big guns like that aim to bracket their targets," said the Sailor, his own eyes equally fixed on the screen. "They're running for the one place they know those bastards aren't aiming."

Crowning nodded. With the size of those splashes though, he wasn't sure that was comforting at all. One destroyer, the smallest one that ran low in the water, the one— Crowning blinked—the one in the blue sailor-suit with her hair in a short ponytail, slalomed between two splashes, her stern flicking out to just _barely_ miss an incoming shell.

"WOO!" the room erupted in cheers of "Way to go, Fubuki!"

Fubuki heeled over as she swerved hard in the other direction, the turrets on her low-riding hull opening up with tiny _pop, pop, pop_ noises just barely audible though the camera's microphone.

"C'mon! Hit'em with the lances!" barked a strong southern drawl.

"Can't, she fired them already," replied a crisp Midwest accent, "bastards dodged 'em like champ."

"What about that one," said Crowning, pointing at the modern-looking destroyer as it zigged to cover Fubuki, it's one little gun barking a steady _PakPakPakPak_.

"What, _Shoup?_ " said the southern drawl.

Crowning nodded.

"Gun's all she's got left. She fired all her RIM-66s-"

"Which isn't much," interrupted the Midwest. "Convoy duty gets the sloppy seconds when it comes to ordy."

Crowning nodded again, watching the third ship—the USS _Turner Joy_ , as the subtitle crawl helpfully pointed out— flick her tail out in a turn, barking away with all three of her turrets. He'd never been a particularly religious man, but… in the face of demons, a little supernatural aid never hurt.

He closed his eyes, offering up a wordless prayer to… anyone who'd listen. God? Allah? Hell, Davy-fucking-Jones, _Someone_! Keep those men safe, keep those girls safe… Bring them home alive, even if it takes a miracle.

— | — | —

 _Turner Joy_ shook as a barrage of twelve-inch shells landed far to close to her fantail, sending the destroyer's bow plowing into the next unearthly wave. Her masts were smashed to hell, which would mean a damn, if the abyssal dreadnoughts weren't so close that the mark one eyeball could acquire targets faster than radar. And from the increasingly-desperate pleas coming from the 26MC, she'd bent a shaft, maybe even snapped it.

"I don't fucking _care_ " growled Commander Dave Marquez, his voice reduced to a raspy growl as he clutched for the captain's intercom. "We slow down and we die!"

The pleading from engineering didn't stop, but it at least damped down somewhat. Fucking fine, he had his room to maneuver. Precious little room, but room.

"XO, status on the tubes!"

The XO shook her head, her scruffy blond hair matted with blood seeping from the gash across her brow. "Tubes red. We fire those fish DC says they'll blow in the tubes."

"CO! _Shoup_ signals she'd down to her last thirty rounds," said yet another of the panicked voices filling Marquez's bridge. "She's going for an end-run."

"Bring us about!" snapped Marquez. _Shoup_ was an _Arleigh Burke._ A fast motherfucker if there ever was one. If she could close the distance, get under the dreadnoughts' guns… she stood the best chance at taking one of those coal-black bastards down with her. "Signal Fubuki, tell he-FUCK!"

Marquez ducked as something zoomed right past the destroyer's bridge. Something… tiny and blue with-

"Is that a floatplane?"

Marquez glanced at the BLUEFOR tracker map, one of the few goddam instruments on his bridge that still worked, and it was the _one_ item he hadn't needed this entire fight. "Holy shit."

Along with the five frantically jinking dots of _Turner Joy_ , _Shoup_ , Fubuki, and their two lumbering charges, was a sixth dot. A dot racing towards him at what had to be almost forty knots. A dot labeled "CL: IJN NAKA (KANMUSU)" with a second line below it, "BB-62: USS NEW JERSEY (KANMUSU)." A dot not twenty miles away. Which, if memory served-

"Sir, incoming message on fleet-wide," said the XO, not even trying to hide the laugh of relief slipping though her teeth, "It's transmitted in the clear."

Marquez yanked the bridge phone off what was left of it's cradle, pressing it tight against his hear to blot out the chaos of battle around him.

A scratchy, throaty voice, barely intelligible though what was left of _Turner Joy_ 's radio system, crooned with all it's passion. _"There was no help! No help from you!"_

"Sir, look!" The XO frantically waved past _Turner Joy_ 's bow. Six flaming tracers raced though the air, barreling towards the nearest dreadnought like the dogs of hell itself.

 _"Sound of the drums! Beating in my heart!"_

Marquez swore he saw the dreadnought's turrets do a double-take, the whole ship seemed to recoil in horror just before the six sixteen-inch shells slammed home.

 _"The thunder of guns, Yeah! Tore me apart!"_

For a brief second, nothing happened. The 2700 pound armor-piercing shells burrowed though what little deck armor the abyssal dreadnoughts had. Armor that had bounced five-inch shells for hours was little more than tissue-paper to the best-damn armor-piercing round ever developed by mankind.

 _"You've been…"_

Then it happened. Explosions ripped the dreadnought open from the inside, splitting it in-half as magazines and boiler-rooms exploded, spewing flaming ordnance, burning coal, and flying shrapnel in a massive cloud over the burning oil-slick that was once an abyssal warship.

 _"THUNDERSTRUCK!_ "

USS _New Jersey_ had arrived.

* * *

Jersey plowed though the waves, her massive hull steady as a rock in swells that sent the wounded destroyers-and even little Naka-bouncing like toys. Her turbines were at flank, her screws tearing though the water as she sprinted forwards, not even bothering to unshadow her after turret.

"They're making for open ocean!" said Naka, her voice almost lost in the thunder of a quarter-million horsepower roaring away in the battleship's machinery spaces. "If they disengage-"

"We'll never catch them again," scowled Jersey, her guns dropping down into battery as her faerie crew scrambled to reload. She closed her eyes, 'looking' though her floatplane as she searched for her next target.

The last dreadnought was steaming for the pacific, its stacks belching ugly coal-fired smoke. Jersey could _sense_ its fear, the terror in its choppy wake only fueling her rage.

Trailing behind were two- no, make that three cruisers. Ugly twin-stackers with short barreled guns bristling along their sides in casemates. The three were desperately criss-crossing behind the dreadnought, laying down a blanket of sickly black smoke. Not one of them was making more than twenty knots.

Jersey glanced over her shoulder, past the enormous forty-eight star flag she flew from her main mast, camouflage be damned. " _Turner Joy_ , you guys okay?"

 _"We'll manage,"_ came the scratchy reply though what was left of the old destroyer's radio. _"Go get 'em Black Dragon!"_

Jersey smiled, her teeth glinting razor-sharp in the evening sun. She couldn't see a thing though the curtain of smoke the abyssal cruisers had laid, and even her float plane was struggling to keep them sighted. Against a ship two years her junior, the tactic _might_ have worked.

She'd be reduced to firing at random and hoping her spotter plane saw the splashes. With sixteen-inch guns, it could take her hours to land a good salvo, hours that the abyssals could use to sprint out to the depth and fucking _fade_.

But smoke worked both ways. And her guns were radar guided. " _Die,"_ she growled, her turrets slewing over as the gunnery computer on her watch locked in a perfect firing solution. "Die you _son of a bitch_!"

 _BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM_ Her six guns rippled off one after another, each one sending shock-waves though the air and cratering the ocean as it spoke. A turret focused on the nearest of the cruisers, but B turret… B turret had the dreadnought all to itself.  
— | — | —

Admiral Williams stared slack-jawed at the battle unfolding before him. Battleships were an awesome sight in the truest sense of the word, he'd had that proved to him time and time again by Abyssal dreadnoughts. But an _Iowa_ class… she was a force of nature.

The lone remaining dreadnought survived by the very skin of its teeth. Two of Jersey's shells bracketing it with towering splashes, while the third flew long, ripping the entire bow off as it detonated.

The cruiser wasn't so lucky. Jersey's volley landed square amidships, her massive shells simply cracking the hapless armored cruiser in half at the keel. Secondary explosions raced down the rapidly-sinking wreck as ready-ammo stacked outside the magazines torched off, churning the water to froth as it sunk beneath the wave.

"Hot DAMN!" yelled someone with a thick New England Accent.

Williams smiled, he was moments away from doing the very same himself. "Naka," he growled, trying his best to present the calm, collected Admiral, not a laughing man with a shit-eating grin that just wouldn't die.

 _"T-teitoku?"_ said the light cruiser, her voice hovering at between terror and giggling triumph.

"Are you good to press your attack?"

There was a pause, and Williams swore he saw Naka glancing ever so briefly at the towering American rage monster she was 'escorting' before responding. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Naka…"

" _I'll do my best_!" said the cruiser, her voice slipping back into the good-hearted Idol.

"You got four fish," said Williams, "Put 'em to work!"

— | — | —

Naka set her jaw as she stared down the smoke cloud off her bow. She wanted to surge ahead, to run screaming into the fray and drop her oxygen torpedoes in a flurry of decisive action.

But her turbines were maxed out just _keeping abreast_ with the howling-mad American, and without radar, that cloud could just as well have been a brick wall.

"Swing south," barked Jersey, even the little twin-turrets along her flanks slewing ahead, their barrels barking in a rhythmic "PakPak! PakPak! PakPak!"

"What?" said Naka, already heeling over in the turn. Whatever the reasoning, _anything_ that took her further away from the American with her loud music, louder guns, and unending rage was a good thing.

"Last cruiser's too the north," said Jersey, her smirk elevating into a snarl as her guns drew a bead.

Naka, nodded, slewing all her guns hard starboard. Her torpedoes were hot, she could _feel_ them begging to be let fly. Once she punched though that smoke-screen, it would be chaos. No visibility, enemy ships at close range… this was what she was _built_ for.

— | — | —

"Admiral, new surface contact!" yelped one of the CnC techs, his voice a solid octave higher than it should be. "Designate Skunk-Six. She's coming in from the Pacific!"

Williams' glare was fixed on the pulsing red dot sliding up the mouth of the straight. "Speed?"

"Nineteen, maybe twenty knots." The tech frantically glanced over his shoulder at Williams. "Sir, from the return I'm getting… it's gotta be big."

"You certain?"

"Aye, sir," the tech waved at the monitors dominating his console, "Clear track. It's like it's not even _trying_ to hide."

"Shit." Williams balled his hands into fists. "Jersey, you've got-"

 _"Yeah yeah, I see her,"_ said Jersey with a roaring laugh, her voice punctuated by the rippling thunder of her forward turrets.

— | — | —

Naka cringed at the American's laugh, willing herself to be small as she slammed prow-first though the abyssal smokescreen. Anger, she could deal with, especially if there was something more… threatening than a lone torpedo cruiser to attack the ire of those nine sixteen inch guns.

But she'd gone laughing mad! Naka forced herself to push those terrible thoughts to the stern-most corner of her mind, gritting herself for a torpedo run.

Then she heard it, the humming, rumbling sound of aircraft engines ripping though the air. Torpedo bombers, Avengers, they had to be! Naka let out a tiny whimper. Memories flashed though her mind: the sound of Avengers hurtling towards her, the splash of torpedoes dropping into the surf, the sound as her hull ripped in two. Then… nothing.

"I'm sorry, Admiral," she said, turning broadside-on to the Abyssal dreadnought. "I did my very best!" she screamed, letting her torpedoes splash into the chilly straight.

" _Shut up, you dipshits! You're not gonna die,_ " said Jersey with a roaring belly-laugh.

" _Jersey, what the hell?_ " scowled Williams. Between a fatalistic torpedo cruiser with kamikaze aspirations and a battleship that'd apparently _lost her shit_ , he'd had enough with the kanmusu strangeness.

 _"Check your track again,"_ said Jersey, _"She's steaming into the wind."_  
— | — | —

Williams' eyes went wide, the pieces clicking together in his brain. "Check that!" he said snapping frantically in the general direction of the radar-tracking techs.

"Confirm, sir! Skunk-six is tracking into the wind."  
— | — | —

"Yo, WHITE!" barked Jersey, her bow plowing though the smokescreen as she laughed, her armor shrugging off the pathetic volley of six-inch rounds the lone remaining cruiser was peppering her with like they were mere insults, "Nice of you to join us!"

Naka glanced up, cringing as a squadron of six TBF Avengers roared right over her head… then peeled off towards the limping dreadnought, their bomb bays opening in ragged sequence.

In the next ten seconds, a thousand and one things happened all at once. A volley of six sixteen inch Mark 8 armor-piercing shells, two Type 93 long-lance oxygen torpedoes, and six Mark 13 air-dropped torpedoes slammed into the dreadnought's flanks and stern.

Explosions raced along its flank as warhead after warhead blew enormous gashes in the hull, even as Jersey's volley gutted the abyssal from the inside, lighting off magazines, bursting boilers, and sending flaming coal arcing though the sky.

Jersey threw her hand up in salute to the pudgy torpedo bombers, her stern swinging out as she brought the last cruiser under the guns of her stern turret.

 _BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_ at this range, she simply couldn't miss. Three sixteen inch Mark 7 rifles sang in murderous symphony, joining the chorus of 5inch/38 twins barking like wild dogs.

The mess hall erupted in roaring, wordless cheers. Every sailor, contractor, and civilian lept to their feat in with thunderous cheers. Crowning felt someone grab him in a crushing hug, hands slapping hard against his back.

The abyssal wasn't merely sunk. There was no wreckage, no burning oil sick to memorialize the hell it'd caused. The cruiser was simply gone, erased from this earth by the combined fury of one severely pissed-off Battleship and her newly arrived friend.  
— | — | —

"OHRAH!" barked someone, setting off a chorus from even the blue-uniformed sailors. "Way to go, Big J!"

 _"Hey, Admiral?"_ Jersey's voice was uncharacteristically quiet, so soft it was barely audible over the roar of applause filling the CnC.

Williams waved for his crew to quiet down. "Yeah."

 _"Heh… I do good?"_

"You did outstanding, Commander."

 _"Okay,"_ on the CNN feed, Williams saw Jersey offer a faint smile, her legs starting to wobble beneath her. He checked his watch… poor girl must be running on fumes. _"I'm uh… gonna take a nap now, if that's okay."_

Williams smiled, "request to nap granted, Jersey. You earned it."

* * *

 **A/N: IJN** ** _Naka_** **was sunk by a combined Helldiver and Avenger attack in February of 1944. She dodged the first two waves, but the third nailed her with a torpedo and a bomb, cracking her clean in half).**


	5. Chapter 5: After-Action Snacking

**Chapter 5: After Action Snacking**

Naka heeled over into a turn, her port-side tubes trained on the squat little carrier steaming towards her. Her legs were burning from three straight hours at flank speed. Her ears were ringing from the awesome and terrible wrath of an American battleship pushed to the breaking point of rage.

But her adrenaline ran higher than it ever had as she jinked hard this way and that. "Jersey! are you okay?" called the torpedo cruiser, glancing over her shoulder for a brief moment.

"'m tired," said the American, her legs quivering as she fell to her knees, her voice slurred and quiet. "Imma… take a nap," she said, flopping over onto her face with a truly ignominious crash. "Mm.. did good, nip."

Naka bit her lip to keep from screaming. She'd made sure to read up on every file the JMSDF would give her. An _Iowa_ class battleship had the kind of AA suite that'd make a whole cruiser _division_ jealous. _She_ could make anything intruding on her airspace go down in flames.

But she'd given her all just to get her, to save Fubuki and Naka's human friends. Now it was the cruiser's turn to do her best. "Don't worry!" she yelped, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she was feeling, "I'll… I'll protect you!"

 _But with what._ Naka's AA suite was all of two five-inch DP guns and ten 25mm cannons. Not even radar-guided at that. She shook those thoughts from her mind, gritting herself as she turned bow-on to the new arrival.

 _"Naka, what the hell are you doing?"_ came the gravely tones of her Admiral.

"I… I don't know," confessed Naka, staring at the squat little carrier lazily steaming towards her.

She didn't _look_ like any abyssal she'd ever seen. In fact… she looked more like a destroyer; tiny and cute with a band-aid slapped across her button nose and her coppery hair in two bouncy pigtails. The ragged hem of her navy-blue skirt fluttered in the breeze, showing off her skinned knees as her oversized sneakers cut though the water.

"Jersey's down," said Naka, gritting herself as her AA guns scanned the sky, "and… kanmusu don't just _show up_ , right? She has-"

 _"Negative, Naka, weapons hold!"_ barked Williams in that "don't even think you can argue with me" tone.

"H-hai," said Naka, making herself very small as the carrier steamed ever closer.

 _"That's USS_ White Plains, _CVE-66, she's friendly."_

Naka heeled around, making sure she didn't get too far from the gently-snoring battleship. An escort carrier? That made sense, she was too tiny to be a full-size carrier like Akagi or Kaga. And too… well, too _cute._

White Plains tossed an bubbly wave at Naka, her freckled cheeks forcing her eyes into a squint as she smiled. "Hey, friend!"

Naka let loose a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. The carrier was slowing to a stop, and the little wagon she draged behind her was too full of pudgy Avengers to spot another strike, let alone launch one.

"O-okay," she sighed, weakly waving back. "I-it's nice to meet you, White Plains."

"Call me White!" said the little American carrier, nosing up alongside Jersey and trying to get her arms around the massive battleship's midsection.

 _"Naka, relax. If she was abyssal, you would be dead by now."_

"Hmm?"

 _"Battle off Samar,"_ said Williams, his voice quivering upwards. He was hiding a smile, Naka _knew_ it. _"She crippled the_ Choukai. _"_

"That's… not really-"

 _"In a gun-duel."_

Naka's jaw dropped open. "Holy shi-"

— | — | —

Crowning slouched back in his chair, numbly buffeted by the many congratulations from what seemed like every sailor in the crowed mess hall. She'd did it.

"Excuse me, sir? Doctor Crowning," said another one of the hundreds of indistinguishable sailors. The combination of weary old eyes, short military haircuts, almost twenty hours without sleep, and disruptive camouflage patterns had ruined whatever ability to differentiate faces he'd acquired over the years.

"Yeah?" said Crowning, rubbing his eyes as he turned to face the sailor.

"It'll be a while before they can tow Jersey back in," said the sailor, "I can show you to your quarters."

Crowning sighed, pulling himself to his feet, "You'll get me when she's back?"

"Actually, uh, sir…" the sailor pursed his lips, "They're only taking her to Everett." He paused, tapping his boot against the floor in thought, "We could… probably get you a chopper and put you up there. I mean… you earned it."

Crowning smiled, working a kink out of his neck from staring at the TV for so many hours. "Thanks, lead the way."

— | — | —

Naka steamed abreast the rag-tag flotilla of tugboats corralling the sleeping American battleship back down the straight, her screws lazily churning though the gentle seas as she cruised at a solid ten knots.

After three solid hours of sprinting at flank, her legs were sore, her boilers overheated… the cool water felt _amazing_ as it lapped up against her hull. So amazing she could almost forget the scrappy little carrier with a comically-over sized six-shooter hanging off her tiny waist steaming not fifty yards away.

"Hey," said White, her pigtails bouncing as she waved. "So, uh…" she glanced at the napping battleship, "She's gonna be okay, right?"

Naka nodded, "I don't think she even got hit."

White pursed her lips, her enormous eyes going full puppy-dog as she looked back at the silent form of USS New Jersey. "But… she's gonna be okay, yeah?"

"She should be," said Naka, "Those _Iowa_ class ships… they're tough."

White shoved her hands into her skirt, her thumbs tapping out a rhythm against the thick leather gun belt hanging around her hips. "I just… if I let her down, you know. Gambier and Lo… I don't think they'd ever forgive me."

 _"I think they'd be proud, White,"_ came the gravelly tones of Admiral Williams. This time with the gentle, fatherly inflection he usually reserved for destroyers, _"Hell, I'm proud."_

"ADMIRAL!" screeched the little carrier, her tiny lungs pumping an inhuman amount of air though her voice box. Even Naka had to cover her ears. "YOU MEAN IT!"

 _"Jeeeeeeeze,"_ Naka could _hear_ the wince in the Admiral's voice at that last-second save, _"easy, White. We're using your radio room. I can hear you just fine if you talk normally."_

Naka stifled a laugh, nearly biting though the thin black velvet of her gloves. Some kanmusu took longer than others to get used to their old machinery. But she'd never seen a reaction quite so… vocal.

"Oh…" White's freckly face went red, "S-sorry, Admiral."

 _"As you were, sailor. You earned it."_

Naka grinned, pulling along side the little carrier. "Hey, you hungry?" Destroyers were always looking for something to eat, and… well, an escort carrier was sort of like a destroyer, right? White certainly looked kawaii enough.

"Uh, a little." said White, patting her belly with a confused look.

"You know… the mess hall has a buffet line."

"Hmm?"

"They have the most amazing cherry pie," said Naka, her mouth starting to water after the marathon sprint of the day's sortie.

White's face lit up, her smile threatening to leap off her face. "Showmeplease!"

Williams huffed, muttering a low, _"Naka, goddamit,"_ over the net.

* * *

Naka was content. She'd done well in the battle, she had a belly full of warm American cherry pie and ice cream, and she could _feel_ the warm softness of her bed waiting for her. Just a few dozen yards more… barely two boat-lengths!

"Um… Naka?" White tugged at the frilly hem of the cruiser's skirt with one hand, the other still clutching a juice-box she'd grabbed for the walk.

"Hmm, what?" said Naka, trying not to smile too much at the specks of pie filling still clinging to the corner of the little carrier's mouth.

"Is-" White glanced over towards the docks, "Is Jersey going to be okay?"

Naka paused, biting the corner of her lip and hoping the early morning light was too dim for White to make our her expression. _Her_ legs were burning after that marathon sprint, and she was _made_ to go thirty-five and a quarter knots.

"She's… a battleship," said Naka, trying her best to temper her voice, "They're really tough."

"Can I see her?" asked White, rubbing furiously at her mouth with the end of her sleeve. Probably making sure she was presentable to the battleship.

"Uh, probably not just yet." Naka brushed a stray strand of White's hair down, "besides, she'd probably steal you for cuddles," she added, stifling a laugh as she remembered the sleepy giggle Jersey let out every time a tugboat nosed up to her.

"Oh… okay," said White, her shoulders slumping as she shuffled closer to Naka, snuggling up against the cruiser's side.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed," said Naka, guiding the carrier over to the shipgirls' barracks. No one'd officially given her a place to sleep yet, so Naka made the command decision that White Plains would bunk with her. "The Admiral'll want to see you in the morning."

"Mmkay," mumbled the carrier with a yawning sigh.

— | — | —

"USS _White Plains_ , CVE-66 reporting for duty, sir!" squeaked out White, her foot coming down in a loud stomp as she held her arm up in a salute. Her chest was thrown out, her back as straight as could be, and her round face as stern as she could manage.

"At ease, White," said Admiral Williams, returning the salute with one just as formal. "you sleep well?"

She nodded enthusiastically, her pigtails bouncing long after her head stopped moving. "Miss Naka let me borrow one of her stuffed whales."

Williams grinned, "Now, White, before we continue… I have to ask, is there anything you remember from…" he stopped, furrowing his brow in thought. "From before you were summoned?"

White's face fell, and her shoulders went slack. "N-not really, Admiral. I just… I knew I was needed, you know?" she glanced up, her enormous eyes full of hope that he'd understand.

"I'm afraid I don't," said Williams, sighing as he sat back in his chair. "But that's beside the point. USS White Plains?"

"Yes?" the little carrier drew herself up, her chest puffing out again as she stood at her best impression of full military attention.

"As per protocol, you are to be promoted to the brevet rank of Lieutenancy, Junior Grade, with full commission pending your trials in combat."

The carrier's cheeks glowed as she smiled from ear to ear. "Yes, sir! I won't let you don't, sir!" she said, almost leaping off the floor as she saluted.

"Outstanding, Lieutenant," said Williams, struggling not to smile himself. The little carrier's enthusiasm was infectious. "Because I've got a mission for you."

White leaned in, her eyes wide as she got ready to soak in every shred of information.

"We're taking another shot at the trans-pacific run," said Williams, nodding to a map hanging on the wall of his office, "A super-tanker and four container ships escorted by you, Naka, and Yuudachi."

White nodded, her mouth quivering like she was reading notes to herself.

"You'll escort them half-way, then exchange charges with a convoy _from_ Japan."

White nodded again. "Sir, why are you telling me this now?" she asked, her head tilting to the side, "I mean… aren't we gonna get a proper briefing."

"You will," said Williams, "But… you'll be spending a lot of time with IJN ships. I need to know you can handle it."

"Oh, I can, sir!" said White, bouncing up on her heels, "Japs don't scare me." A pause while she thought, "And.. And I wasn't struck until '58, sir. I'm not gonna go crazy or anything."

Williams steepled his fingers. Proper air support could do- _would_ do wonders for convoy security… hell of a call to make. "Understood," he said, nodding at White, "We're all counting on you, White."

White snapped off another salute, her pigtails even seeming to quiver up to attention. "Yes, sir!" She paused, biting the corner of her lip.

"Yes?"

"Uh… why isn't Jersey joining us? Is she okay?"

"She's… she's tired," said Williams, "She'll be fine soon, but we need those convoys running _now_." He huffed, glancing away from the tiny carrier's hurt face, "Don't you worry, White. Doc's with her right now."

— | — | —

Jersey lay on a hospital bed, her toes just peeking out from under the coral-green covers as she slept. Her hair splayed around her like a shimmering red-blond oil slick, and her face looked calm and almost… peaceful.

Almost, Crowning could still see the fire of righteous anger in the steel of her jaw, the cant of her eyebrows, and the strong lines of her nose. Or at least the embers of that fire still burning under her cool skin.

He smiled, gently brushing her hair out of her face under the watchful gaze of her… Crowning glanced over to the tiny figure standing on Jersey's chest.

Barely three inches tall, she was dressed in oily blue dungarees, her minute feet made little dimples where she stood on the battleship's generous breast. Beady eyes stared down his every move, watching with arm-crossed anticipation for the tiniest of mistakes. It would have been intimidating if she wasn't moving up and down with every shallow breath the battleship took.

"You an engineer, aren't you?"

A diminutive scoffing noise.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Chief engineer?"

A nod.

"Hell of a ship, isn't she?"

A nod, punctuated by at tiny noise of approval.

"You did good," said Crowning, patting Jersey's forehead, "You know that?"

A muffled noise of… was that laughter? Crowning glanced to the Chief, who shrugged her tiny shoulders. Then he glanced at Jersey, who was furiously biting her lip.

"You're awake, aren't you?"

Her eyes fluttered open, ice-blue and sharply in focus. "…mebbe?" she mumbled.

"Goddamit, Jersey."

The Battleship smiled, propping herself up on her elbows, sending her chief tumbling over to land face-first on her stomach. "Oh… sorry there, chief," she said, gently scooping up the tiny fairy and gently depositing her on top of her head.

Crowning shook his head. Three days ago… he didn't believe he'd be sitting next to a battleship who was also a beautiful woman wearing another, much smaller, woman as a hat.

"I can't take a compliment?" she said with a smirk.

"Jersey, I was worried about you!"

"Oh please," Jersey rolled her eyes, before instantly dipping her head. "Right, sorry… um…" she rested her hands against her stomach. "I've got all-or-nothing armor."

Crowning gave her a blank stare.

"This…" she waved her hands over her torso, "All the important bits are under my citadel- my heaviest armor. Unless I get penetrated-" Her fairy made a tiny scoffing sound, and Jersey shot a deadly glare straight up. "I as I said, unless I get penned there, I can't die."

"Even if you're flooding?" asked Crowning, unintentionally setting off another tiny giggle from Jersey's engineer.

Jersey shrugged, tipping her head to the side so the fairy fell right onto her lap. "Nah, I got enough reserve buoyancy." She smiled, "They're not gonna sink this battleship."

"Then-"

"Then what am I doing here?" Jersey lay back against her pillow, her hair shimmering in the harsh infirmity lights. "I ran beyond max for three hours. My boilers need an overhaul, my turbines need maintenance. I'm damn lucky I didn't-" she stopped, turning to stare right into Crowning's eyes, a sly smile on her face, "-snap a shaft."

The fairy exploded in tiny laughter, and Jersey looked like she was physically straining to keep her face even.

Crowning shook his head, hiding his smile with his hand. "Jersey.."

"Hey, I spent sixty years full of seamen," said the battleship, biting her lip to keep from laughing as her eyebrows bounced on her face. "But, uh… seriously. A day, maybe two? I'll be good to go."

"You sure?"

Jersey nodded, "Yeah. Go get some sleep or something, Chief says you didn't leave my side this whole time. Go… get a meal or something."

Crowning smiled, patting Jersey's head with a nod, "Will do, Commander."

Jersey smiled back as he left. "Hey, wait!"

"Yeah?"

"Can you get me something?" she said, drumming her hands on her suspiciously-hollow sounding belly, "Like… a lot of it?"

Crowning rolled his eyes.

* * *

"'nother flight coming up!" White's little voice carried surprisingly well, even over the rev of the pair of pale-blue scout bombers warming up on her flight deck. "Aaaaand-" the girl hefted one in her hand, testing its weight with her face scrunched up in concentrated curiosity.

Then, without a shred of pomp or elegance, the little American just _chucked_ the plane into the air like a pitcher lobbing a baseball into the air. "Wooo!" she screamed, giggling to herself as her TBF lumbered into the air.

Naka quickly stifled a giggle, her silky black glove clamping down over her face. Three days at sea, you'd think she'd have gotten used to it!

"What's so, like… funny, Naka-Chan?" said Yuudachi, her eyes bouncing from Naka's to the horizon and back again at least three times over the course of that one sentence.

"Yeah!" said White, her tiny hands on her hips as she turned around, trying her very best to look serious and tough. Which… considering what she'd done do Choukai wasn't quite as adorably impotent as it could've been, "what's so funny, Miss Naka?"

Naka glanced between the two girls, "Yuudachi, you- you've met Kaga, haven't you."

"I like- oh," Yuudachi smiled, her hand coming up to cover the giggle slipping though her mouth, "Poi!"

White's nose crinkled, "Poi?"

"Poi!" explained Yuudachi.

Naka grinned, "You'll know when you meet her. Carriers are…" she shrugged, taking a moment to figure out just _what_ carriers were. She wanted to say 'arrogant', but what kind of example would that be setting for little Yuudachi—not to mention adorable little White-chan! She couldn't badmouth her fleet-mates, especially not behind their backs!

"Are what?" asked White, her pigtails bobbing as she practically _vibrated_ with anticipation.

"Traditional," said Naka, settling on the best way to phrase it. "To them, aviation is a sacred art."

White bit her lip, visibly processing for a moment. "Oh… okay, that makes sense!"

Naka shrugged, idly zigging a few degrees to port. She was keeping a watch on the horizon, but it was nothing more than habit. White's aircraft could see further than she _ever_ could, even _if_ she had a proper radar suite.

For another few minutes, the sea was silent except for the gentle crash of waves against steel.

"Hey… Miss Naka?" said White, her wagon bouncing in the waves as her hull rolled over in a swell.

"Y-yeah?" Naka would've sworn the American was about to capsize, but she just rolled back up with a giggling smile on her face.

"You're a singer, right?"

Naka nodded. "Back in Japan… a lot of people were scared of us when we first showed up. Being an Idol… it humanize me, you know?"

"Poi!" agreed Yuudachi.

White smiled. Then blushed. Then found the dirty scuffs on her oversized sneakers to be the most interesting thing in the entire world.

"What is it, White-Chan?" asked Yuudachi, steaming a little closer, "are you, like, okay?"

"Well… I'm kinda getting bored," said White, playing with the pleats on her dress. "Miss Naka, could you sing for us?"

Naka arched her brow. There were plenty of kanmusu who _tolerated_ her singing, and a few who even enjoyed it back at base. But this was the first time she'd gotten asked to sing on patrol. "Well, I.."

"PLEAAAAASE!" moaned White and Yuudachi, the latter effortlessly slurring the end of the word into a pleading little "p-poi?"

Naka blushed, looking out to sea again.

 _"You should totally do it, miss!"_ came the thick New England accent of one of the freighter skippers.

Naka did a little curtsy, her skirt flaring out just so. She wasn't sure how many of her songs the cuddly American would be able to understand, much less like. Except… There was that one show the sailors had introduced her too. He said it was a hit with American kids, and Yuudachi and Fubuki _did_ love the theme… "OOOOOOH-"

Yuudachi smiled, joining in on the very next word, "Who lives in a pineapple under the sea!"

White stared at them with utter bewilderment.

— | — | —

"J-Jersey-Sempai?"

Jersey looked up from her twentieth hamburger of the day, giving the perfectly-cooked beef and succulent a longing glance before setting the burger down with a solemn nod. "yeah?" she said, pivoting in her stool to face the quivering voice.

It was a destroyer, one barely taller than Jersey even when the battleship was sitting down. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and her face was adorned with a few sutures around her eye.

"Fubuki, right?" said Jersey. Between the twin stacks, tree turrets, and high forecastle, the girl couldn't be anyone else.

"H-hai!" said Fubuki, dipping her whole upper body in an exaggerated bow. Or… what would have been an exaggerated bow if she wasn't so damn _earnest_ about it.

"Fry?" asked Jersey, sneaking another bite of her burger as she offered one of the delicious chill-cheese-seasoned french-fries.

Fubuki shook her head. "N- no thank you," she said, wringing her hands so hard Jersey could see her shirt scrunch up. "I… I just wanted to say thank you."

"Uh…" Jersey shrugged, "Thanks? I guess?" she scarfed down another mouthful of burger, "'jus doo'n mah jahb."

Fubuki gasped, but was too frozen in place to do anything about it.

Jersey took her sweet time swallowing the burger, letting the mix of spices gently tour around her mouth. Eating was still by-and-large a new experience for her, and she'd be damned if she wasn't gonna squeeze every shred of enjoyment out of it before she swallowed.

"Jersey-sem-"

Jersey held up a finger, silencing the girl while she took a nice, long drink of ice-cold coca-cola—the one darn thing that hadn't changed in sixty years. "Okay," she said, a resonating burp echoing out of her belly, "Now you may speak."

Fubuki's jaw dropped open, her arms going slack as she stared at the battleship. Somewhere, someone—probably one of the female petty officers who'd never seen Jersey's definition of "snack"—dropped a glass plate.

"You're scared of me, aren't you?" she said, crossing her arms with a big-sisterly smirk.

Fubuki nodded.

"'cause… why?"

The destroyer girl opened her mouth to speak, than promptly thought better of it. "Because…" she said, visible picking her words one at a time, "Because you're American."

"And you think I'm gonna go all rage-monster on you?" said Jersey.

Fubuki hung her head, slowly nodding as she stared at her shoes.

"You thick little Nip," said Jersey, her face cracking into a smile as she grabbed for Fubuki's middle, pulling the little destroyer in for a hug.

Fubuki let out a squeak of surprise, but there wasn't much she could do against a battleship,

"I wasn't de-commed until '91," said Jersey, giving the destroyer's head a playful pat. "I spent fifty years with Japan as an _ally._ "

Fubuki's eyes went wide.

"So yeah, I don't hate you any more than you hate me," said Jersey. "Plus…" she glanced over her shoulder, making absolutely sure neither Williams nor Crowning were around, "You're cuddly as fuck."

* * *

White was positively giggling with anticipation. So much so that—beyond the occasional violently enthusiastic nod of acknowledgement—she'd been all but incommunicado for the past three hours.

Even the little clutch of navy-blue air planes bouncing along in her wagon looked giddy. By the looks of it, her faeries had had to lash them down against her deck.

"Naka-Chan?" said Yuudachi, her blond hair blowing in the stiff breeze as she plowed up a wave crest. It wasn't anything like the unearthly storms Abyssals seemed to gravitate towards, but it certainly wasn't calm.

"Yeah?" said Naka, her eyes stuck on the horizon as she looked for the tell-tale dots of superstructures sailing into view. White _had_ told her the convoy was close, but she'd descended into giggles before she could relay the exact composition.

"Is she, like…" Yuudachi glanced at the enormous smile spreading between the carrier's ruddy cheeks, "Okayish?"

"She's just eager to make new friends," said Naka, hoping with all her being that she was right. Kaga had been quite… upset when she learned the war hadn't gone as she'd hoped. Then again, White was quite literally everything the elegant fleet carrier _wasn't._

"Poi," shrugged Yuudachi.

"Look," said Naka, pointing to the horizon, "There they are!" She waved at the cluster of ships steaming in their direction.

At the head was Tenryuu, her sword bouncing against her hip as the boisterous torpedo cruiser rolled in the waves. And wherever Tenryuu went, at least some of DesDiv six would inevitably follow.

It took Naka a second, but she saw the adorably-tiny form of Akatsuki steaming between two mammoth container ships, her purple hair blending in with Tenryuu's skirt. It's a good thing Nagato wasn't around, between White and Akatsuki, the battleship might just faint!

Guarding the flank was- oh. Oh _fuck me._ Naka buried her face in her hands.

"HEEEY!" Yuudachi waved, "Choukai-san, hey!"

 _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_ Naka swerved out of formation, barrelling ahead as she tried to… she wasn't quite sure, but she _knew_ she'd need all the steam she could manage.

"Yuudachi-chan, hey!" Choukai smiled, waving back at Naka's half of the convoy. Then her face froze, stuck somewhere between bemused confusion and utter skirt-ruining terror. "Is, is that-"

"We, like, made a new friend!" said Yuudachi, her stacks bleching smoke as gathered her steam, "Isn't she so kawaii!"

"H-hai," muttered Choukai, frantically yawning left and right as she tried to shadow her torpedo tubes.

"Fufufufu," Tenryuu laughed, "You're scared of _that_ little thing?"

"Mmhm," agreed Akatsuki, "It's really not ladylike!"

"S-she sank me," stammered Choukai, her turrets slewing around as she locked a firing solution on the escort carrier.

"I did, didn't I," said White, biting her lip as she struggled to force her face into a bask of disinterested boredom.

"Eh, so?" Tenryuu scoffed, "Loads of us died to airc-"

"It wasn't airplanes," said Choukai, her head hanging against her crop-top, "She out-gunned me."

Akatsuki's eyes went… even wider than they normally were, and the girl frantically started looking between White and Choukai.

Even Tenryuu looked impressed. Impressed… or like she wanted to kidnap White and add her to the kindergarten. With Tenryuu the two expressions are pretty much interchangeable.

"Of course I did!" said White, giggling as she pulled on a pair of… of American-Flag shutter shades. "I'm murican, gosh-dangit! It's what we do!"

Tenryuu smirked at Naka before shooting the escort carrier a subtle wink.

"Can-can we just get this over with?" said Choukai with her head firmly buried in her hands.

— | — | —

Petty Officer Sarah Gale drummed her knuckles against the laminated-wood door. It wasn't quite the first time she'd had to run out and fetch someone from their quarters, though it _was_ her first doing so to a superior officer.

That _that_ was her hang-up, not said superior officer being a living, breathing battleship would have worried her. But three months with Naka and the destroyers had made her all but numb—though unfortunately not deaf. She _hated_ J-pop—to the shipgirls' antics.

"Waazzit?" slurred the smokey contralto she'd come to associate with USS New Jersey. The door swung open to reveal a towering—and Gale had to grudgingly admit, extremely shapely—woman. Her eyes were just barely open, and her hair hung in a messy cascade of shimmering strawberry blond that was in desperate need of a good wash.

"Uh, Ma'am… it's past noon," said Gale, pursing her lips as she tried to rectify her dad's old stories of 'the black dragon' with… well that.

"So…" said Jersey, glancing at one of the four watches around her wrist and making a tiny "huh" sound.

"Did… you just wake up, ma'am?" said Gale, trying her very hardest not to let any condescension creep into her voice. Jersey looked like an adult—mind-twenties if she had to guess—, she outranked her, and she was a _damn battleship._

Jersey locked her terrifyingly icy eyes on Gale's, her brow crinkling in… almost recognition. "Maybe," she said, biting the corner of her lip.

"I thought Doc said you were good to go, ma'am?"

"I am!" said Jersey, raising one leg to put all her weight on the other, notably rock-solid, one, "'jus not a morning person."

"It's Twelve-fifteen, ma'am."

"And I outrank you."

"Aye-Aye, ma'am."

Jersey smirked. "You," she waved a hand at Gale, poking her in the sternum with one slender, surprisingly strong, finger. "I like you…" she trailed off with an expectant glance.

"Yeoman Second Class Sarah Gale," said Gale, her heels snapping together as she stood a little straighter.

Jersey's eyes narrowed, her mind visibly ticking over as it scoured the dustiest archives of her memory. "Gale… Gale… I know that." She looked up and down the petty officer, "I… think I know you."

"My, uh, my dad served on you during the gulf," said Gale, "I would've been two when you were retired."

Jersey smiled, grabbing Gale in a tight hug that smelled vaguely of fuel oil and that awful lemon-scented shampoo Naka liked. "Okay," said Jersey, slowly letting Gale out of her grasp, "Why'd you wake me? Can't be urgent if you didn't break down the door."

Gale took a second to catch her breath, "Oh, yeah. Right… Williams wants you present at the next summoning attempt-"

"I told you, I don't remember anything," said Jersey, her voice tempered with more than a little bitterness.

"He knows," said Gale, scooting a few inches further away. So what if the battleship was mad at herself, she'd _seen_ what Angry Jersey was like. "But… maybe if you're _there_ it'll jog your memory?"

Jersey huffed, crossing her sinewy arms. "Yeah… yeah, of course."

"And… you need to wear dress whites," said Gale, crossing her fingers behind her back. Jersey wasn't quite as… exotically dressed as Naka, but short-shorts and baseball caps weren't exactly regulation attire.

"I don't…" Jersey glanced into her quarters, her face falling, "Are they gonna get me some or something?"

"That's what I'm here for, ma'am."

Jersey glanced down at her outfit. Her shirt was getting ragged around the edges, and Gale noticed a hint of seawater clinging to the fabric. "One question."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I'm technically a Lieutenant Commander, yeah?"

Gale nodded.

"That means I get one of those cool-ass swords, right?" practically begged Jersey, her icy eyes melting into puppy-dog puddles.

Gale had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. "We'll, uh, we'll see what we can do."


	6. Chapter 6: The Summoning

**Uploader Note:** Look, yell at the guy who writes this if your going to complain about inaccuracies. I just agreed to host it on FFN.

 **Chapter 6: The Summoning**

"You're late," said Williams, his stern gaze seeming all the sterner framed by his crisp white uniform. His gloved hands were folded behind his back. His chest adorned with row after row of medals earned from sixteen months of desperate war.

"S-sorry, sir," panted Yeoman Gale, her chest heaving as she tried to force wind back into her vacant lungs. "We-" she held a hand up, begging for another moment.

"Truck broke down," said Jersey, looking not the slightest bit out of breath. If not for the blond braid hanging down past her waist, and the steel in her icy blue eyes, Williams could almost have mistaken her for an ordinary officer. Albeit, a very tall, quite shapeless one.

Gale nodded, stuffing her cover back on as she panted to attention.

"Think, uh… it was my fault," said Jersey, scuffing one of her white dress shoes against the floor. The soles were covered in muck, but there wasn't much anyone could do about that now. "Sorry, sir."

"We had-" gasped Gale, "To run- All the way here."

"Tailor's can't be more than…" Williams' narrowed his eyes by a fraction, mentally recalling the area layout, "Two-three miles away."

"Fitting," said Gale. Her voice was still shaky, but at least she had enough wind in her to speak, "The fitting took longer than we'd, uh, then we'd thought."

"Yeah…" Jersey bit her lip idly fiddling with the hilt of her dress sword, "that's my fault too." She glanced down at the medal-covered swell of her not-insubstantial bust.

"Commander?" Williams glanced between the two women—or woman and battleship— and put on his most Admiraly 'i'm waiting for an explanation. Give it before I order one' face.

"The, uh, Tailor," said Jersey, absent-mindedly fiddling with the medals on her chest, "didn't expect a BB to come back with double-"

Gale elbowed her in the flank. Hard.

"Oh!" Jersey's face went red, "Yes, uh, sir. Um… yeah," she glanced down at where her hands were. "Shit," her hands snapped to her side.

Williams let out a long-suffering sigh, "Gale?"

"Sir?"

"What do I pay you for?"

Jersey glanced wordlessly between the two sailors, trying her very hardest to just _fade_.

"Uh…" Gale was all but frozen in place by the Skipper Stare. "You mean my standing orders, sir?"

Williams nodded.

"To keep 'sparkly magical ship-girl bullshit off my desk.' Sir."

Williams nodded again, motioning for her to continue.

"Sorry, sir." Gale's hand snapped up in salute. "Won't happen again, sir."

"Understood, Sailor," said Williams, returning the salute and motioning for her to continue into the summoning chamber.

Jersey watched her go without a word. The battleships' lips were pursed, and a vein in her neck pulsed as she flexed and un-flexed her jaw. For a moment, she didn't say anything, only the subtle tension in her uniform betraying that she was breathing at all.

Then she pivoted to face him, her weight rotating on her heel like it was a polished bearing. Her eyes were wide, almost pleading as she looked to him, her body coiled to respond the second he gave the word.

It wasn't quite the puppy-dog eyes the destroyers gave him, but it was close enough for Williams to feel a migraine building up steam in his skull.

"Yes, Jersey?"

"It… it really was my fault," said Jersey. She sniffed, scrunching up her nose as she blinked back the first hint of a tear. "If- if I hadn't slept in late, if I wasn't so…" she trailed off, staring resignedly at her shoes. "I failed you," she said, her voice almost too quiet to be heard. "I'm the one who should be punished."

Williams huffed, clicking his tongue against his teeth in thought. "Jersey, look at me."

The battleship looked up, her icy blue eyes locked on his.

"You came back when we needed you," said Williams, "You got here just under the wire. You haven't failed me."

"Sir," Jersey stood a little straighter.

"Now get in there and let's summon you a friend."

"Aye Aye, Sir!" said Jersey, a ghost of a smile creeping back over her face.

—|—|—

Jersey felt her mouth fall open as she stepped though the double-doors to the so-called 'summoning chamber'. Other than a walkway around the edges, and a single narrow causeway going out to the exact center, the floor was open to the sea. Rows upon rows of flickering candles lined the walls, casting flickering reflections off the salty sea below.

Tapestries hung from the rafters. Some were decorated with stylized renderings of warships at sea. Others had inscriptions Jersey couldn't read, but somehow the far end of the room, an enormous 48 star flag—Jersey recognized it as the one she'd flown in battle— was on proud display.

"That's Old-English."

Jersey glanced over. She hadn't even noticed Professor Crowning walk over, looking very fancy in his suit and skinny blue tie.

"On the tapestries," said Crowning, waving at the hanging sheets of canvas, "We had a bunch like them hanging off you."

Jersey gave him a confused look.

"Back before you were… uh… you." Crowning drummed his fingers against the railing, looking out into the candlelit water. "They're, uh… they're made from the sails of the _Constitution._ "

Before he could explain further, a barrel-chested Marine in full dress blues stomped the butt of his rifle against the walkway. "Ah-TEN… SHUN!" he barked, his hand snapping up in perfect military salute.

Jersey didn't even register that she'd snapped to. She simply realized she was standing at full attention, her hand held to her brow like her life, her crew-her very soul depended on it.

Somewhere to her right, she heard Williams step forwards. Each footstep came in perfect time with the last, his shoes clicking off the walkway as he moved with supernatural grace towards along the central causeway. _Step. Step. Step._ Jersey swore her heart was beating in time.

Finally he stopped. His right hand swept up to meet the brim of his cover. His left came down, barely kissing the hilt of his sword.

"Spirits of the deep," he said, his voice calm, yet thunderously loud. "Beneath this sea lies the body of American warriors. Ships and sailors who gave their last measure of devotion to the Constitution, and to the country that they loved. Spirits who now rest in glory."

Jersey felt eyes flicker towards her, watching for any sign of a reaction. She didn't move a muscle, she barely even breathed.

"Spirits," continued Williams, his body still at rigid salute, "whose rest we must disturb. Spirits we call to action once again in-"

The sound of a gaping yawn cut though the summoning room like an armor-piercing shell, echoing off the walls and only building in intensity with each bounce. Every eye in the building swiveled to locate the source.

Jersey's eyes were inhuman wide, her face beet red as she tried to physically muscle her mouth closed, the other still held up at full attention.

Williams glared at her, even her twenty-inch turret armor melting to slag under the force of her gaze.

"Sorry," she said, her voice very small and quiet after the force of her yawn. "S-sorry."

—|—|—

Jersey hadn't said a word since the incident at the summoning chamber. Even when Gale suggested visiting the Mess Hall to capitalize on Italian night the battleship hadn't offered more than a non-committal grunt.

Even then, she'd taken her food with the quietest of acknowledgements, shuffled over to the remotest table she could find, and hunched her back to make herself as small as her towering frame would allow.

Plus, she had three plates of lasagna sitting in front of her—not one of which had been licked clean. For a battleship, that was practically 'not eating.'

"It's… it's not your fault, you know," said Gale, balancing her own tray on one arm as she pulled a seat out.

Jersey glanced up, her eyes bleary and oozing utter despair. She sniffed, rubbing her nose with the end of her blue t-shirt.

"We've done that a hundred times," said Gale, dropping her tray down next to Jersey and sitting down. "Never worked before."

Jersey slumped forwards, her head falling against the table with a loud _clunk_ of metal-on-metal.

Gale glanced over her shoulder. Technically, she was skirting regs by even _being_ in the officers' mess. But.. damn it, she was supposed to look after the battleship, and she'd be damned if she left her to cry her eyes out alone. "Hun?" she said, reaching out to gently pet the girl's braid.

Jersey mumbled something very quiet.

"White should be back soon," said Gale, reaching across the table to stroke the battleship's head. "I'm.. I'm sure she'd be happy to see you."

Jersey shook her head. "Not today."

Gale paused, trying to make sense of that. "Jersey? I don't-" She stopped mid-sentence. Fuck. FUCK FUCK FUCK! October 25th. The Battle Off Samar.

Jersey's mouth twisted up in a sad imitation of a smile. "There you go… destroyers and carriers getting slaughters, and where was I? Where was I?" she hissed, her voice dripping venom, " _the world wonders._ "

"Jersey, you-"

"I was sitting on my ass!" snapped the battleship, her hand slamming down against the table hard enough to make her plates jump. "Eating my own _shit_ while those destroyers fought like _lions._ "

"That's the past," said Gale, forcing herself not to flinch in the face of an angry, self-hating woman with guns bigger than she was. "You're back now. With us."

Jersey scowled, "Yeah? Look what good I fucking did." She threw herself to her feet, piling her dishes up with a rattle of plastic bouncing against plastic. "I'll be in my rack."

—|—|—

"We've gotta be missing something," said Williams, running his hands though his short, slowly-graying hair as he slouched down into his office chair. "Drink?"

Crowning shook his head, "Not after that." He sighed, looking over the row of delicate model ships decorating the Admiral's bookshelf. "She's pissed, you know."

"Who, Jersey?"

Crowning nodded. "Barely ate a thing, then stormed off to her room. She thinks she failed you."

Williams took a long breath, balling his hands into fists then slowly relaxing the muscles. "Hell… it was along shot at best. The Brits've been doing that exact same ritual for months. New boat every time."

"I know," said Crowning, slouching into a chair opposite the Admiral, "did the same thing on _Jersey_." He paused. "The, uh… the ship. Even had Victory on hand to make sure we did it right."

For a few long minutes, both men said nothing. Each stared off into the middle distance, wracking their brains for something, anything to work with.

Crownings' eyes went wide, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in an unbidden smile. "No they haven't."

"Doc?"

"The British don't mention the constitution, why would they," said Crowning, suddenly pacing frantically though the room.

"Yeah…" Williams nodded, motioning for the professor to get to the next point in his logical argument.

"Their summoning, they say all that 'for queen and country' rhetoric, right?"

"It's the same thing," said Williams, rubbing at his temples, "The monarch hasn't had real power for centuries. She just… she symbolizes the country. A figurehead. Constitution's gotta be close an analogue."

—|—|—

Jersey rolled over onto her belly, fumbling for the slender plastic cell phone the Navy'd been kind enough to issue her. She'd left it sitting on her bedside table out of confusion, and now the stupid thing was buzzing up an angry storm at her.

She liked to consider herself tech-savvy—she _had_ been fitted with missiles and modern electronics in the 80's after all— but this twenty-first century stuff was just… far beyond her.

After a few minutes of angry fiddling, and about a third of her more profane vocabulary, she'd managed to unlock the goddamn thing. Alongside the mess of jewel-like buttons, she finally found one with a little red message box next to it.

A text message. Jersey sighed. This, she could deal with.

 _Sarah Gale said: "Hey, a few of us are gonna watch Top Gun with White. She wants to know if you'll join us."_

—|—|—

Crowning stared at the map covering one wall of the Admiral's office, letting his mind wander as his eyes tracing out every one of the little navigational lines and notes. "Only it's not," he muttered, more to himself than anyone.

"Pardon?"

"The Constitution and the Queen," said Crowning, tapping his finger at the little island that was England. "You said the queen gave up power a few centuries ago."

"More or less, yeah," said Williams, suddenly on his feet, the gears of his mind ticking over one in furious sequence.

"For us that's a long time," said Crowning, "But for them…" he frantically tapped on the map, "But… but England as we know it started… what, 1066? That's almost a thousand years of history where the monarch _was_ the country. And it's an island."

Williams nodded, motioning for the professor to continue.

"Britannia Rules the waves," said Crowning, his eyes wide as she smiled from ear to ear. "Up until… what, the forties? They were _the_ naval power on this planet."

Williams nodded again crossing his arms as he stared at the map, "Just like Japan, their Navy's their shield."

"And their sword."

"Get to the point, Doc."

—|—|—

Jersey wrapped her knuckles against the laminated wood door, balancing a six-pack against the crook of her hip. It was the only familiar looking can she could find at the PX. Hopefully it'd be enough to make up for her shitty attitude earlier.

"'s open!" said something though a mouthful of popcorn.

Jersey opened the door with her free hand, ducking under the lintel with a humble little smile. "Hey. I, uh, brought booze."

The room itself was about the size of Jersey's, though there was a second bed where Jersey had a desk. Inside was at least a dozen men and women, some in uniform, the others in shorts, jeans, or even sweatpants.

Seated at the very front, facing the biggest television Jersey'd ever seen in her life, and surrounded by a small army of tiny faeries in minuscule leather jackets, was the only-slightly-less-tiny form of White Plains.

"Hey, Jersey!" said Gale, waving from the far side of the room, "Just sit wherever there's room."

Jersey got all of three steps in before a tiny escort carrier just _appeared_ in front of her. She felt White's hands close around her waist, the tiny carrier nuzzling Jersey's tummy as she hugged with all her strength.

"I missed you," she said, her eyes huge as she beamed up at the battleship.

Jersey wiped at her face, suddenly _very_ happy she had her aviators on.

—|—|—

"The point is," said Crowning, his words frantically tumbling out one after another, "Is we can't just- we can't just summon them to duty and expect them to come! Especially if _we don't need them_."

Williams narrowed his eyes, "Doctor, if the Abyssals own the sea, our allies-"

"Yes, our _allies_!" said Crowning, slapping his hand against the map. "If _we_ loose the sea, we'll be fine. We've got-" he waved frantically at the map representation of North American, "We've got enough natural wealth to supply ourselves fifty times over."

Crowning stepped back running his hands though what hair he had left. Words poured into his mind in a glorious epiphany. "But Britain? Japan? The _only countries_ to summon spirits?"

"Holy shit," breathed Williams.

Crowning nodded, his head flopping up and down with unbridled enthusiasm. "Their girls came because _they were needed._ Because _no one else_ could help but a spirit. Ours? We can't summon them in our hour of direst need because _that hour hasn't come yet._ "

"Ah, hell," Williams scowled, "If this war isn't theirs, how do we get them to fight? _Especially_ since they've damn well earned their rest."

"We have to…" Crowning smiled, breathlessly pacing from one corner of the office to the other, "We have to recruit them."

—|—|—

Two minutes. White had gotten all of _two goddamn minutes_ into _Top Gun_ before she was reduced to utterly unintelligible gibbering and frantic vibrations of unbridled glee. Jersey had to use all her strength and coordination as a battleship to keep the tiny carrier from falling clean off her lap.

"Didyouseethat!" screamed White, holding her arms out like an airplane, then slowly sweeping them back in imitation of an F-14 Tomcat. "Theydon'tevenhaveprpoellersbutstilltheygo," she puckered her lips, " _FOOOOOOOOSH!_ " she screamed. "THIS IS SO AWESOME!"

"Just wait," said Gale, throwing a handful of popcorn at the carrier. "It gets better."

"How could it-" And then White's jaw dropped. On the screen, an F-14—a forty-thousand pound fighter, if Jersey recalled correctly—was bodily _hurled_ into the air by a mighty steam catapult like it was nothing more than a child's toy.

The very same instant, the soft, melodic ballad of the _Top Gun Anthem_ was replaced by a roaring rock anthem. A few sailors started air-guitaring, and Jersey had to restrain herself from following suit. On her last cruise, _every_ sailor aboard had seen this movie at least one. But now… seeing it with her own eyes… Jersey was starting to feel things she'd never felt before.

"Revving up your engine, listen to her howl and roar!" sang every _single_ person in the room, USS _White Plains_ excepted. Even Jersey's roaring contralto wasn't strong enough to drown them all out.

"EEEEEEE!" White was reduced to a screech of pure glee.

Jersey laughed, holding White's waist to keep her from falling off her lap. Then it hit her, some absent thought tickling the furthest corner of her mind. "Hey… Gale?"

The Yeoman looked over, her smile positively glowing as she rocked out to the guitar solo. "Yeah?"

"Doesn't… Naka have a guitar?"

Gale thought for a second, "Yeah. She or her band, yeah."

Jersey smirked.

—|—|—

The phone on William's desk rang. Not just any phone, The phone. The definite article. The bright-blue phone that was _only_ to be called in—to use the Admiral's own words—the case of sparkly shipgirl bullshit.

"Williams," barked the Admiral, almost ripping the phone from its cradle.

 _"Sir, Yeoman Gale here,"_ came a frantic voice. _"You, uh… you should get everyone down to the summoning chamber."_

Williams didn't think twice, snapping his fingers at his aide, "Get every MP we have down there ASAP-"

The aide saluted before scurrying off to fulfill the order.

"Gale, what _exactly_ is going on?"

 _"I, uh… I don't know, sir,"_ said Gale, _"Jersey just ordered me to get everyone to meet her there. And…"_

"And what, Yeoman?"

 _"And then she ran off with White. And, uh… they were both giggling._ "

—|—|—

The phone hadn't even hit the floor by the time Williams sprinted though the door.

Jersey cradled the guitar, running her hands up the fretboad and lazily plucking at the strings. It was the first time _she'd_ held one. But—in between the moments of sheer pant-shitting terror—deployment at sea was a painfully boring experience. Sailors had to find ways to pass the time, and she'd had _plenty_ of sailors aboard her.

"You sure this is a good idea?" said White, playing with a wireless microphone Naka'd been kind enough to loan.

"You'll do fine," said the torpedo cruiser, tactfully turning the microphone around.

"Just rock your little heart out," said Jersey, plucking a few experimental chords. "Naka, how do I sound?"

The Idol gave a thumbs up before disappearing behind her laptop.

Jersey took a breath as she stared out into the summoning chamber. Sailors and MPs were slowly filtering in, but so far no one'd risked the narrow causeway to reach Jersey and White. _Come on, come on_ thought Jersey, her eyes narrowing as she scoured the crowed for any sight of her Admiral.

"Look, there he is!" said White, waving frantically with her microphone.

"Alright," said Jersey, her smirk graduating to a full-on shit-eating grin. Her hands ran over her guitar with practiced precision, strumming out the three notes _everyone_ in the Navy knew. _bum bum bum BUMBUM_

—|—|—

 _Darkness. Peace. Calm._

 _That was her existence now. A warm, peaceful rest. The sea wrapped around her like a blanket, warm with the knowledge that she'd done her duty._

 _She'd fought like a wildcat, she'd gone down without a shell in her magazine or torpedo in her tubes._

 _She'd served with honor._

 _She'd died with valor._

 _She rests in glory._

 _She'd forgotten what it was like to sail. The crash of salt against her bow, the pounding of waves against her hull were nothing but dreamy, half-remembered feelings in the rearmost part of her mind._

 _She'd almost forgotten what it was like to fight._

 _Almost._

 ** _General Quarters_**  
 _  
The call echoed though her hull. Machinery stirred to life that hadn't moved—hadn't even existed—in decades._

 ** _General Quarters_**  
 _  
She heard a voice. No, voices. Hundred, at least, begging her to return._

 _It was coming back to her. A fight against overwhelming odds. A fight she wasn't expected to survive._

 _But she fought. Like **hell* did she fight. She charged straight into the danger zone without a moment's hesitation._

 _She'd only wanted to do what damage she could. To make her captain proud. To down swinging._

 _And she'd sent the Japanese fleet running with their tail between their legs._

 _She and her two sisters._

 ** _General Quarters._**  
 _  
She smiled. Not one step back. Never a step back._

RETREAT HELL!

—|—|—

Jersey's hands flew over her keyboard, her body pulsing with the rhythm as she pounded out the notes with all the energy she could muster. Eight boilers hot, a quarter million shaft horsepower, and the biggest speakers Naka could rustle up.

"Highway to the-" White held her mic out to the crowd of sailors filling the railings to capacity.

"DANGER ZONE!" bellowed the crowd. Even Admiral Williams was begrudgingly getting invested.

And then the chamber went deathly silent. Every eye was fixed on the water.

Crowning squinted, leaning over the railing to get the best possible view at the new arrivals.

Three girls, all of them around junior-high age, stood on the water in a ragged V formation. They all wore the same outfit, although the girl on the left had added a feathery war-bonnet.

Each wore running shoes, blue pants rolled up to their knees, a chunky gun belt, and a sailor-top with the sleeves ripped off. They all had the same anchor tattoo on their sinewy bicep, and the same devil-may-cry smirk on their faces.

"Who are-?" Crowning glanced over to the nearest Sailor, a red-headed man who looked like he was seconds away from crying with glee.

Jersey leaped off the makeshift stage, landing on the water with a splash and running over to grab all three girls in a huge hug. "I missed you all so much!" she said, spinning around with the three girls in her arms.

Feather-girl grunted something in response, but it was too muffled by Jersey's chest to be audible.

"Um…" Jersey finally put them down, her face seemingly stuck in an enormous smile. "Everyone… I'd like you to meet Taffy 3."

"JOHNSTON!" screamed White, leaping off the stage to catch the feathered girl in a flying tackle.


	7. Chapter 7: I Have Feet Now?

**Chapter 7: I Have Feet Now?**

Having a body was a very… interesting set of experiences for Johnston. First… _she had a body!_ The first few seconds of her existence had been dominated by that simple fact.

She remembered, hazily, her first shakedown cruise. She could feel her turbines idling away inside her engine room, feel her crew shuffling around on her cramped decks as they manned their stations…

But… she could also feel the cool air flowing though her lungs, feel the gently-churning surf lapping at her ankles, feel the warmth of upmpty-jillion candles against her suntanned skin. _Skin_ She had skin now! What?

Out the corner of her eye, she could see her sisters. Hoel shot her that look. The skipper look. The long-suffering look that could only be descried as "dammit, Johnston, look where you lead us."

Johnston didn't care. She was a destroyer, she didn't run from danger, she ran _at_ it. She _was_ the danger! (And she _knew_ that, deep down under those 5in/38s, Hoel loved her for it.)

Johnston glanced over, aiming to lob some snappy comeback at her nominal skipper, but the words died in her throat. It was Heermann! The last of the Taffy 3 trio, the three little tin-cans that fought like battleships! The most awesomesest destroyers to sail the seven seas! So why did she look so sheepish? With that little half-smile she looked almost… _demure_.

Then, a splash tore Johnston's attention away from her bash-sister. Over to… to… to a _battleship._

The world around her slowed to a crawl as Johnston stared in slack-jawed awe at the most perfect example of American Military Awesomeness ever to put screw to salt. Not just any battleship, her old friend, USS _New Jersey_!

Nine guns, turrets bigger than her entire body, enough AAA to turn a sizeable chunk of sky into solid lead and fire. More horsepower than all three _Fletchers_ put together.

But Johnston didn't notice any of that. She was a destroyer. She'd been inhabited by 329 sailors, many of them scared kids barely out of high school giving their all in impossible circumstances. Kids who—for all the steel of their character—where still kids.

Johnston couldn't tear her eyes off the battleships's enormous… top weight. _Fletchers_ weren't small, at least by destroyer standards. New Jersey, an _Iowa_ class battleship… she was _stacked_.

It seemed to move a solid second out of step with the rest of her body, flowing with the same graceful ease perfect torpedo spread ripping the bottom out of a nip cruiser.

Scratch that, a whole _flotilla_ of nip cruiser.

"I missed you all so much!" screamed Jersey, throwing her arms around all three destroyers and effortlessly lifting them off their feet. Her… chest slammed into Johnston's nose, temporarily knocking the little destroyer's brain for a spin as she tried to comprehend what just happened.

"T-thanks, New Jersey!" is what Johnston tried to say. What came out was closer to a muffled grunt of "mMMmmmMff."

Jersey must have set her down at some point, but Johnston was too lost in a euphoric haze to notice. A Battleship. An _Iowa_ class battleship. The very awesome-est of the awesome surface combatants. And _she'd_ hugged _her!_

Johnston finally snapped out of her daze by the frantic chirp of her Mark 25 radar. She was about to be under air attack! By something… truly massive.

For a second, she hovered on the edge of panic. Then recognition settled in. _Tiny_ , with a flat top, a pair of bouncy little pigtails, and a squat little island to one side, there's only one ship it could be!

"White!" is what Johnston wanted to say. But the little baby-CV slammed into her before the destroyer'd even opened her mouth, sending her skidding butt-first onto the surf,a CVE clinging to her tummy with the tightest hug Johnston'd ever felt.

—|—|—

Admiral Williams didn't recall getting his cell phone. His hands had fished it out on their own initiative, dialling the first number on his speed-dial on nothing more than muscle memory.

 _"NAVSTA Everett, office of kanmu-"_

"This is Williams," growled the Admiral, knifing his way though the crowd of excited sailors, marines, and MPs. The sheer power of The Brass driving a wedge though the mass of fatigue-clad humanity.

A very audible gulp filtered though the phone's speakers.

"Where's Fubuki and Yuudachi?"

 _"They're, uh…"_ a brief pause as whoever was on the opposite end looked away from the receiver to shout fantic orders, *"Uh, Fubuki's getting dinner. Yuudachi's napping in her room."

"Get them gone."

 _"Sir?"_

"Take them into town, take them shopping, I don't care," said Williams, his voice the very embodiment of Not To Be Fucked With, "Get them off the base. In fifteen minutes I want them _gone._ "

"Aye-Aye, sir!" came the instant response.

Williams didn't bother putting the phone back in his pocket, already moving on to the next firecracker in this horribly unstable power keg. Naka was… Naka was hunkered down behind her macbook, hiding behind the mess of audio cables she'd rigged up for Jersey's little concert.

Good, it might hide her for the moment, especially with Taffy 3 still disoriented from the summoning. But the girl was wearing a traffic-orange dress!

"Gale," said Williams as loudly he could risk, grabbing the Yeoman's arm to get her attention.

"Sir?" said Gale with a yelp.

"Take Naka," he nodded to the frilly traffic cone hiding behind her sticker-covered lap top, "and _fade_ , understood?"

Gale took a second, looking between the Admiral and the returned American destroyers. "Aye, Aye, sir."

Williams pivoted to face the gaggle of shipgirls exchanging frantic hugs. Destroyer-girls were trying to deal with when they weren't murder-crazy gunslingers who seemed to draw their power from impossible odds and lacked a single fuck to give between the lot of them.

Well… one problem at a time. "Attention on deck!" he barked, his voice echoing off the chamber walls.

Instantly the room went still. Behind him, Williams heard the rustle of fabric as a hundred or so sailors instantly shifted from the electric glee of a rock concert to stoic silence in the face of an angry Admiral.

Even the shipgirls snapped to, scrambling to their legs and standing at rigid attention. Jersey pulled it off the best, somehow looking the very image of a professional American warfighter, even in short-shorts with a guitar slung over her back. And White… well, she was trying, her ruddy face taut with concentration as she gave it her all.

The destroyers though… Johnston had her chest puffed out as far as she could manage, her arms flexed as she tried her very hardest to look match Jersey's stoic stance. Neither of the other girls were much better.

"Taffy 3 destroyers," said Williams staring down at them from the summoning chamber platform, "Report."

"USS _Johnston_ , DD-557 reporting!" Barked the girl with the feathers, her voice overflowing with bravado. "Ready to kick nip ass and take names, sir!"

"USS _Hoel_ , DD-553 reporting!" Barked her sister, the flame-headed girl with her hair in a messy ponytail who seemed intent on not coming in second-loudest. "Can Do!"

"USS _Heermann_ , DD-532 reporting," came the surprisingly quiet voice of the demure—relatively speaking—little brunette. She gave her sisters a timid, loving look before looking back to Williams. "Ready for action, sir."

Williams couldn't help but smile. "Jersey?"

"Sir?" said the battleship, her voice effortlessly carrying over the little destroyers' boasts.

"That was a hell of an idea."

"Thank you, sir," said Jersey, her cheeks all but glowing with pride.

Williams felt his phone buzz in his hand, and he tilted it just far enough to glance at the screen. Outstanding, the DDs and Naka had just cleared the gate… he had time and space to manoeuvre. "You girls must be hungry."

Johnston nodded, her feathery headdress exaggerating every enthusiastic move of her head.

"Jersey, you know the way to the mess," said Williams, prompting a wave of hurriedly-stifled laughter to issue from the sea of sailors behind him.

"Is… that a question, sir?"

"It's an order, Commander," said Williams, allowing himself a slight grin. "Get these girls fed, then get then in my office by twenty-hundred."

"Aye sir," said Jersey, her eyes almost imperceptibly shifting towards the pile of audio equipment Naka'd been hiding behind, scuffing her shoe against the surf she stood on.

Williams offered a slight nod of acknowledgement. "Dismissed."


	8. Chapter 8: How DARE They!

**Chapter 8: How DARE They!  
**

Jersey felt her belly start to grumble at the very thought of the mess hall. The downside to being an _Iowa_ class battleship; her appetite never quite vanished, it merely faded enough for her to concentrate on other things.

Things like herding three of the most improbably battle-happy destroyers the US Navy had ever had the honor to deploy in the general direction of food.

It didn't help that the three girls hadn't _shut up about food_ for one second since the Admiral dismissed them.

"You need'ta try the cherry pie," said White, her pigtails bouncing with each step as she skipped along next to the ragged flotilla. "'s so good!" she chirped.

Johnston made a show of scoffing, her hands thrust firmly into the pockets of her rolled-up pants. "Hrmpf," she grunted, scowling as best she could with her big brown eyes. "I don't want pie."

"But pie's delicious," said Heermann with a shy smile, her voice far quieter than her sister's boastful yell.

"We're destroyers!" said Hoel, gritting her teeth and flexing—or at least attempting to flex—the muscles in her bare arm. "We're badasses! We eat steaks!"

"Raw!" said Johnston, thrusting her little fist in the air with a passable wolf-growl. Hoel nodded, pounding her fist against Johnston's while Heermann smiled, letting out a little roar of her own.

"Shut up, all of you," said Jersey, rolling her eyes as she drummed her fingers against her frustratingly-empty belly. "Everyone likes pie."

"But-" Johnston scrunched up her face to argue, then completely lost her voice as she stared up at the battleship. The destroyer's mouth hung open, and even her feathers seemed to droop in resignation.

Somewhere behind them, Heermann furiously stifled a giggle.

"Okay, both of you-" said Jersey, grabbing the awestruck Johnston in a headlock before reaching for her sister.

"Hey!" Hoel let out a half-hearted screech before letting herself be dragged into the battleship's grasp.

Jersey squeezed Hoel to shut her up. "I outrank you, nuggets."

The destroyers instantly fell silent. Only the gentle lapping of water against dock pilings—and the wheezing of a CVE trying to hold in her laughter—could be heard.

"Good," said Jersey, "Now… you know why I have you two in a headlock and not Heermann?"

"Because I-" Heermann's voice died under the withering force of the battleship's Skipper Glare.

"'cause we're awesome? I dunno," mumbled Johnston. Apparently the little DD that could had figured out some kind of ass-chewing was in her future.

"Because the war's over, dipshits," said Jersey, squeezing both girls against her chest. "Heermann lived though it. But you two…" the battleship sighed, "You two went down in a blaze of glory, yeah?"

"Damn straight!" barked Hoel.

"We won," said Jersey, "Japs are friendly now." The two destroyers in her arms froze, and Jersey could feel their brains stall out and struggle to build up steam again. "They're one of our closest allies in the Pacific."

Johnston's head swiveled to face Jersey's, her face a mask of utter disbelief.

"This has to be a trick," said Hoel, her breathing shallow as she futility tried to squeeze out of Jersey's grasp.

"No trick," said Jersey, glancing to where Heermann and White were watching. "Right, Heermann?"

The destroyer nodded, "It's true… we burned their cities… broke their spirit."

Hoel stared ahead into space, "But… the Emperor-"

"Is gone," said Jersey, "The Japanese don't worship him anymore." The battleship bit her lip, giving Hoel a tiny bit more slack, "They… they worship cute things now."

Johnston gave Jersey a look that was equal parts confusion and unmitigated horror. "Worship-" she started.

"-Cute things?" finished Hoel.

"Yeah," said Jersey with a sigh. She _had_ to make sure she was around when they met Naka, "It's… it's really weird. Actually. I'm not really sure how it works."

"Is it… a ploy?" murmured Hoel, "Are they trying to trick us?"

"For sixty years?" scoffed Jersey. "Yo, White."

"Yes?" said the little CVE, bouncing off her feet as her name was unexpectedly called.

"Who'd you run that last convoy with?"

White glanced between Jersey and the two destroyers in her arms, "Um… Miss Naka and Yuudachi."

"WHAAAAT!" screamed Johnston, her nose flaring in anger at the mere _thought_ of a CVE, _her_ CVE, the CVE she'd gave her life to protect, being… _deflowered_ by those… those…. Gah, just the thought of it make her gag.

"JOHNSTON!" barked Jersey, her face as hard as the steel of her armor and twice as cold. "SECURE THAT!"

"BUT-"

Jersey glared down at the destroyer, a low growl rumbling up from deep within her.

"Aye… aye, aye ma'am," muttered Johnston, trying to shrink into nothingness.

"That goes for you too, Hoel," said Jersey. "Admiral's got a lot on his plate. You are _not_ going to start _anything._ Understood?"

The two destroyers mumbled something.

"I said under-fucking-stood!" barked Jersey.

"Aye,Aye, ma'am!" chimed both girls in unity.

Jersey finally released the headlock, and the two girls shuffled away, suddenly fascinated by the concrete beneath their shoes.

"Hey," said Jersey, her voice suddenly soft and quiet, "turn around. Heermann, get in here too."

The three destroyers turned around, nearly-equal levels of sheepish caution on each of their faces. "Y-yes, Jersey?" said Hoel, forcing herself to lock eyes with the battleship.

"C'mere," said Jersey, dropping to her knees and spreading her arms wide. "All of you."

The destroyers shuffled in, and Jersey pulled them in tight, making sure they could all feel her body against theirs. "I'm so…" she stopped, sniffing back a tear that was threatening to escape her eye, "I'm so proud of you."

Johnston squirmed, her face going beet red.

"What you did that day…" Jersey sniffed back another tear, "You did what I should have done. You're battleships. Every damn one of you."

Now Hoel was blushing, her face almost redder than her coppery hair.

"We- we don't blame you," said Heermann, squeezing closer to plant a kiss on Jersey's cheek.

"Yeah," said Hoel, "It- it wasn't your fault."

Johnston nodded, "You… you would've just stolen the glory anyways."

Jersey laughed, squeezing the destroyers in for a tight hug. "Thanks… thanks, kiddos."

"It's okay," said Hoel, sneaking in a kiss before bouncing away. "C'mon! Last one to the pie's a mark-fourteen!"

"Hey, no fair!" snapped Johnston, skidding around in place as she struggled to get traction.

Heermann just smiled, her little hand reaching up for Jersey's as she counted off. "Three… two… one…"

"Uh… hey," Hoel skidded around on her heel, her face flustered as she jogged back. "Miss Jersey?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Where, um… is the mess hall?"


	9. Chapter 9: They Didn't Give Me Plushies

**Chapter 9: They Didn't Give Me Plushies...**

A timid knock at the door, so soft it was almost inaudible, shook Admiral Williams from the mindless paperwork haze he'd slipped into. "Enter," he said, closing the latest folder outlining just how badly he was falling short on… everything.

For a second, nothing happened. Then the door creaked open, and the three destroyers—with Jersey herding them in from the rear—shuffled into his office.

"S-sir," said the redhead, Hoel. "Reporting as ordered, sir." The other two destroyers stood at attention, but their heads were hung, not meeting Williams' gaze as they stared at… anything in the room but him.

Williams sat back in his chair, glancing over to Jersey, who only offered a blank stare in response.

"Jersey told us what happened," said Hoel, finally looking up at Williams. "That we'll be serving with the ni- with Japanese ships."

"And-" Heermann was the next to speak, her timid voice finally fitting in with her sisters, "And we heard you had to rush them off the base when we showed up."

"We're really sorry," said Johnston, pulling her feathery headdress off and holding it loosely over her belly. "We- we didn't mean to make things hard for you."

Jersey nodded, her face starting to regain its usual smirk. "I don't think it should be a problem anymore, sir."

Williams took a deep breath, looking over the four ship girls as he slipped deep into thought. Destroyers were tricky little bastards at sea, but he'd _never_ heard of one lying to their Admiral. Exaggerate, maybe, but never flat-out lie.

Finally, he let out a sigh, leaning forwards to rest his arms against his desk. "Taffy 3?"

"Sir?" all three destroyers chimed in unison.

"Welcome back to the US Navy."

Heermann smiled sweetly, while Hoel and Johnston had to visible fight to keep from squealing.

"Normally… there's a whole sequence of procedures for formally recommissioning you, but…" Williams nodded to the row of clocks on his wall, at least one of which showed the local time-zone. "It's late."

"'s naaaaawwwwt," yawned Johnston.

Jersey kicked the destroyer in the meat of her calf with a roll of her icy blue eyes. "White'll show you the way to your bunks," said the battleship, leaning over to muss with Johnston's silky black hair.

Williams let her finish before speaking again. "Taffy 3, Dismissed."

The three destroyers scrambled to throw up salutes before awkwardly shuffling out of the office.

"Jersey?"

"Sir?"

"Good job."

Jersey beamed, her smile utterly incandescent, "Thank you, sir!"

"Now get some rack time. You've earned it.

—|—|—

Jersey collapsed on her bed feeling nothing but content. She had a belly full—or at least less empty— of warm cherry pie and hamburgers, the pajamas Yeoman Gale had left on her dresser for her were _unbelievably_ soft, and she'd gotten praise! From her Admiral!

More than that, her hunch payed off! Her friends were back! And they loved her! Jersey was still smiling as she worked her way under her covers, burrowing deep beneath the comforting embrace of blankets and comforters.

It felt like… like pulling into drydock, but without the pain that usually proceeded drydocking. The feeling that everything is going to be okay, that she can just let go and let herself be pampered.

She could feel her fairies shuffling around inside her, checking her systems, cleaning her decks, lulling her to sleep with their minuscule footsteps.

Mmm… sleep…

"J-Jersey?" a gentle knock at the door shook Jersey awake. The battleship scowled. Her ship's chronometer said she'd had all of fifteen minutes of sleep. And unfortunately the alarm clock on her bedside table agreed.

"Yeah yeah," mumbled Jersey, brushing a stray hair from her face. "'s open."

The door creaked open to reveal two _Fletcher_ class destroyers, both wearing fluffy blue slippers and pajamas with the sleeves ripped off. "Um, Jersey?" said Johnston, all but unrecognizable without her headdress.

"Can't sleep?" said Jersey, yawning as she shuffled over to the little kitchenette attached to her room. "C'mon."

Johnston nodded, shuffling in with Hoel hot on her heels.

"Where's Heermann?"

"Sleeping," said Hoel, her hands shoved into the pockets of her baggy pajama pants. "She's with White, they went to sleep like _that_."

"But…" Johnston shrugged.

"Bad dreams?" half-asked Jersey, pouring two cups of milk and sliding them into her microwave.

"Y-yeah," admitted Johnston.

"You wanna sleep with me?" said Jersey, rocking on her hips as she waited for the milk to warm.

Johnston all but leaped out of her slippers, a smile on her face as she ran over to grab Jersey's waist in a hug. "R-really?"

"Hell yeah," said Jersey, barely even flinching as the 2,500 ton destroyer collided with her 58,000 ton body. "Hoel, goes for you too."

Hoel smiled, darting over to join Johnston in hugging Jersey's midsection.

"But first," said Jersey. The girls hanging of her waist barely even slowed her down.

"Hrm?" muttered Johnston, her face firmly pressed into the muscles of Jersey's flank.

The battleship rolled her eyes, fishing the lone honey bear left in her cabinet and pouring a generous dollop into each glass of warm milk. "Drink."

Hoel's nose crinkled up, "Warm milk?"

"But we're badasses!" said Johnston, pulling her face away from Jersey just long enough to speak before pressing back against the battleship's warm body.

"And?" said Jersey, shaking her hips to dislodge her adorable little limpets, "Milk builds strong bones. Or… something."

"Okay," sighed Hoel, taking the glass in both hands and cradling it against her chest.

"Now drink up, both of you," said Jersey, walking over to her bed. "Then get over here."

"But-"

"No buts, they didn't give me a _single_ plushie," said Jersey, scowling as she rolled onto her back.

Johnston beamed, chugging down her milk in one long gulp. For a second, it looked like she was going to dash the glass against the floor, but at the last instant her reason took over and she gently placed it on the counter.

"Thanks, Jersey," she said as she jumped onto the bed, landing with a loud belly flop next to the battleship. "You're the best," she said, snuggling up tight and resting her head against Jersey's breast.

"Mmm, thanks," said Hoel, putting her glass down much more carefully. She didn't say a word as she padded over, deftly finding a spot to curl up next to her sister and Jersey. "mmm, 'night," she yawned.

Jersey smiled, cradling the destroyers—her destroyers—tight as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Fubuki was exhausted, which both worried and surprised her. She could steam for ten days on patrol without a second thought, even if she _did_ get kinda bored after a while. Even when Yuudachi kept her up late into the night watching American cartoons, she still managed her early-morning runs without much trouble—even if they _were_ more to focus her mind than train her body. Even the frantic gun battle in the straight left her more shaken then actually tired.

But a single, unplanned overnight shopping trip with Naka and she was wiped out. The Special-type destroyer stared at her oatmeal, watching the scoop of brown sugar slowly dissolve into the cream.

With a tired sigh, she scraped together the energy to scoop out a spoonful, plopping it into her mouth with a lazy flick of her wrist. As she chewed, she glanced over at her friend, the so-called nightmare of the Solomons.

Who was currently passed out. On the mess hall table. Snoring softly into a Naka-Chan plushie Gale'd bought her as a pillow.

Fubuki sighed, taking another bite of her oatmeal and chewing happily, her eyes glazed over as she focused what little energy she had on simply enjoying her meal.

"Um… hey."

Fubuki almost dropped her spoon. In fact, she _did_ leap out of her seat and land with a loud _thump_ on the mess hall tile, her bowl clattering to the ground behind her.

An American kanmusu stood over her, her tanned cheeks puffing out as the girl tried her very hardest to hold in a laugh. The feathers on her head quivered as her shoulders quaked with barely-restrained mirth.

Fubuki gulped, sizing up the American. She knew new kanmusu had showed up, Naka said that was the reason for their expedition to the shopping malls. "H-hai," she stuttered.

The American kicked her feet against the table, biting her lip as she stared at her feet. "Uh, damn. Okay…" she paused, the feathers on her head quivering in thought, "You, uh… you want a hand?"

Fubuki thought for a second, then nodded.

The American offered her right hand, showing off the anchor tattoo on her arm.

Fubuki shakily extended her own, taking the American's with a moment's hesitation. Didn't Naka say these Americans might be… angry? "A-Arigato," she stammered, "It means-"

"Thank you, I know," said the American, quickly shoving her hands back into her pants pockets.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence between the two of them, even Yuudachi's quiet snores of "ppoi~" were gone.

"So yeah," said the American, sucking in her cheeks and clicking her tounge. "That, uh, that happened."

"What my sister is trying to say," said another voice. _Another_ of the sleeveless Americans had sneaked up behind her. It was all Fubuki could do to keep from jumping.

"Oh, shit, sorry," the second girl said, her head whipping around to check for… something.

"Look," said the girl with the feathers, "we're the new girls here."

"And we want you to know we're not gonna hurt you," said the second.

"Because if we did," said the first, "Jersey said she'd shove a sixteen incher so far up my ass I'd taste silk for a week."

The second girl looked over, rubbing her chin with her hand. "I'm still not sure how that works."

"It's because," said yet a _third_ American, "The Mark 7 gun uses separately loaded ammunition. She loads powder in six silk bags."

"Ooooooh," said the first two in harmony, each smiling as she rubbed their chins. Meanwhile, the third just hung her head in shame.

Fubuki just stared at the three girls, her head ping-sponging from one to the next with reckless speed. And she thought DesDiv6 were high-energy.

"So yeah!" said the first, skidding around on her heel to face Fubuki. "USS Johnston, DD-557!"

"USS Hoel, DD-533," said the second, jamming her hand in the general direction of Fubuki's face.

"USS Heermann, DD-532," said the third, a weary smile on her face as she rolled her eyes at her two sisters.

Fubuki was stunned, her eyes slowly slewing down to stare openly at the three girls pronounced… topside displacement. "D-destroyers?" she stammered. She thought for sure they were heavy cruisers, if not battle cruisers!

Fubuki stumbled backwards onto her stool, her mouth hanging open in sheer shock. Shock! not envy, shock!

"Oh shit," said Johnston, "I… I think I broke her."

"Nice going, dummy," said Hoel, rolling her eyes as she gave Johnston a hard smack on the back of her head.

Heermann just let out a long, resigned sigh.

—|—|—

"What the hell is this?" scowled Jersey, holding the clear plastic cup at arms length like it was about to leap out of her hands and maul her to death.

"It's… Coffee, Jersey," said Crowning, rubbing his temples as he held his own beverage like it was a beverage not a tiny creature with many sharp ends intent on mauling his face.

"It's… brown," said Jersey, her brows knitting as she tried to determine what foul intentions the so-called coffee had in store for her or her destroyers.

"It's coffee, Jersey."

"I've _had_ coffee," said the battleship, "Or… uh… my crew.. you know." She scowled. "It was _not_ this color."

Crowning shook his head, rubbing at his temples with his free hand, "You mean Navy Coffee?"

Jersey nodded.

"That… that's not coffee… that's a UN Human Rights violation in a cup."

Jersey made a face that almost literally screamed, "yeah… and?"

"It's a salted Caramel Mocha," said Crowning, taking a sip of his own drink. "Just drink the thing."

Jersey gave the cup a wary look, carefully bringing it close enough to sniff. When nothing threatening turned up—beyond a little dollop of whipped cream hanging off the end of her nose— she risked a tiny sip. "Oh fuck yes," she breathed, her cheeks going red as she greedily sucked down the rest."

"Told you," said Crowning, taking another sip of his own to hide his triumphant smirk.

"I'm never doubting you again."


	10. Chapter 10: Fruit Loops!

**Chapter 10: Fruit Loops!**

Johnston was well into her second bowl of fruit loops. That was her favorite part, she'd decided. Right when the cereal turned into a contiguous whole, and the dividing line between soggy cereal bits and sugar-laden milk simply faded into a bowl of multicolored sludge.

"I love the future!" screamed the little destroyer, turning heads clear across the officer's mess. Johnston smiled as she spooned another helping of the delicious elixir of the gods into her mouth, her body starting to buzz from the accumulated sugar high.

"That can't be good for you," sighed Hoel though a mouthful of Nutella-covered toast,"'s nothing but sugar."

"I know!" said Johnston, holding her spoon in the air like she was King Arthur himself before dramatically bringing it down to grab another mouthful of her so-called breakfast.

Heermann just quietly smiled to herself, enjoying her eggs and toast while her sisters bickered.

"Your sisters are very…" Fubuki looked over,a little ball of rice grasped between the ends of her polished wood chopsticks.

"Yup," agreed Heermann, taking another bite of toast.

"Poi~" sighed Yuudachi, her chin resting on the table as she stared at the pudding she'd gotten, apparently _willing_ it to leap into her waiting mouth.

"Yo, nuggets!" the distinctively commanding voice of New Jersey herself instantly shook the girls out of their early-morning stupor. For a moment, there was utter calm. Johnston and Hoel stopped bickering mid-sentence, their heads slowly pivoting to face Jersey with the oiled mechanical grace of their 5in/38s.

Heermann and Fubuki abruptly dropped their conversation, the Japanese girl going stock-straight in her seat while Heermann just froze. Only Yuudachi seemed unaffected, but that was because she was going very still in the hope that she'd avoid detection.

Then, Johnston exploded into action, her spoon clattering to the floor as she threw her hands in the air. "I didn't mean to!" She said, her big brown eyes pleading as she stared up at Jersey.

"What?" said Jersey, her nose crinkling up a fraction as she stared at the little destroyer.

"Yeah, we're really sorry," said Hoel, pursing her lips and giving her best set of adorable-destroyer-eyes to Jersey.

"The hell?" grunted the battleship, looking to Heermann for an explanation.

"Uh… what my sisters mean," said the last of the trio, steeping her hands over her meal in what she hoped was a thoughtful manner, "Is that whatever we've done to make trouble for the admiral-"

"We're really really sorry," said the three taffies in harmony.

"We're trying our best to be good," said Johnston, her hands hovering in the air as she tried to decide if a hug was worth trying for. "Honest."

"Aw, hell, kids…" Jersey sighed, rubbing her temples with one hand as she stole a piece of toast off Hoel's plate, "I'm not here to- why do you think you're in trouble?"

"Because… it's eight," said Johnston.

"In the morning," added Hoel.

"So?" said Jersey, her hands crossing against her chest.

"It's eight."

"In the morning."

Jersey scowled, "Okay, first off, fuck you."

Johston beamed like she'd just gotten complimented by God—or maybe even SecNav—himself.

"And second of all, Skipper wants to see you-" Jersey waved her hand in a lazy circle, generally indicating the gaggle of destroyers, "-in the briefing room in thirty."

"Oh," said Hoel, nodding as she processed this new morsel of information. "You mean we're really not in trouble?"

"Do you wanna be?"

"N-no. Not really, no."

Jersey smiled, glancing over her shoulder at the rows of Navy culinary ratings standing behind the day's breakfast options. More than a few had gone white as sheets by the time Jersey'd turned back to her stable of destroyers. "The hell's White?"

"Oh," said Heermann, her chest puffing with pride, "she ate early. I think she's with Yeoman Gale."

The battleship nodded. "What about her?" she asked, waving in the general direction of the frozen Yuudachi.

"P-poi~" explained the Japanese destroyer.

Jersey shrugged. "Good enough. Fubuki-"

"Hai, Jersey-Sempai!"

"Know the way to the briefing room?"

Fubuki nodded.

"Outstanding. Show the taffies the way," said Jersey, her head pivoting as the smell of freshly-cooked sausage wafted though the air. "I'll… uh…" her feet brought her a few steps closer, evidently without her knowledge or consent, "I'll meet you there."

—|—|—

White sat at the very front of the briefing room, her hands poised over her open notebook, ready to take down her Admiral's every word. Around her, scattered about the desk seemingly at random, were at least a dozen tiny figures in miniature leather flying jackets.

Williams blinked. The figures remained, each holding their minute clipboards at the ready, their beady eyes locked on him.

"White?"

"Yes, Admiral?" chirped the carrier, puffing out her ruddy cheeks as she smiled.

"Are… those your pilots?"

"Mmhm!"

Williams blinked again, unsure of what he'd expected in response. Before he could let his mind slip further into the infinite abyss of ever-increasing strangeness that was commanding kanmusu, the doors burst open with a thunder of pounding destroyer footsteps.

"Sorry we're late!" barked Johnston, flying down the aisle at a dead sprint. She just barely skidded to a stop before slamming into the front of Williams' khaki uniform. "USS Johnston, reporting!" she said, snapping her hand to her brow so fast she sent the feathers of her headdress quivering.

"USS Hoel, I'm here too!" snapped Hoel, bouncing on her heels so hard she actually left the deck as she saluted.

"USS Heermann reporting," said Heermann, offering a relatively demure salute with one hand and… And a shiny red apple with the other.

"Destroyer Yuudachi here," said Yuudachi with a smile and one of her trademark "poi!"s.

"Naka-Chan, desu," said the frilly orange torpedo cruiser, throwing up a cutesy grin.

"Fubuki, desu!" said the special-type destroyer, dipping her torso in a polite bow before proceeding to her seat without further pageantry.

Williams blinked again. Without a word he turned on his heel, walking over to set the apple on the briefing room podium as he prayed for the universe to regain some kind of decorum.

"Hey," said White, her chair creaking as the little CVE bounced up and down, "Where's-"

""m here," grunted Jersey as she backed though the briefing room doors, her voice muffled by the huge chunk of buttery toast rammed up her maw. She had what looked like a solid third of the breakfast menu with her, piled high on her ample chest like it was a shelf. "Sur," she said, bumping Johnston with her hip as she scooted into a set.

"Oh, are those lemon?" said Hoel, reaching over to snag a tart off the portable buffet tray that was Jersey's chest. Johnston just let out a tiny 'eep' before turning to stare intently at Williams.

"Commander?" sighed the Admiral.

"Hmm?" Jersey gulped, an implausibly large piece of toast simply disappearing down her gullet. "Oh, right," she—with plenty of help from an enthusiastic Johnston—relocated her rack full of snacks to a neat pile on her desk. "Attention on deck!" she barked, bolting to her full height.

The other destroyers, plus one CVE, one CL, and _way to many_ teeny aviator faries, leaped to attention with a shuffle of desks and chairs.

"As you were," said Williams, turning to the projection screen that dominated the front half of the briefing room.

With a nod from the Admiral, a map of the entire northern-Pacific flickered into existence, drawing "oohs" from the taffy-3 destroyers. NAVSTA Everett and Yokosuka naval base were pointed out with blue markers, and red hatching displayed the approximate extent of Abyssal-controlled sea. Lots of red hatching. Too much red hatching.

"This is Japan," said Williams, waving his laser-pointer at the island nation. A tiny island of blue in a sea of bloody red. "It, like most of the Pacific Islands, depend on the ocean for food. An Ocean which is currently in hostile hands."

The room was silent except for the sounds of pencils scribbling against paper.

"We," continued the Admiral, waving his pointer over the American heartland, "Have enough food and grain to supply them twice over, "But the problem is making the trans-Pacific run. The JMSDF-"

Naka leaned over to Johnston, "Japanese Navy," she whispered, sending a ripple of nods though the destroyer cadre.

"-are preoccupied with _keeping_ what sea they have," said Williams,"and we haven't had the forces to run more than token convoys. Until now." He gave the assembled cluster of kanmusu a nod.

"We've assembled a task force of twelve modified bulk carriers-" the projector switched to display a a massive floating brick decked out in slap-dash camouflage with sandbagged missile emplacements on its bows and sterns. Jersey recognized it as one of the cargo ships she'd spotted whens she first arrived at Bremerton. "-with a total dead-weight tonnage of just over two-and-a-half-million metric tonnes."

The room was silent except for a whispered "Woooooow" from Hoel and a surprised "ppoi~" from Yuudachi.

"And we're sending them all in one go," said Williams, tabbing back to the map of the Pacific and watching as a dotted line arched up along the Alaskan coast before dashing for Japan. "Japan's been running on borrowed time, but if we pull this off, we'll buy them a month. Maybe more."

The destroyers nodded, and White's pilots doubled over their clipboards, tiny pencils scribbling furiously.

"Abyssal forces," continued Williams, "Have so far been concentrated in the western Pacific, which means once you cross the IDL, you'll be running into the heart of enemy-held waters."

Johnston and Hoel smirked, sharing a high-five much less stealthily than they thought while Heermann just rolled her eyes.

Williams huffed, tapping his hands against his pants pockets for a moment. "Due to the great importance of this convoy… you'll be joined by Japanese kanmusu for the final leg."

The room fell silent as Williams gazed at the assembled girls.

"That won't be a problem, sir!" said Hoel.

"Yeah!" said Johnston, "Nips are our friends now, right?"

"Johnston?" sighed Jersey, rubbing at her temples.

"Yeah?" chirped the feathered little murderball.

"Fuck it," breathed the battleship, "You tried."

"Sir," said Heermann, her hand held so high in the air it was almost touching the lighting fixtures.

"Yes, Heermann?" said Williams.

"Do we know who'll make up the SDF task force?"

The Admiral sighed, "I'm afraid not. The situation's too fluid, but they'll send what ships they can spare." He paused, glancing at his briefing notes to find his place. "Task force will depart at 0300 on the 5th under overall command of USS _New Jersey_."

Jersey nodded, scribbling something down on the notebook she'd fished out of her mountain of snacks. "Uh… White, I'd like to get with you and discuss ASW tactics before we ship out."

White nodded, grinning from ear to ear at the thought of working so close to a battleship. "Sure thing!"

Williams tapped his hands against the podium with an air of finality, "I'm sure you've all got matters to handle before H-hour, I suggest you get to them. Any questions should be addressed to Jersey or myself. Look over the plan," he nodded to the pile of manila folders at the front of the briefing room, "and don't be shy about expressing your opinions. You girls have more applicable surface warfare experience than anyone alive."

Johnston beamed.

"Dismissed."

The room exploded with the sound of chairs skidding against linoleum and running shoes padding across the floor. Johnston and Hoel bolted for the folders, both hell-bent on being the first to grab the manila tomes from heavenly instructions. The other destroyers—and White—were a little more organized, and Jersey just slouched back in her chair, picking at a pop tart.

"Jersey?" said Williams.

"Yeah?" said the battleship, glancing up with a pop-tart resting against her breast.

The Admiral glanced at the pack of destroyers, waiting until they'd filed out. "Keep an eye on those girls."

"Sir?" said Jersey, brushing crumbs off her navy-blue shirt as she walked over.

"If we're going to win this war, we need to go on the offensive," said Williams, his hands resting in his pockets as he stared at the bloody map. "And there's no way in hell we can do that with one battleship, three destroyers and a CVE. Not if we want to keep convoys running."

"You… you want to bring IJN boats here?" asked Jersey, the cogs in her brain whirring away behind those chillingly blue eyes.

Williams nodded, "Which we can't do if Taffy 3 goes all…"

"Murder-happy?"

"Yeah," said Williams with a smirk, "So watch them. If they can't interact with IJN personnel-"

"I don't think it'll be a problem, sir," said Jersey, puffing her cheeks out before slowly sighing the air back out. "Those girls… they're terrified of letting you down. They won't like it, but they won't cause trouble."

"Let's hope," said Williams. "And Jersey, one more thing."

"Sir?"

"You're scheduled for a press conference tomorrow evening."

In an instant Jersey's composure shifted from calm, collected Naval officer to little girl who just got told she had to take the garbage out _and_ do the dishes. "Oh shit, really?"

Williams nodded, "People are scared. Of the war, of the Abyssals… hell, even of you." He waved in the general direction of the shipgirl dorms. "SecNav wants you in front of a camera. We need to show people that we're still in the fight."

"And… that I'm not some monster, right, sir?" said Jersey, "That's why Naka does her…" the battleship splayed her knees in a passable impression of the torpedo-cruiser-idol's cutesy poses, "weird…jap… singer shit, right?"

Williams nodded again.

"Straight from SecNav?"

"Yeah."

"Fine," said the battleship with a scowl, "but I'm _not_ putting on a dress!"


	11. Chapter 11: Get It Away!

**Chapter 11: Get It Away!**

A series of brief knocks against the laminated office door roused Admiral Williams out of his paperwork-and-e-mail induced mediation. "Enter," he said, not even glancing up from the glowing LDC in front of him.

"Morning, uh, Admiral," said the calm, composed, and notably _male_ voice of Doctor Crowning.

Williams didn't even bother to hide his relived sigh as he looked up at the professor, sitting back in his chair with a weary smile. "Yeah, Doc?"

"I'm not.. disturbing you, am I, Admiral?" said Crowning, his hands firmly planted in the pockets of his well-worn jacket.

Williams smiled, shaking his head as he waved the academic off. "No, not at all. Actually… you have no idea how glad I am that _you're_ the one bothering me."

Crowning knit his brow, glancing aside in thought.

"For eight months, I had three girls on this base," said Williams, holding up the last three fingers of his hand. "And they caused me no end of headaches… and now I've got five more. Only _one_ of which is, _maybe_ sane." He laughed, idly tabbing though the newest batch of requisition forms. Ever since White had shown up, he was getting almost daily request for—to quote the officially submitted and increasingly more desperate forms from Yeoman Gale—"More Plushies."

"I was a college professor, Admiral," said Crowning with a weary smile, "For English, at that."

Williams stifled a chuckle, drumming a quick beat against his desk. "I'm just glad every time I have a problem that's _not_ somehow my girls' fault. So, what can I do for you?"

"Actually… I was going to ask you the same question," said Crowning, glancing over the rows of naval-history books and lovingly-painted models—all of which were modern-ear, he noticed.

Williams lifted an eyebrow, motioning for the professor to continue.

"I've… I've just been sitting around for days," said Crowning, tapping his shoe against the floor, "There's no way I can help with the naval side, I'm probably worse than useless."

Williams nodded in agreement, "Doc, no one's keeping you here. If you want to head home, we'll find you a flight."

"No, it's not that," said Crowning, "I think…I hope that…" he stopped, taking a breath as he organized his words, "I want to figure out how Jersey summoned those destroyers. And- and maybe even repeat it."

"You think you can do that?" said Williams, suddenly very interested as he leaned forwards over his desk.

"Yes." said Crowning, his gaze fixed on Crowning, "Because I'm not giving up until I do."

Williams smiled, "I like the spirit, doc. What do you need?"

"A- a band, for one," said Crowning, "A Navy band, but not the full…" he waved his hands in inarticulate circles of enthusiasm, "the full military ensemble. I- I need sailors who can rock."

Williams smiled, already sorting though a mental list of candidates, "I think I can find a few."

—|—|—

"Oh my god, you're such a child," said Gale, scowling as she leaned forwards, trying to sneak a stick of lipstick past Jersey's spectacularly good defenses.

Jersey hissed in response, recoiling from the cosmetic like it was a Long Lance torpedo headed straight for her magazine. Her teeth were bared and her icy eyes locked on the waxy red tip, following its every move with the kind of attention normally reserved for neurosurgery or professional sports.

"It's lipstick! It won't kill you!"

"I look _fine_ ," scowled Jersey, her icy eyes boring holes though Gale's NWU fatigues and straight into her soul, "Skipper said I had to show up, _not_ get dolled up."

"You know what, fine," said Gale, capping her lipstick with a huff. As much as she hated to admit it… Jersey did look good. For a girl who slept until noon and ate literally anything and everything that found its way in front of her… she looked _damn_ good. Especially with that shirt and those shorts…

"Gale?"

"Ma'am?"

"Are you staring at me?"

"Uh… no?" Said Gale, biting the corner of her mouth as she tried to change subjects, "Oh, uh… the Taffies begged me to take them shopping, so… I'm gonna be off-base for the next while."

Jersey narrowed her eyes, "Uh huh," she said, sighing as she glanced towards the podium. She could tell there was a veritable horde of reporters waiting to lay into her with their words. And she couldn't even fire back! "Fuck it… let's get this over with."

"I'm sure you'll do fine, ma'am!" said Gale, snapping off a crisp salute complete with cheery smile.

"Ha ha-fuck you," growled Jersey. Then her face twisted into a sickeningly sweet smile, "Have fun at the mall."

She didn't get to see Gale's reaction, as a barrage of popping flashbulbs and clicking shutters exploded in her face, almost blinding her as she made her way to the podium. She heard someone—probably a Navy press secretary—try to quiet the crowd to no avail. Jersey _felt_ the chorus of questions from confused, desperate people break over her bow like an Atlantic storm, showering her decks with fear and confusion.

"HEY!" she barked, her booming voice echoing off the walls. "SHUT UP!"

The room instantly went dead silent, and seemed to get even _quieter_ as the battleship swept her icy gaze across the cluster of reporters.

"Now," she said, rubbing her temples as she slouched over the podium, propping herself up with her elbows, "Let's get this over with, yeah?"

More silence. Then an older man with his graying hair styled in a high-and-tight stood up, waving his hand in the battleship's General direction.

"Yo," said Jersey, motioning for him to continue.

"Jake Harrison, CNN," said the man, "Certain parts of the country have been very vocal about the President's pledge to extend naval assistance to our allies in the Pacific. What're your thoughts on this controversial issue?"

The press secretary next to Jersey almost _leaped_ forwards, his crisp white uniform in stunning contrast to the battleship's Navy-blue T-shirt. "That's a complicated issue, and for the time being-"

"No. It's not," said Jersey, her brows knitting as she fixed the secretary in her icy glare.

"Ma'am, please," said the sailor, his eyes wide as he all but begged the battleship to _shut the fuck up_ and let him do his job.

"I'm sorry," said Harrison, leaning a little closer to catch every word the returned battleship said, "Could you repeat that, ma'am?"

"It's _not_ a complicated issue," said Jersey, drawing herself to her full height, almost towering into the rafters as she stood on the elevated press platform. "They're our allies. Protecting them is what Americans _do_."

"Next question," said the secretary, shooting a pleading glance at Jersey. The battleship just shrugged.

"Sara Wilcox, MSNBC," said a blonde woman in a tightly fitted business suit, "What's your position on the President's economic policy? Are you worried about the effects that simply giving away millions of tons of American grain could have on the US economy?"

"Next question," said the Secretary, looking for someone _else_ to answer while he held Jersey back with his free hand.

Jersey's face dropped into an utterly dis believing scowl. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you people!"

The room went deathly silent, even the press secretary's desperate whimpering dropped into the subsonic range.

"Seriously," said Jersey, leaning forwards so she loomed over the podium. "What the _actual fuck?"_ Her scowl turned downright venomous as she raked each and every one in the room with her icy armor-piercing glare.

"Ma'am, please…" said the secretary.

Jersey ignored him. "You talk about… about fucking economic bullshit? Japan… Japan depends on the fucking sea. Without it, they're _starving._ And what the fuck do they do?"

Jersey was almost shaking with rage, her temples pulsing as she grit her teeth, her vision starting to tint red. "Any fucking one? Hmm? They send three of their girls, their _only fucking line of defense_ over _here_ to help our sorry asses. They're better Americans than any of you'll _ever be._ " She leaned back, scowling as she crossed her arms. "That's what I fucking think about the policy bullshit. Next question."

For a long moment, the room was quiet again, until another man stood up. A younger man with at least three days worth of unshaven but carefully-maintained stubble on his chin with a fashionable sweater tastefully unzipped to show his tie. "Jon Aaron, Wall Street Journal. My grandfather served with you during Korea."

Jersey's scowl softened fractionally.

"I… I just wanted to say thank you. And.. maybe get a selfie with you."

Jersey glanced over at the press secretary, her face a mask of utter confusion.

"A picture with you, ma'am," said the sailor. "Like… an autograph."

"Oh," said Jersey, her face going utterly flat. Then her cheeks puffed up in a huge smile. "Yeah! Yeah, sure get on up here!"

Aaron gave her a questioning look. "Right now, ma'am?"

"Why the hell not?" said Jersey, smiling happily as she nodded to the crowd of dumbstruck reporters, "It's not like they're doing anything useful."

A wave of nervous laughter rippled though the crowd as Aaron stepped up to the platform, the crown of his head barely coming to Jersey's nose.

"So, what do we-" Jersey's voice died in her throat as Aaron held up a slim plastic rectangle, framing the two of them in the TV screen that dominated one face. "Holy shit, the future's awesome," she said with a radiant smile.

"Uh, ma'am," said the secretary, "Is this really-"

"I outrank you," said Jersey with a cheeky grin, setting her hips at a slant as she posed for her picture.

"Yes, but-"

"Out. Rank. You," said Jersey, poofing her hair with her hand and starting to regret rejecting Gale's offer of lipstick ever so slightly.

Aaron smiled, tapping his magic rectangle a few times before putting it down, "Thank you, ma'am."

"Yeah, no problem!" said Jersey, her cheeks red as she smiled, giving him a handshake that somehow turned into an excited hug. "Um… yeah, so…" she tapped her hands together, staring into the crowd, "Anyone, uh… anyone else?"


	12. Chapter 12: MALL!

**Chapter 12: MALL!**

"Wait, _that's_ a mall?" said Johnston, her voice muffled by the tinted SUV window she'd smashed her face up against. "It's so big!"

Gale laughed, glancing at her hyper-energetic passengers for a moment in the rear view mirror. They'd been… honestly pretty awful on the drive, or at least Hoel and Johnston had been. Heermann just sorta… sat in the middle staring wistfully off into space.

"There's so many cars!" said Hoel, her flaming hair brushing against Gale's neck as the destroyer shoved her head between the front two seats.

"It's the day before Halloween," said Gale, turning off the road and into one of the vast—and filled almost to capacity—parking areas that surrounded the mall. "Parking's gonna be-"

Before she could finish her sentence she was interrupted by a rapid sequence of abnormal and worrying sounds. First, the oiled metal-on-metal _thunk_ of a car door being flung open. Then a giggling woop coming from somewhere in the back row. Finally, the fleshy _splat_ of meat against asphalt.

Almost like… Gale glanced over her shoulder, her face shifting almost instantly from 'worried curiosity' to 'long-suffering resignation.'

The door was open. Hoel was whooping with glee. Johnston lay in a heap in the middle of the parking lot, her feathers quivering as she skidded to a stop. And Heermann just had her face buried in her hands.

For a second, the universe seemed to freeze in place, almost as if reality itself was doing a double take. Then Johnston bounced to her feet, and flashed a cheeky thumbs up.

Hoel was the first to speak. "Gawd-dangit, Johnston!" she cried, undoing her buckle with one hand as she opened the door with the other. "Everyone, follow that destroyer!"

"Hoel, no!" Gale slammed on the brakes, trying to steer with one hand and restrain a hyper-energetic destroyer with seemingly no sense of self-preservation with the other. Not that it mattered, the redheaded little girl had already bailed out.

"I am _so_ sorry," said Heermann, letting out an exhausted sigh.

Gale scowled, her shoulders hunching as she focused on simply finding a parking spot. The destroyers and their antics… she'd cross that bridge—that structurally unsound bridge over shark infested waters that was also on fire—when she came to it.

After several minutes of searching—punctuated every few seconds by Heermann calling out an "open" space that ended up having a subcompact Japanese car in it—Gale finally pulled the SUV into an open spot in the remotest corner of a multi-level parking strucutre.

"Heya, Gale!" said Johnston, bounding over the decorative shrubbery with a running leap, her feathers bouncing behind her with her hyper-energetic gait. Her clothes were scuffed up, and she had an oil stain across her chest, but the girl inside them looked no worse for wear.

"Took you long enough!" said Hoel, jinking around the shrub instead of just vaulting it as she came hurling towards the SUV. "Hey, Heermann!"

Heermann waved, smiling as she frantically side-stepped away from where Gale was standing. It took the sailor a heartbeat to recognize _why_ the brunette destroyer did that.

Johnston came skidding to, not so much a _stop_ as a semi-controlled crash against Gale, faceplanting hard against the sailor's chest as she grabbed Gale's waist in a tight hug. Hoel hit mere seconds later, using Johnston's body to cushion her deceleration. "thanks so much for taking us!" said Hoel, looking up with an incandescent smile.

"Yeah, we really appreciate it!" said Johnston, squeezing Gale's waist before letting go, "And uh… sorry if that hurt."

"Yeah, you're not as soft as Jersey."

"Hoel!" hissed Heermann, waving her hand across her throat as fast as she could.

"Oh…" Hoel furrowed her brow, her gaze slowly falling from Gale's expression of angry bewilderment down to the sailor's chest, which wasn't even close to Jersey's… displacement. "OH! SORRY!" she said, instantly releasing the hug and leaping away. "Sorrysorrysorry!"

Johnston just giggled, nuzzling up against Gale before letting her go, "We still love you, Gale!"

—|—|—

Gale tried to scowl, she really did. But in spite of her best efforts, she felt her cheeks twitching in a smile. "Okay… fine, but you girls owe me."

All three destroyers nodded in unison.

After a brisk walk though the food court in which all three destroyers eyed the slowly-cooking soft pretzels then vehemently denied they were hungry, Gale and her little cluster of sleeveless destroyer girls made it to the mall proper.

"Where do we wanna go?" asked Johnston, her hands on her hips as she stared down the mall directory, her eyes narrowed to slits as she all but challenged it to a gun duel at high noon.

"Dunno, Gale?" said Heermann, pivoting on her heel to see if the sailor had any input.

Before she could speak up, Hoel taped excitedly on the directory, "Ooh, it says there's a shop called 'Victoria's Secret'."

"Ooh, sounds classy," said Johnston, tugging her feathers straight and looking to Hoel for confirmation.

"Totally," said Hoel, bouncing on her heels as she nearly _vibrated_ with energy.

"I wonder if they mean Queen Victoria?" said Heermann, bouncing over to join her sisters.

"Lets find out!" said Hoel, throwing her hand up in the air. "Taffy 3! CHAAAAARGE!"

The three destroyer girls bolted down the polished tile floors, effortlessly ducking and weaving though the crowd as they sprinted as fast as their little legs and sixty-thousand shaft horsepower could take them.

Gale didn't even try to follow them. On her best day she couldn't run half as fast as those little demons, and there was no way she could navigate the tightly-packed mass of humanity that was a Friday afternoon at the mall. That, and the destroyers could stand to learn a lesson or two on their own. She just walked over to a nearby bench and sat down, glancing at her watch and counting off the seconds.

"Why did we do that!" Hoel's voice showed up a few seconds before the destroyer did. Her mouth hung open in horror, and her eyes were unfocused as she stared into the distance.

"I feel so violated," muttered Heermann, clutching her hands to her small, but still substantial for a destroyer—chest, as she shuffled over to Gale.

"We _have_ to take Jersey here sometime!" said Johnston, a smirk on her face as she bounced over, still bubbly and unaffected as ever.

"Lewd!" hissed Hoel, elbowing her sister in the belly.

Gale laughed, rolling her eyes at the squabbling destroyer girls. "Did you girls learn your lesson?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Hoel, looking at her shoes as she fiddled with her belt.

"Yes, ma'am," chorused Heermann, although she met Gale's eyes with hers.

"Ooh, what's that?" said Johnston, her head whipping around as she spotted…

Gale's face drained white. Across the junction was a small store with a neon sign proclaiming it to be "ANIME WORLD." Brightly colored costumes and posters Gale could only assume were from various anime were hung on proud display, along with a… with a…

"I.. think it's Naka?" said Hoel, her nose scrunching up as she looked over a life-size cardboard standup of Naka looking cutesy and holding a mic in her hand.

"Where's her stacks though?" said Heermann, standing on tiptoes to get a better view.

"No, that's definitely Naka," said Johnston, putting her head down like it was a battering ram and charging off though the crowd. "Follow me!"

Hoel was hot on her heels, panting as she tried to overhaul Johnston. And Heermann was… was still standing by Gale's side, staring blankly into the distance.

Gale bit her lip. She was thanking her lucky stars that at least one of her three charges had ran out of energy. But she could tell there was something wrong with the little destroyer. "You okay, hun?"

"Hmm?" said Heermann, snapping out of her daze as she looked up at Gale.

"You don't want to go play with your sisters?"

Heermann shook her head, stepping closer to give Gale a hug. "No, I'm okay," she said, her already quiet voice even softer than usual. The little destroyer sighed, her big hazel eyes slick with barely held-in tears.

Gale made a soft humming sound of concern, gently guiding Heermann over to a bench where the two could sit.

"I'm… I'm not really one of them," said Heermann, teetering over until she fell down against Gale's lap. "I'm not a taffy."

"Hmm?" cooed Gale, gently running her hand over Heermann's shimmering brown hair and stroking at her braid.

"I didn't go down fighting," said Heermann, snuggling up closer to the sailor. "I… I survived the war," she said, sniffing and rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. "I even got given to the Argentinians after."

"So? Lots of ships survived the war."

"But not them!" said Heermann, waving towards the commotion occurring on the other side of the hall, "They… they went under when I was just plinking away! I spent ten minutes running!"

"Heermann, I've _read_ the history books," said Gale, ignoring the odd questioning stare from a passerby as she tried to calm the destroyer, "You girls fought like lions. All of you."

"But _they_ went down swinging," said Heermann, "Like Sammy B… I just…" she sniffed, and Gale frantically started digging though her purse for a pack of tissues. "What if they don't want to be friends with me."

Gale stopped, of all the things she was expecting… "W-what?" she asked, handing Heermann a kleenex.

Heermann took it with a smile, dabbing at her nose before continuing. "They don't… really have anyone else _but_ me. And… I don't think they like me."

"Oh, honey-"

"I woke up one morning," said Heermann, "And they were just _gone_."

Gale bit back a curse. She'd caught Jersey cuddling with the other two taffies, but hadn't thought anything of it. "I- I'm not sure-"

"HEY!" the thunderously loud bark of USS Johnston shattered any sense of calm. "Hey, lookit!" she bounced over, Hoel and… a slightly shorter, slightly chubbier Naka wearing thin-rimmed glasses in tow. "lookit lookit!"

Heermann bolted upright, frantically stuffing the tissue in her pants pocket and putting on a rough-and-ready scowl.

"It's not really Naka," explained Hoel, waving to the throughly-confused looking girl.

"Yeah, her name's Hannah," said Johnston, "She's a- a what did you say you were?"

"Cosplayer," said the girl, looking to Gale with a timid smile. "Are- are these your girls?"

"Apparently," sighed Gale.

"You- you look really good," said Heermann, her voice only the tiniest bit softer than usual.

"Yeah," said Johnston, "You got her outfit spot-on."

"Hey, Gale," said Hoel, "Do you have one of those camera thingies?"

"You… mean my phone?" said Gale, glancing to 'Hannah' and and offering a questioning glance.

"Yeah, that!" said Hoel.

"You mind?" asked Gale.

The girl shook her head, putting her arms around Johnston and Hoel and slipping into one of Naka's adorably cutesy smiles.

"Hey!" Johnston barked, "We need _all of the taffies!_ Heermann, get your scrawny butt up here!"

"We're… all _Fletchers_ ," said Heermann, sniffing quietly as she walked over, her face twitching towards a grin.

"Yeah, but _she's_ " Hoel jabbed her chin towards Johnston, "a dummy."

Johnston smiled from ear to ear, "I really am."

Gale rolled her eyes, holding up her phone. "Say cheese."

"Cheese!" chorused all three destroyers.

"Thanks so much!" said Johnston, giving the costumed girl a hug.

"No problem!" said Hannah, spreading her skirt in a curtsy, "I really like your costumes too!"

Johnston looked to Hoel.

Hoel looked to Heermann.

Heermann looked to Gale.

Gale shrugged.

"We're…" Johnston looked back to Hannah, "We're not wearing costumes."

"Yeah," added Hoel, "We just dress like this."

Heermann smiled sweetly for a second before Johnston elbowed her in the gut. "Oh, right. 'cause we're awesome."

Hannah stared slack-jawed at the three destroyers, her head slowly pivoting back to Gale. "They-They-"

"They're Destroyers?" said Gale, smirking in spite of herself that someone else was getting drawn into the hornets' nest of hyperactive shipgirls. "Yeah. Johnston, Hoel, and Heermann," she finished, pointing out each girl in turn.

"OhEmGEEEEEE!" squealed Hannah, her voice going so high it almost fell off the audible register."CanIpleasepleasepleasegetapicturewiththem?" she said, frantically jabbing her phone at Gale.

"I love malls!" screamed Johnston.

* * *

 **Uploader's Notes: Some Authors notes for you guys below...**

 **A/N: And thus, enter the world of insane DDs that is Yeoman Gale's life now. One of them is even a bit lewd! (not nearly as bad as the lewdmarine though, at least not yet...) And canonically, they went to the Alderwood mall, which** ** _does_** **have an Anime World kitty-cornered from a Victoria's Secret.**

 **They also have a forever 21, which is where I was**

 ** _originally_** **gonna send the girls, but the one-two punch of VS and Anime was too funny to pass up.**


	13. Omakes

**Uploader's Note: And now a word from our author.**

 **Author's Note: Omakes and extras! There's fanfic of my fanfic so you can read while you read!**

 **Omakes & Extras  
**

* * *

 **Taffy vs the Center Fleet (Non-Canon)**

 **By Jon Berry**

Yamato had made it quite clear to the other heavy ships that it would be she who would be giving the orientation tour to the American Task Force that had arrived at the base to reinforce their position against the Abyssal threats. Nagato had accepted her offer, knowing full well that if she tried, she would give up within minutes of being surrounded by the cute American Destroyers, Destroyer Escorts and Escort Carriers. Instead, she had assigned herself the task of assisting the Admiral as they briefed the New Jersey and the Lexington on the strategic situation around Japan.

Quite a few people were tip-toeing around the fact that there was a mark of pride to be settled between the Iowa-Class and Yamato-Class for who was the better ship, despite New Jersey's protesting otherwise, citing her years of service with IJN allies. It wasn't like she was Missouri, who still bore a grudge.

The Yamato-led tour was mostly quiet. The Battleship was the picture of perfect politeness as she led the thirteen smaller ships in formation around the base. That they themselves were respectful for the Battleship - out of terror or awe - only made things easier for everyone involved. She showed them the docks, the repair bays, the machine shop, the mess and other sundry locations for the day-to-day living on the base.

When it came time to show them to their living quarters, she led them into the building set aside for the Americans. Yamato had led the efforts to get this building ready, getting certain other ships to work with her without much in the way of arguments.

"This," she said as she reached the first room, opening it to show to the Destroyers, "is for the New Jersey." She turned to the lead Destroyer, Johnston, and smiled. "Please let her know when she comes in." The Destroyer nodded silently, gazing in awe at the large, well furnished room, fit for a Battleship.

She then led them down to the next room, and opened it up. "For Lexington," she said, and the Destroyers took in the room meant for the Fleet Carrier.

Then Yamato came to the third room. "Johnston," she said, addressing the lead Destroyer. "For you," she opened the door into a room every bit as well prepared as the two previous. Ignoring the stuttering from behind her she advanced to the next room. "Roberts," she opened up another full sized room. Then the fifth. "Hoel."

"Stop!" Johnston finally found her voice, even as she shielded her eyes under the cap that bore her name, registry number and silhouette of her hull. All the smaller American ships had those to help identify who was who in larger groups. "Those are rooms for Battleships! Not Destroyers!"

Yamato glared at her, which was extremely effective given that she herself had more displacement than all the other ships combined. "What is your point?" she asked. "I remember you. All of you." She let her memory drift back to that fateful day, then returned to the present. "I don't care what guns you may have. I don't care for your tonnage. I remember fighting you, and I know that you are all Battleships and Fleet Carriers. And so long as I have any say in the matter, you will be treated as such to the best of our ability, am I clear?"

The swarm of Destroyers giving her hugs in thanks was all she needed to know that she had done well.

* * *

 **A Certain Lady (Non-Canon)**

 **By Old Iron**

"Her birth had been celebrated. Hailed as peerless, donning arms of thunder and armor of titans. Her life had been mediocre. Training for battle, yet never once firing her guns in anger. Her deeds had been few. A rescue, a film, a glorified deterrent and tour guide. Her death had been wretched. Rent asunder and left to a slow, agonizing end. He-" The man's voice was cut off abruptly as the rather thick tome which had served as the source of his oration was plucked rather forcefully from his hands. He looked up towards the source of the theft with a baleful gaze, one not so different from his usual visage were one to ask any number of his contemporaries. A small squeak came from the door before it slammed shut with no small amount of haste.

"To start, stop glaring. You're going to give Fubuki a heart attack." A feminine tone, low and with an undercurrent of constant exhaustion cut through whatver complaint the man behind the desk was about raise. The plundered book was thrust forward towards his face and came quite close to flattening his nose. With a sigh, he slumped back into the highly subjective comfort of his chair and waited for the voice's owner to continue. "To finish, didn't I tell you to stop reading such romanticized garbage?"

"I've given up counting if you want to know how often." The remark was not quite snide, but certainly not amused. He crossed his arms as he finally took in the sight of the irate woman who so often barged in on his down time. Tall and with the build of a boxer, the copper haired woman seemed to radiate a kind of never ending tension. It was hard to tell whether it was the caffeine she consumed almost non-stop or just a state of self inflicted hyper-awareness. He supposed the fact she rarely ever seemed to sleep might have something to do with that. The dark rings under her eyes would at least attest to the notion.

"Four hundred and eighty two as of now." She slammed the heavy book onto the desk with a gloved hand. Both it and her other hand were covered in heavy gloves that led into the sleeves of a well worn, but still well cared for longcoat. The man guessed that any number of the excuses she wore to adorn herself with such a coat regardless of the weather worked. However were he to put money on it, he'd say it was to keep prying eyes away from the fact most of her left arm and no small amount of her flank on the same side bore vicious scars and malevolent looking burn. It was rare for a girl to hang onto such wounds, but she did.

It didn't account for the portions that crept up her neck and cut into her chin, but there was only so much her blue and gold colored handkerchief could hide.

"When was the last time you got some rest?" The man with captain's panels on his shoulders finally groused out as he sat up. He reached out and grabbed a pen, ignoring the woman's tired glare. Looks like it was time to have the base doctor throw her weight around a bit. Again.

"I don't have time to sleep and you know that. There's too much to do around here and the enemy won't wait until we're all nice and prepared." Left unsaid was the answer to the captain's question. She hated sleeping. The last time she took a nap that lasted too long, she was awakened by fire and death. Her alarm clock had been the screams of aircraft, the howl falling ordinance, and the tortured ends of her crew. She refused to be caught unawares ever again. It was a duty she made damn well sure to live up to. And if she needed to grind that same notion into those around her, the ones who would lead, who would follow, and would stand alongside, then so be it.

Regardless of personal cost, she would make amends to those she believed she had failed.

She would bring up those behind with knowledge gained.

She would storm on ahead with furious guns and raging torpedos.

She would do now what she could not do then.

Such was the will.

Such was _her_ will.

The will of Battleship Arizona.

* * *

 **The Humble Man (Non-Canon)**

 **By Chilord**

When they had told him that they had finally summoned forth spirits from America's seas, he'd felt a great surge of hope pass through him. The men and women of the Naval forces had fought, bravely, desperately to overcome the enemy that had risen up from the depths to take back the great seas that covered most of their planet.

They fought valliantly, defiantly, and it had seemed almost futilely. They fought against an enemy that was slowly, steadily eating them alive, feasting upon their sacrifice and seemingly turning every victory to ash in their still, even knowing this, they still fought.

It had left him a humbled man, when he had been to their bases and watched as the ships had sailed full of brave sailors and marines. It had almost left him broken, when they returned, less than they were, faces worn and grim and tired. He'd spoken to them, offered what encouragement he could.

Then they turned, a hot meal in their bellies and a single night's rest in warm beds, and sailed out once more without complaint or hesitation.

When he'd been elected to the Presidency of these United States, he had thought to himself he had achieved the greatest of achievements, and proven himself worthy of praise.

It was a bitterness now to realize how arrogant he had been. How foolish and prideful. It was power, yes. More power than he now thought a man should have, and with it, a crushing responsibility.

Their lives had been in his hands. And when the first detachment had returned, he almost made it the last. To see the wounded. To have the loses so plainly lain before him. To realize how many brave lives had been snuffed out under the orders he had given.

And it had been an almost physical blow to realize that they demanded he give them again.

And again.

And again.

He had played the part of the politician for so long. He had spoken the words praising military men for their service their sacrifice. He had offered hollow, empty words as simple platitudes to sooth what he thought of as too easily ruffled feathers.

Only now, he was starting to realize just how foolish he had been. He was begining to understand how much he had needed to be humbled. And he wished, so very badly, that the price had not been so many lives given so bravely and so willingly.

So, now he stood there, on a podium emblazoned with a familiar seal. Behind him, Old Glory flew, flanked by a vanguard of the Naval Jacks and the Marine Corps Standards flying proud. Before him, two sharp lines of dress blues tall and proud and at full attention. He wore a simple suit, made by a humble tailor in the town near the base.

His lips were dry and his throat tight as he took a moment to review the words he had labored so long to write. They told him that they could not expect them to rise up out of duty, that their situation, for all the cost and bravery, wasn't the same as the Japanese or the British. They could not demand their return to a fight when their country did not live completely by the whims of the sea as the others did.

They had to give them reason. They had to make their case. They had to give them cause.

His eyes turned to the ships standing there, tall and proud and at attention. But if you did, they would come. And they would fight, and they would, by God, win.

The snap of the snare could be heard behind him, before the sharp beat of a drum cadence rolled through the air. When it faded, the Marine Corps band took up their instruments, and softly the notes of Eternal Father, Strong to Save filled the air.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking one last deep breath, before opening his gaze and staring at head, as his voice rose up and and rolled through the air.

"You have earned your honored rest. Your honor, your glory, your service unquestioned. Through your struggles, your sacrifices, your will, our people, our nation, our world has known a peace like no other. You have earned your rest, in the halls of glory.

"We have no right to ask this of you now, but we watch, helpless as our world faces a threat that seeks to break our spirits by forcing us to watch as the seas you paid so dearly to break peace and justice to become home to a threat that wishes nothing short of our destruction.

"We have no right to ask this of you, for this is not our darkest hour. We have our god given prosperity, we have our bounty, our plenty, and we could watch and do nothing as the world around us is swallowed by despair.

"But that is not who we are. That is not our way. This is America. The home of the Free. The land of the Brave.

"So, we ask of you, to lend us your spirit once more. Your honor, your valor, your service. We ask of you, to help the giant wake once more and help us Avenge the lives that have been taken from us. Help us to take back what has been so brutally stolen. We ask of you to fight with us once more."

And with a solemn bow of his head, he added in a soft voice caught by the microphone. "Please. Do not let them have died in vain."

* * *

 **New Jersey's Log Entries (Semi-Canon)**

"To Watch: 'Battleship', 'The Final Countdown' (get White), 'Star Wars'(Yes? no?)"  
[messy graphs and lots of math. Caption: "Club haul?"]

"PLUSHIES!"  
"Remeber: 'Reddit'."  
"BA BA-BABA! John Cena's theme!"  
[doodles of smilies]  
"Get Naka something nice."  
"Get Crowning something nice."  
[doodles of fish]

"The F is Soy Milk."  
"Soy Milk is 'food'."  
"Do *not* eat the soy milk."

"todo: show White Top Gun + Star Wars (IV)."  
[doodles of F-14 Tomcats with "woosh" scribbled around them.]  
[doodle of X-wing.]  
"NEVER SHOW WHITE ANYTHING! EVER! BAD JERSEY!"

"What the hell does 'poi' mean?"  
"don't ask Naka what 'poi' means."  
"don't ask Fubuki what 'poi' means."

"fubuki + rice = funny?"  
[doodle of Fubuki]

"Lenin Statue Fremont?"  
"todo: acquire spray paint, fish, White."

"NO MORE SPONGEBOB!"  
[doodle of "SPAAAAACE BATTLESHIP NEW JERSEY!"]

"Shopping!"  
"Don't take Crowning shopping."  
[scrawled note added on to above: "Don't take poi _anywhere_."]

"COOKIE DOUGH ICE-CREAM! NOM!"  
"What the F is 'Dess'?"


	14. Chapter 13: Jersey-Sempai

**Chapter 13: Jersey-Sempai**

Fubuki hummed to herself as she stepped into the dockyard locker room. It was nice to be _able_ to hum. Yuudachi always wanted to talk, Naka tended to sing to herself, and the Americans… well, Fubuki had yet to take a bath where Johnston and Hoel _didn't_ try to instigate a water fight.

The special-type destroyer pushed those thoughts from her mind as she undressed. The docks were a time for relaxation in warm, sweet-smelling water, not a time to make war! Even if it was pretend.

Making sure her uniform was neatly folded, Fubuki gathered her favorite bath soaps, and her toy aircraft carrier—the one she'd painted up to look like Akagi-Sempai— and stepped into the docks proper.

Warm, wet air tinted with the smells of salt and honey washed over her, making her feel at home. As she walked down the submerged steps, she felt the embrace of the sea wrap around her like a comforting blanket. She barely even made a wake in the glassy smooth water, it felt so good she could almost-

She wasn't alone. Fubuki fell back on her natural destroyer instincts, kicking off the bath floor and building up as much speed as she could while she frantically jinked to throw off return fire.

She got about three yards before she realized what she was doing, and slowly coasted to a stop. "S-sorry," she muttered, sinking down in the water until she felt it lap at her chin. She slowly turned in place, curious as to who was able to surprise her like that, the other girls were so much louder.

Then her eyes went wide, "J-Jersey-Sempai?"

The towering American battleship lay on her back in the corner of the tub, her head propped up against the poolside, and her frustratingly-developed AA suites bulging above the surface in a navy-blue bikini. Her hair was splayed out on the water's surface, forming a glimmering slick around her inert body.

Fubuki looked away, absent-mindedly covering herself as she cursed her rotten luck. Americans always made her feel self-conscious, always insisting on covering themselves in the bath—and having so _much_ to cover! Even Heermann or White could disrupt the tranquility of her bath!

But… Jersey-Sempai?

Fubuki bit her lip, rolling onto her belly and swimming over. She hoped her Sempai wouldn't mind… She seemed so much nicer than the Destroyers, maybe… Jersey wouldn't ask her to change?

"S-sempai?" asked Fubuki, gliding to a halt just before the shimmering slick of strawberry-blond hair surrounding the battleship. "Are you-oh!"

The two kanmusu weren't alone. A tiny fairy in oil-covered blue fatigues stood on the battleship's rippling stomach, her feet shifting every so often to keep on top of Jersey's semi-submerged abs as she breathed in and out. If she noticed Fubuki, the little fairy didn't show it, she was far to focused on her task.

Sitting next to her was miniature air-pump, the same kind that her own fairies used for underwater damage control. A thick rubber hose with electrical cords wrapped around it snaked over the battleship's toned side and slipped into the water.

Fubuki's gaze followed the hose. Then she gasped, her hand flying up to cover her face. A fairy in standard diving dress hung off the battleship's bare skin, a minute diving light in one hand. A damage control fairy. Fubuki'd seen them before, though she'd heard the American damage control was worlds better than her own.

But that wasn't what made her gasp.

Jersey's side was criss-crossed with an ugly, scarred wound. Her skin peeled back to show the substructure underneath. Blackened, twisted metal of torpedo-protection bulkheads gave way to what was unmistakable one of the battleship's boiler rooms. But one that'd been torn apart by the twin winds of enemy fire and a steam explosion.

Electrical cables hung randomly off her bulkheads, sparking intermittently as the damage-control fairy worked her way deeper into the battleship's horrific wound.

"I-I know what did this," breathed Fubuki, staring up at the fairy supervising from Jersey's tummy.

The fairy gave her a confused glance.

"That… that's an Oxygen Torpedo," said Fubuki, forcing her self to lean closer. She wanted to be wrong, _begged_ to be wrong. But it was unmistakable, she'd fired enough of them to know _exactly_ what they did to a ship, even a battleship.

"Jersey-Sempai," breathed Fubuki, sinking down to her chin in the warm water, the battleship's hair tickling at her skin. It didn't make any sense! Jersey wasn't hit like that, not during the war! Fubuki'd made _sure_ to read up on her new Sempai!

The fairy on her belly glanced over at Fubuki, shaking her oversized head with a sad sigh.

No… not during service. This is what killed her.

Fubuki gasped. Kanmusu were colored by their service, but never… never by their wounds. It didn't make any sense! She _saw_ Jersey in combat, she could never have moved like that with a gash in her hull, even _if_ all her boilers were working.

"What?" Fubuki glanced at the fairy, "what do you mean, 'only when she's sleeping'?"

The fairy nodded sadly, dropping to her knees to help the diver up.

Fubuki sat back, the poolside suddenly very cold against her bare skin. When she looked over at Jersey again, the faeries were gone, but the horrible gash on her belly remained, slowly seeping oil in a rainbow-colored plume.

The Destroyer bit her lip, building up courage deep within her machinery spaces. Then, after what felt like hours, she leaned over to rest her head against Jersey's shoulder.

Her Sempai was hurting, she decided. She wasn't going to leave her, not until she woke up.

* * *

 **Uploader's Note: Again, guys, I'm not writing any of this. I've just received permission to host it on FFN. He doesn't have an FFN account, although you can also find this story on Archive of Our Own.**


	15. Chapter 14: They LIGHT UP!

**Chapter 14: They LIGHT UP!**

"What you doing there, kiddo?"

Fubuki jolted awake, her body stiff with shock. She'd allowed herself to fall asleep! While she was guarding her beloved Sempai! That was- that was- The destroyer's eyes slowly ratcheted wider, letting out a very visible gulp as she suddenly realized _where_ she was sleeping.

Her head was firmly planted on Jersey-Sempai's chest, her short black hair sticking to the battleship's wet skin. For once, Fubuki was actually glad the Americans insisted on wearing swimwear into the docks.

"S-s-sorry, Sempai," she muttered, pulling herself away with as much grace as she could manage. She sat up straight against the poolside, staring at the opposite wall as she awaited her punishment. She'd made a mistake, and the least she could do was own up to it. It's what real warships did, after all!

"Hey… kiddo?" said Jersey, water rippling as she sat up.

"H-hai?" said Fubuki, still looking intently ahead. She'd… she'd been to personal already! She wouldn't stare at Jersey's… at Jersey, that she could do!

"The fuck does Sempai mean?" said the Battleship, her hip bumping against Fubuki's as she scooted closer.

Fubuki felt the cogs in her brain come grinding to a halt while some fairy officer yelled her tiny little mouth off. "It…" The special-type destroyer paused, pursing her lips as she thought. "It means… it's an honorific."

"Uh huh," said Jersey.

"It… it's a way to respect you," said Fubuki, "to respect your wisdom and knowledge."

For a few seconds Jersey didn't say a word. Then her hearty laughter started echoing off every surface in the dock building.

"J-Jersey, Sempai?" said Fubuki, deciding she could risk a quick glance.

Jersey had sunken down up to her neck, her whole body shaking as she laughed so hard she was almost crying. "Oh… 'buki…"

"Sempai?"

Jersey waved at the destroyer, accidentally smacking her in the face with her hand. "You- you don't need to do that," she said, barely sneaking the words out between thundering laughs.

"But-"

"But nothing!" Jersey shook her head, propping her sinewy arms up on the poolside, "You're the _mother of all fucking destroyers,_ if _anyone's_ calling anyone Some-pie it should be me."

Fubuki felt her face go red. So red they could probably see it all the way home. "I- I'm just a-"

"A destroyer?" said Jersey, reaching over to muss Fubuki's hair. "Yeah… but you're the _first_ destroyer, or the first real one."

Fubuki stared into the water, glancing past her chest—such that it was—to the rippling reflection of her toes, "But Johnston-"

"Owes her very existence to you," said Jersey, "same with _Turner Joy_ , and _Shoup_. When you hit the water, you made every other destroyer in the world obsolete."

Fubuki beamed, her body starting to vibrate with sheer unrestrained glee. Sempai called _her_ Sempai! "R-really?"

"Hell yeah," said Jersey, pulling herself up out of the water with a surging splash. Her butt landed on the poolside with a squelch of of her soggy swim trunks. "I'm American, we never lie."

"I don't think-"

Jersey shut her up with a quick pat to the head. "Never. Lie."

Fubuki laughed, trying her hardest not to stare _too_ much at the battleship. She was about to ask about the tear she'd seen in Jersey's hull… but it had vanished. In its place, tearing across the battleship's muscled tummy like a lightning, was an ugly white scar.

Jersey's smile faded, her face darkening as she followed the destroyer's gaze, her hand idly tracing along the ragged tear. "Yeah… not pretty, is it?"

Fubuki shook her head.

"It…. it looks worse than it is," said Jersey, her voice weaker and softer than normal, almost like she was trying to convince herself. "Took a torpedo to the boilers… fucking hurt."

Fubuki nodded a little too quickly. "I- I thought you weren't hit in combat."

"Wasn't," said Jersey, running her hands though her sopping wet hair to at least instil some sort of order to the shimmering mess. "Hit me in the middle of the fucking Delaware, right when they were trying to summon me too. Hell of a wake-up call, right?" said the battleship with a bitterly dry laugh.

"Well…" Fubuki shifted in place, water rippling around her as she forced herself to keep a straight face, "Get-get better soon!"

"Yeah," said Jersey, her shoulders slouching as she stared at the tile. For what felt like hours, she didn't say a thing. Then her gaze drifted to one of the four watches hanging around her wrist. "Oh… _shiiiiiiiiit._ "

"Sempai?"

Jersey shot Fubuki a dirty look, then quickly sighed and rolled her eyes. "I slept for, like… four hours."

The destroyer sat in silence, her head tilting to the side ever so slightly.

"And the taffies didn't _once_ cause enough trouble for someone to wake me," Jersey glanced at Fubuki for a split-second. Then the battleship exploded into action, tearing across the poolside in a flat-out sprint for the locker rooms. "They're up to something!"

—|—|—

Gale let out a long, ragged sigh. She'd spent enough time with Yuudachi and Naka to know that dealing with shipgirls was never _ever_ a cut and dry situation. Murphy and his triple-damned law was a heartless bastard at the best of times. No plan survives first contact with an enemy and all that.

But shipgirls— _especially_ the tenacious little murderballs of Taffy 3—they thumbed their noses to the laws of probability, ensuring each and every thing that could make her day worse, possible or no, happened. All at once. To her. And ninety percent of the time it was somehow Johnston's fault.

And yet… in some naive corner of her mind still held on to the hope that today would be different. She was taking three thirteen year old girls to the mall—with a credit line direct from the Department of the Navy. If there was ever _anything_ that should have gone smoothly, it _should_ have been _trip to the goddamn mall_.

"GALE!" shouted Hoel, the sound her feet slapping against the carpeted floor somehow louder than the generically-obnoxious boy-band music blaring over the store speakers. How that was supposed to encourage purchases was beyond her.

"GALE GALE GALE GALE!" Hoel slammed her heels down at the last second, skidding to a… not so much a stop as a 'barely controlled crash' in front of the Yeoman. "GALE!"

Gale sighed. If she ever found that heartless bastard who sold the taffies coffee… "What?"

"LOOKIT!" Hoel back stepped, slapping her heels against the floor until the chunky new shoes she'd bought started glowing. "THEY LIGHT UP! I LOVE THE FUTURE! THANK YOU SO MUCH!" The little destroyer threw her arms around Gale's middle, ramming her face against the Yeoman's belly as she gave a typically enthusiastic Taffy hug.

Gale smiled, giving Hoel a pat on the head. She was exhausted and miserable, not heartless! "You- you're welcome, Hoel."

Hoel giggled, squeezing even tighter before letting go.

"Hoel, look what I found!" said Johnston, careening over with a pile of clothing in her hand. At least _she_ didn't seem noticeably affected by her caffeine intake, if only because she ran with her boilers wide open anyways.

"OH, WHAT?" said Hoel, bouncing off the ground as she spun around.

"Look!" Johnston held up a red-white-and-blue hoodie with a star proudly displayed on the breast. "They have Captain America stuff!"

"WHAT!" shouted Hoel, almost vibrating off the visible spectrum in excitement. "THEY STILL KNOW ABOUT THE CAP?"

Gale laughed, but the two taffies were so deep in their conversation neither one even noticed. Nor did they notice the restrained arrival of Heermann.

"But he's army," said the third destroyer, her hands in her pockets as she idly browsed the racks of clothing.

"So?" said Johnston, hurling a hoodie at Heermann. "He punched Hitler! In the Face!"

Heermann gave a shrug of acquiescence as she wordlessly pulled the snugly-fitting hoodie on over her ragged sailor-top.

"Can we get them?" said Johnston, spinning on her heel and staring up at Gale with the huge, innocent eyes of a girl who hadn't been running rampant though a mall for the past _several_ hours.

"PLEASE?" added Hoel.

Heermann didn't say anything, but the way her face lit up… she was begging just as hard as the rest of them.

Gale sighed, rubbing her temples with one hand. "You have a _navy credit card_. You can pay for shit if you want it."

"Actually," a young man—boy really. He couldn't be much older than… fifteen or sixteen—waved at the group, "I'll, uh, I can get those for you."

Gale gave him a testing look. If this is what kids called flirting, "You… do know they're-"

"Destroyers? yeah," said the boy, "Taffy 3, right?"

"Yeah!" said Johnston, pivoting on her heel to look at Gale, "We're famous?"

"Not…really," said Gale, one eyebrow arching upwards. "How did you-"

"My grand-dad," said the boy. "He… he was on the _Kalinin Bay._ He told me all about you."

All three taffies froze in place, their eyes starting to water as they stared at him.

"It's not gonna be cheap, you know," said Gale.

"I know," said the boy, "But… you know, I owe my life to them. If they didn't save-" His next words were lost under the assault of three _Fletcher_ class destroyers running on pure caffeine all tackle-hugging as one.

It took a good twenty minutes to pry the taffies off him and get their clothes rung up. After a brief moment of sticker shock—both from the destroyers and their would-be benefactor—Gale slipped the cashier a fifty to cover the difference. The girls were too busy getting their pictures taken to notice, and Johnston even offered a parting kiss.

"Okay," said Johnston, bouncing over with a smirk on her face, "We can go now."

"Yeah, thanks for taking us, Gale," said Heermann, her voice muffled as she pulled her hoodie on.

"THANKS!" said Hoel, hurling herself at the Sailor and grabbing her waist in a tight hug.

Gale smiled in-spite of herself, "You're welcome g-"The tell-tale sound of fabric being torn apart stopped her dead in her tracks. Gale _sloooowly_ turned on her heel, bracing herself for whatever calamity the taffies had caused.

Johnston had—somehow—managed not only to get her hoodie _on_ in the brief instant Gale hadn't been watching her, but also managed to tear the sleeves off perfectly along the seam lines. Her now-detached sleeves hung loose around her elbows, showing of the muscles of her scrappy little arms.

"What the hell," monotoned Gale.

In response, Hoel tore the sleeves off her own hoodie like it was a perfectly natural thing to do.

"We're badasses!" said Johnston, crossing her arms over her chest like it was the most rational explanation in the world. "Taffy 3 don't need sleeves, fool!"

Gale blinked. Whoever showed the taffies _The A-team_ would _suffer._

"Yo, Heermann!" Johnston spun on her heel to the sole girl who was wearing her clothing the way it was intended.

"Yeah?"

"Loose those sleeves!" said Johnston, pouncing on her sister to do the deed herself. "You're a taffy!"

Heermann's smile was so bright it was borderline nuclear.


	16. Chapter 15: All Together Now!

Chapter 15: All Together Now!

"Get up nuggets," grunted Jersey, her shapely form looming over the three destroyers—and one escort carrier—sleeping in a tightly-packed ball in the middle of the floor.

"Grrhm," replied White, burrowing her face deeper into Hoel's chest and dragging her tomcat plushie over to shade her eyes.

Jersey rolled her eyes, taking a long sip from the carafe of awful-tasting black guck the Navy tried to pass off as coffee. "Hey, Taffies," she said, prodding Johnston's back with the tip of her running shoe.

The destroyer growled, flopping out of the dense destroyer cuddle-pile and landing flat on her back. "'time's it?" she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes as she stared up at Jersey.

"AM," said the battleship, taking another long gulp of the over-caffiniated sludge, "Very very AM."

Johnston grumbled something under her breath.

"C'mon, we gotta hit the docks," said Jersey, her hand resting on the crook of her hip, one eyebrow creeping up as she smirked at the little destroyer.

For a second Johnston just stared in incomprehension at the battleship. Then her tired mind slowly put the pieces together. "OH!" she chirped, almost bouncing up onto her feet and tearing over to her dresser, "OH! Okay! Lemme get changed!"

—|—|—

"I thought you meant _our_ docks," grumbled Johnston, her shoulders slack as she held her bath caddy in one hand, her shoes softly padding against the concrete as she lagged at the back of Jersey's little flotilla.

"The hell would I mean that?" said Jersey, glaring at her carafe as if she could refill it by sheer force of personality.

"Because someone likes you, Jersey!" cooed Hoel, deftly dodging Johnston's sloppy jab with an effortless side-step.

"Yeah!" said White, bouncing over to give Jersey—or her belly, at least—a hug, "You're really cool!"

Jersey rolled her eyes, ruffling White's hair with the hand not occupied by her former beverage. "Stop it, nuggets. I get enough of that sempai bullshit from Fubuki."

"What's sempai?" asked Heermann, absent-mindedly tapping at her chin

"Good fucking question," said Jersey, wordlessly foisting her carafe on a passing sailor.

For a brief moment, the four girls and their moderately more mature minder walked in silence.

"Uh, Jersey?" asked Hoel, trotting over to walk abreast of the battleship.

"Hmm?"

"Oh, I thought you'd fallen asleep…" the destroyer bit back a giggle.

"Hardy har," groaned Jersey, rolling her eyes as she swatted at the destroyer's flaming little ponytail.

"Jersey! Look at those!" said Hoel, tugging at the battleship's sleeve and frantically pointing out across the sound. Tiny tugboats festooned with rubber bumpers and spot lights gently guided a massive bulk freighter into formation.

"It's so huge!" said Heermann, her jaw going slack as she stared at the monster of a freighter. It was little more than a massive floating box shaped in a general boat-like manner at the stem and stern.

"How do those float?" said White, her enormous eyes bouncing between the cargo ship with its mottled camouflage and Jersey's icy blue eyes.

"It doesn't," said Jersey, tossing a wave to the tug crews—as if they'd even be able to notice it. "It's just so ugly the water repels it."

White doubled over in snorted giggles, and even Heermann had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

"Hey, who's that?" said Hoel, pointing to the silvery-haired figure standing by the railing, his gaze apparently fixed on the convoy slowly forming up in the pre-dawn gloom.

"That's, uh," Jersey squinted. Thanks to her radar, her night vision was stellar. But picking out a single human-sized form was still tricky, even for her. "That's professor Crowning," she concluded.

"Who?" chirped White.

"He's a, uh… friend of mine," said Jersey. She didn't really feel like explaining the whole story of how she came to be just the minute. "Long story."

"Oh?" said Johnston, her eyebrows bouncing so fast the threatened to bounce right off her face.

"Not like that," said Jersey, rolling her eyes as she trotted over to the professor. "No run along and find Naka."

"But-" Johnston's voice abrupt stopped as Hoel slapped her hand over the girl's mouth and dragged her off towards the water.

"Yeah…" sighed Jersey to herself, slipping her hands into the pockets of her shorts, her fingers slapping out a simple tune against her thighs. For a moment, she just stood in silence, watching her breath turn to fog in the early-morning chill. It was comforting, in a weird sort of way. It reminded her of smoke curling out of her stacks.

"Fuck it," she breathed, scuffing her shoe against the concrete and walking over to where Crowning was standing. "Hey. It's like… two, shouldn't you be sleeping?"

Crowning laughed, his shoulders shaking just so as he stared out across the sound. "I was barely sleeping _before_ I flew across the continent." He glanced over at her, a his face ruddy from the cold, his mouth set in a bemused smirk. "I could ask the same of you."

Jersey shrugged, resting her bare forearms on the railing. "Navy Coffee.. like… twelve gallons of it."

"I thought you drank real coffee now."

"Not enough caffeine for this," said Jersey, pursing her lips as she blew a long stream of steam into the chilly air.

"Jersey?"

"Yeah?"

Crowning didn't say anything for a second. His lips quivered wordlessly as he pieced together his thoughts into a coherent sentence. "It's thirty degrees out."

Jersey nodded, "Thirty-one by my count."

"And…" Crowning cracked a smile, "You're wearing shorts."

Jersey looked down at herself, arching her back so she could get a good look at the bits of navy-blue fabric allegedly covering her toned legs. "Yeah?" she said, looking back to him. "And a scarf. We're sailing up to the Arctic, dude."

Crowning sighed, shaking his head with the same wry smile, "Forget I even asked."

Jersey smiled, "Yeah…" she scuffed her shoe against the concrete, watching Naka corral the destroyers into formation with surprising ease. The little singing traffic cone could make her voice _dance_ if she wanted it too. "Yeah, I think I can manage that."

"I'll, uh… I'll be here when you get back," said Crowning, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. "Maybe even bring you a few friends."

"Yeah?" said Jersey, smiling to herself.

"Yeah," said Crowning, "We're, uh… trying to figure out how you did it. We'll, uh… we'll figure it out."

Jersey smiled, "I'm sure you will, doc," she said, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on his bearded cheek. "I want that back if you don't."

—|—|—

"And if you look off your port wing, you'll see the friendly guns of Fort Warden watching us swabbies do the _real_ work."

"Jersey…" Naka hung her head, cradling her perfectly-styled hair in her gloved hands. "What are you doing?"

"Do you _know_ how much coffee I've had?" said the battleship, waving her hands in inarticulate gestures of largeness as she cruised beside a massive bulk carrier.

"It's a lot!" chimed in Johnston. The little destroyer gave Naka a brief wink before turning her eyes to the sky, chewing on her lip as she searched for hostile aircraft to shred.

"It's fine," said Jersey, waving to the recently refortified position. The sung was still hanging low against her back, but there was enough light to make out the spiky shapes of 155mm artillery pieces, and the chunky shapes of what Jersey assumed were some kind of AShM launchers. "I do it out of love."

"Go Navy! Beat Army!" chorused Johnston, Hoel, White, and even Heermann.

"Hell yeah," said Jersey, smirking as she waved at the soldiers manning their guns. She glanced over her shoulder, watching Fubuki and Yuudachi herd the last few lumbering cargo ships though their turn. The early-morning sun was just starting to glitter though the shimmering glass towers of Seattle, and even _she_ could admit it was a-

Wait.

Jersey squinted, staring back towards the city at the little speck steaming towards the convoy. "Yo, Admiral?"

 _"Williams here, what's up?"_

"We brought everything we're supposed to, right?"

 _"Uh… that's-"_ a pause _"That's affirm, Jersey. Why do you ask?_ "

"There's a boat steaming up the sound, looks like it's vectoring towards us. Bearing one, uh… one-six-four magnetic, range one-seven nautical miles and closing at two-six knots."

 _"That's… that's not us."_ another pause, probably conferring with the harbor master to find out who's dumb enough to - _"Jersey, general quarters!"_

"What?" demanded Jersey, heeling over in a hard turn to get into a firing position.

 _"Our scopes are clear."_

"SHHHIIIIT," hissed Jersey. That wasn't possible, that _couldn't_ be possible. Abyssal _can't_ manifest _behind_ defenses, they just _can't!_ "Buki! Poi! Break formation and engage, if it's got longlances they might already be in the water."

"Hai!" said the two destroyers in harmony, peeling off in opposite directions to confuse the abyssal's firing solution.

Jersey hissed another stream of profane oaths, none of which was distinct to be made out. With all the cargo ships between her and the abyssal, her radar had to much crud to wade though to give her a clean firing solution. Destroyers were wading into the fight without her! Ag-wait.

She squinted at the tiny ship, cursing the lumbering bulk carriers as their frantic—yet _painfully_ slow—evasive maneuver brought them though her sight line. One small-caliber turret on the bow, another on the stern, single stacker without much superstructure to speak of…

"For fucks sake…" Jersey sighed, shaking her head as she burst out in uncontrollable laughter, "Buki, Poi, disengage."

"Hai!" the two IJN destroyers didn't waste a second turning to rejoin the convoy. In fact… Jersey was rather certain they were steaming flat-out to link back up with her. Not that she'd blame them. If she was facing… well, _that_ , she'd be scared too.

"WHAT?" Bellowed Johnston, "We're letting the bastard… not die!"

Jersey just rolled her eyes. The so-called 'abyssal' was close enough for Jersey to make out her features. She wasn't much older than White, and her bouncy blond hair streamed back in the wind as she ran towards the convoy. Her little arms flailed in the air like pinwheels as she sprinted her little heart out.

"Nice to see you again, kiddo," said Jersey, smiling as she lazily turned around, letting the newcomer catch her breath.

"WHOSIT!" shouted Johnston, "Jersey! If you need me! I can be there in… like… now!"

The newcomer doubled over as she tried to catch her breath. Her splinter-camo skirt was splashed with salt around the hem, and she wore a far to large USMC jacket over her scuffed-up sailor top. She looked up at Jersey with a huge-eyed smile, holding her hand up to ask for a few more seconds to catch her breath.

"Dammit, Johnston, stand down," said Jersey, stifling a laugh as she lazily pulled along side the idling girl. "You okay, kiddo?"

The girl nodded, "I- I was worried you guys were gonna leave without me."

"HOLY CARP!" screamed Johnston, "I KNOW THAT VOICE!"

Then all three taffies, plus little White, all but exploded in cheerful giggles, "SAMMY!"


	17. Chapter 16: Lewd!

**Chapter 16: Lewd!**

"Yeah, so… Status report: Mission day 3…" Jersey glanced around the homogeneously gray seas, her finger held loosely to her ear. The northern Pacific waves were calm, but not glassy-smooth, the skies overhead were a generic milky-gray overcast. Not enough to impeded White's aircraft, but enough to suck all the joy out of a day at seat. "Blah."

 _"Blah? Is that your official report?_ " Williams' chuckle echoed across her comm net.

Jersey took a second, glancing down the line of camouflaged bulk carriers. They looked for all the world like some bizarre kind of brick afflicted with the kind of cancer that makes you randomly sprout sandbagged gun emplacements. "Uh, yes sir. We haven't seen shit since we broke into the Pacific."

 _"What about the girls?"_ asked Williams, his tone making it very clear _which_ girls in particular he was asking about.

Jersey shrugged. "Sammy's been sweet so far," she said, tossing a wave to the little destroyer who was busy swapping stories with Yuudachi, "She really likes Poi."

 _"Really? I'd imagine with her reputation…"_ Her Admiral trailed off.

"I can buy it, sir," said Jersey, lazily tacking a few degrees to port for no particular reason. "She's an escort, not a hunter-killer like a destroyer. As long as nobody threatens her convoy… I don't see any problems."

 _"That your official opinion, Commander?"_

Jersey thought for a moment, "Aye, sir."

 _"Noted… what about the others?"_

"Heermann's been hanging out with Naka," Jersey glanced at the two ships. Naka was staring intently at the destroyer, phone in hand with her fingers poised for action. Meanwhile, Heermann had her hands up in the air, thumb and pinky extended in imitation of an airplane. "I think she's teaching Naka air-defense tactics."

Jersey drummed her fingers against her belly. She was full, or nearly, but she couldn't help wondering what the Japanese would be serving over at Yokosuka. "Johnston and Hoel are… mostly just bored right now. They were playing eye-spy, but they gave up after I told them 'Jerseys boobs' is not an appropriate answer."

Something that sounded suspiciously like a hastily chocked laugh sounded though Jersey's radio room. _"Copy that, Commander. Anything else?"_

"Yeah, uh… do you have the order of battle for our Japanese reinforcements?"

" _Sorry, Jersey, not at this time. The situation's-"_

"Too fluid, yeah…" said Jersey, shaking her head in frustration. "Alright, Jersey o-ah… actually… how's the summoning going?"

 _"No joy so far,"_ said Williams, _"Crowning's working on it…"_ The admiral trailed off.

"He'll figure it out," said Jersey, hoping her voice was more reassuring than it felt. "But… no matter who he summons, I'm still your favorite, right?" The battleship's nose crinkled up as soon as the words left her mouth. She wasn't quite sure _why_ she said that… it just kinda slipped out.

 _"Always will be, Big J. Williams out."_

Jersey let her hand fall from her ear, instantly picking out where Johnston was frantically waving for her attention. "What's up, Johnston?"

"You done talking to the big man?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I'm booooooored," the destroyer's feathers slumped almost as much as her arms.

"They gave you all phones, you know," said Naka, rolling her eyes as she waved the slim black plastic rectangle in the general direction of the moping little destroyer.

Johnston hissed, baring her teeth at the foreign and undeniably futuristic object. "I don't like them," she narrowed her eyes, staring down Naka's cell phone in its cutesy pink rubber case like it was the Japanese Center Force itself.

"Me too," said Hoel, turning just enough to unshadow her torpedo tubes in what Jersey _hoped_ was a playful gesture. "Magic boxes from the future shouldn't be trusted."

"Or touched," said Johnston.

"They're shifty," concluded Hoel.

Jersey stared at the girls, her eyes rolling with such slow gravitas even Johnston backed down a smidgen. "You girls have _radar_ , and _fire-control computers._ Same thing!"

Johnston's reply was a low hiss in the direction of the phone.

"Look," Jersey slipped her phone out of her vest pocket, stabbing frantically at the screen with her thumb until she unlocked it. "It's perfectly- hey , Naka?"

"Hai?" the Torpedo cruiser cut her speed, slowly falling back until she was abreast of Jersey.

"What do these little red numbers mean?" asked Jersey, tilting the phone to the side so Naka could see.

"Oh, that's your e-mail app!" said the peppy little torpedo cruiser, tapping a series of commands too fast for Jersey to follow. "Wow… you have…" she glanced over at Jersey, "A _lot_."

"Is that… bad?" asked Jersey, her stomach tightening. Did she miss some important message? She'd screwed up her decryption once, once when it _really_ mattered, she couldn't let it happen again!

"Oh, no!" chirped Naka, scrolling though the message, "I think a lot of this is fan-mail."

"WHAT?" said Johnston, somehow instantly at Jersey's side, clinging to the battleship's waist as she craned her neck to look at the screen, "LEMME SEE!"

"Why don't we answer a few?" said Naka, tacking away from the overactive little destroyer, "to pass the time."

Jersey glanced from ship to ship in her little flotilla. Every single one of them was giving her pleading looks, and she swore she saw a few of the merchant mariners staring at her in expectation. "Fine," she sighed, "But only because Johnston and Hoel are gonna break something if they stay this bored."

"YAY!" chorused Hoel and Johnston at the top of their lungs.

"Did you little shits even hear what I said?" said Jersey with a smirk, gently swatting at the Johnston's ponytail, "I don't trust you won't… start jousting with Mark 15s or some shit."

"Oh, we heard!" said Hoel.

"We just don't care!" said Johnston.

"Because you're stupid," muttered Heermann.

Johnston shot her sister a huge thumbs-up.

"Okay!" said Naka with a loud, but still sweet and cutesy voice, "Our first question is…" she scrolled though the list for a second, "From the US Naval Academy. They'd like you to speak at their commencement."

Jersey bit the corner of her mouth, thinking on it for a second. "Have they _heard_ me speak?"

"I think that's why they asked."

"Will there be food?"

Naka scrolled though the message, "They didn't say, but probably."

"Ask them if there'll be food," said Jersey, "And, uh, make sure they know my duties come first."

Naka nodded, her gloved hands flying over the phone so fast Jersey all but lost track.

"Done!" said the chipper little idol, already scanning though for another one. "Oh, here's one from _Runner's World._ "

"From what?"

"It's a magazine," said Fubuki.

"There's a magazine for that?" asked Hoel.

"There's a magazine for _everything_ ," said Naka.

Jersey waved her hands at the destroyers in a generic 'shut up' gesture. "What do they want?"

"They…" Naka clapped a hand to her face as she let out a tiny little girlish giggle. "They want to know what your diet is."

"Yes!" said White, smiling as she chucked one of her TBF Avengers into the air. "Her diet is Yes!"

Jersey shrugged, "Accurate."

Naka, glanced at the destroyer, wordlessly waiting for her to continue.

"Write that down," said Jersey, pointing at the little plastic rectangle.

"O.. okay," Naka typed up a reply and fired it off. "Next one is from…Sports Illustrated."

Jersey stifled a laugh until all that came out was a choked snort.

"Read it! Read it!" chanted Noel.

Naka smiled, opening the E-mail, "They want you to…" she paused, her face actually going red as a blush crept up her features. "To… um… pose for their swimsuit edition."

Johnston smiled so widely she couldn't even speak. Fubuki just looked betrayed, while White and the other destroyers suddenly found the clouds to be enormously interesting.

"Oh… okay," Jersey scratched at the bridge of her nose, "This is really awkward."

"I'll say!" said Heermann.

Jersey ignored the destroyer, "I already agreed to do a shoot with _Janes_ , so… yeah."

"L-Lewd!" stammered Fubuki.

"Lewd!" cheered Johnston.

"Lewd!" hissed Hoel, elbowing her sister in the gut.

"It's good for morale," said Jersey, offering a weak shrug.


	18. Another Omake

**Uploader Notes: No main story chapter upload tonight folks, seeing as our good author got distracted. However, we do have a tiding for you! From our dear author.**

 **A/N:** **Non-canon Omake spawning from a discussion of USN fleet oilers and their UNREP abilities:**

 **Totes Yorktown, Totes (Non-Canon)  
By Jon Berry**

Jersey stood at the dock, waiting for their newest arrival, Yeoman Gale at her side as the Admiral had refused to participate in more Kanmasu bullshit. Though this wasn't really _bullshit_ in the "sparkly Magical Shipgirl" sense, more the case of "why is this happening" bullshit.

Nagato had radioed ahead what was happening and why, and over the past few days, there had been some major discussions going on behind the scenes. This wasn't a defection, per se, but it still had to be dealt with.

"I see her," Jersey said, her radar picking their newest arrival out of the traffic in the Sound. Beside her, Gale plucked her phone out of her pocket, and dialed up the Admiral to let him know. "You want me to meet her out there, or wait for her to come ashore?"

"The Admiral says we should at least refuel her and give her a tune up before sending her back with a convoy," Gale repeated. "Then he hung up."

"Right, note to self. Get the Admiral some good coffee." Jersey's requests for a personal cappuccino machine had been rejected, so she had to suffer through lineups at the mess. And when it came to coffee, no one in the navy would let themselves get pushed around, even by a 58 thousand ton warship.

The two waited until Jersey made the completely unnecessary motion of putting one hand to the side of her head to indicate she was speaking over the radio instead of in person. "Dock is over here," she announced, and their newest arrival shifted bearing to come to them. "New Jersey out."

"I'm surprised," Jersey said to no one in particular. "Did she really think she was going to get away with this? I mean, it's not like Japan has a shortage of carriers or anything."

Gale was about to speak when she snapped her mouth shut. Some truths were not meant to be talked about out loud. Jersey looked to her as though deciding whether to order the Yeoman to speak or not before deciding against it. "Got a visual."

"So do I," Gale said as she looked through her binoculars. Then she took them off. "I don't believe it. She has Groucho Marx glasses on, with the fake nose and everything."

"You know what those are?" Jersey was surprised. They were old when she was born, but then she turned her attention back to the new arrival. "Akagi..."

The Carrier Shipgirl pulled into the docks, Akagi having not changed any of her clothes to facilitate her disguise, the birds on her deck obviously Zeros, and not more American fighters or bombers. "I am not Akagi," she said in English, though her Japanese accent was another blow against her. "I am Yorktown! Though I am sure this Akagi of whom you speak is a beautiful and elegant carrier, worthy of respect. I am hungry. Do you have Bauxite?" She pushed up her 'disguise' with one finger as she climbed out of the water, trying very hard to maintain the deception in the face of all reason and rejection.

Jersey wondered if the Admiral would be willing to share his stash with her when this was over.

 _Later, in Japan_

Kaga waited impatiently for the arrival of Akagi. Oh, she was so cross! And apparently the Admiral and Nagato had made plans for her in punishment. So much so that she was told to wait outside the docks, even though she had seen the wash of Akagi's arrival.

The door to the Docks opened, and the Admiral stepped out, uniform prim and proper. Nagato a step behind. The Admiral turned to face Kaga and nodded. "Kaga, Akagi." Kaga was confused. Why was the Admiral speaking like he was introducing her to Akagi?!

From the Docks, an American Carrier stepped out. She was recognizable to the Japanese carrier as Yorktown, which confused her for just a moment before remembering there was some talk about a Kanmusu exchange program. Akagi had to be behind her then, but why was Yorktown wearing that completely ridiculous set of glasses with the fake nose and mustache?

"Hello," Yorktown said in awkward Japanese, and with an awkward bow. "I am to be called Akagi."

"... what"


	19. A Certain Lady Part 1

**U/N:** **So apparently this is a series of canon omakes, although it seems more to me like a side-story to this story., but whateva. It may start similarly to the omake back in the earlier collections, but stick with it and you'll see how it changes.**

 **A/N:** **Time for an _canon_ Omake from Old Iron over on SB. This, and others like it by him, are canon unless they specifically contradict something I say. (And at the moment his writing takes place in the future relative to mine.)**

 **A Certain Lady Part 1**

 **By Old Iron**

"Her birth had been celebrated. Hailed as peerless, donning arms of thunder and armor of titans. Her life had been mediocre. Training for battle, yet never once firing her guns in anger. Her deeds had been few. A rescue, a film, a glorified deterrent and tour guide. Her death had been wretched. Rent asunder and left to a slow, agonizing end. He-" The man's voice was cut off abruptly as the rather thick tome which had served as the source of his oration was plucked rather forcefully from his hands. He looked up towards the source of the theft with a baleful gaze, one not so different from his usual visage were one to ask any number of his contemporaries. A small squeak came from the door before it slammed shut with no small amount of haste.

"Sir, stop glaring. You're going to give someone a heart attack." A feminine tone, low and with an undercurrent of constant exhaustion cut through whatever complaint the man behind the desk was about raise. The plundered book was thrust forward towards his face and came quite close to flattening his nose. With a sigh, he slumped back into the highly subjective comfort of his chair and waited for the voice's owner to continue. "And how many times have I asked you to not read such romanticized garbage?"

"I've given up counting if you really want to know how often." The remark was not quite snide, but certainly not the most amused. This early hour was not one that brought out his good side. He crossed his arms as he finally took in the sight of the woman who so often barged in on his down time. Tall and with the build of a boxer, the copper haired woman seemed to radiate a kind of never ending tension. It was hard to tell whether it was the caffeine she consumed almost non-stop or just a state of self inflicted hyper-awareness. He supposed the fact she rarely ever seemed to sleep might have something to do with that. The dark rings under her eyes would at least attest to the notion.

"One hundred and thirty two." She intoned flatly whilst setting the heavy book onto the desk with a gloved hand. Both it and her other hand were covered in heavy gloves that led into the sleeves of a well worn, but still well cared for navy blue longcoat. The man guessed that any number of the excuses she could give to explain adorning herself with such a coat regardless of the weather worked. However were he to put money on it, he'd say it was to keep prying eyes away from the fact a fairly significant portion of her left arm and no small amount of her flank on the same side bore a considerable number of not insignificant scars and starburst shaped burns. It was rare for a someone to hang onto their old wounds when they returned from whatever beyond they came from, but she was one who did.

His reasoning for cover didn't account for the portions that crept up her neck and cut into her jawline, but there was only so much the red and gold colored handkerchief tied around her neck could hide.

He glanced down at the abused book for a moment. It was indeed romanticized garbage when you really came down to it. A dramatic and heartrending tale about Pearl, or so this particular novel claimed. Hard to tell when you were still reading the prologue. And he did like reading that kind of drivel every now and then. An escape from this utterly mad world that didn't involve court-martial or likely related ludicrously regrettable vices. The woman's ire when she caught him reading such things was regardless quite understandable. Especially given the subject matter of this one in particular.

After all, he imagined he'd be none too pleased if he came across his own death being retold in such a glorified manner. Others... were not him. Some of the girls had actually taken quite a liking to hearing how their respective ends were depicted. Morbid, sure. But everyone had an opinion. And a few had taken it as motivation.

Battleship Arizona was not one of them.

She did not find it insulting, nor did she find it educational in some bizarrely fantastical manner. When he'd finally managed to get an answer out of her normally tight lipped self, she'd stated she found the hyperbole laden stories to be embarrassing and humiliating. Not in those words exactly, but the sentiment was certainly there. If ever some of the other girls from Pearl graced their little fleet, he guessed they might be of similar opinion. Maybe.

"Sir?"

He waved his hand and brought himself back into reality. No more time for idle musing. He had work to do and plenty of it.

"When was the last time you got some rest?" The man with admiralty boards on his shoulders finally groused out as he sat up. He reached out and grabbed both pen and paper, ignoring the woman's tired glare. Looks like it might time to have the base doctor throw her weight around a bit. Again. Hopefully without accidentally terrifying everyone in a fifty mile radius. Again.

"I don't have time to sleep. There's too much that needs to be done." She hated sleeping. The last time she took a nap that lasted too long, she was awakened by fire and death. Her alarm clock had been the screams of aircraft, the howl falling ordinance, and the tortured ends of her crew. She refused to be caught unawares ever again. It was a duty she made damn well sure to live up to.

Of course the fact she was currently listing to port proved that even the power of coffee, naval death coffee at that, was not enough to keep someone going indefinitely. She wasn't just a hull anymore with six boilers to run hot so long as she kept them fed. She tried to keep herself steady and maintain eye contact as her admiral gave her a look of open exasperation. He certainly couldn't fault her determination.

"And I'm going to tell you the same thing I tell you every time I see you like this: Get some God. Damn. Sleep." Set set the pen down and graced the battleship with a well practiced glare. He'd been doing that a lot more lately, he mused internally. "You have two options. One is to get no fewer than ten hours of shuteye of your own volition." He raised a hand when she opened her mouth to protest. "The other is for Master Chief King to come in here and drag you off to ordinary where she can put you to sleep for no fewer than ten hours on her terms."

"Sir, Admiral..." There was a flash of betrayal amongst her tired visage as she weighed the options.

"You have your orders. You decide how they get executed."

Arizona looked down at the cluttered desk's surface as she contemplated her options. It grated against her nerves to have such a weakness as needing sleep so often. Sleep, real and genuine rest for the fleshly body. She knew she needed it. She knew her crew quite enjoyed it. But to now require it herself only made her think of her greatest failures. She clenched a gloved hand in irritation but said nothing, forcing the silence to stretch.

"Mutsu will be enlisted to help if need be. And I heard she just came back from the PX with a new supply of makeup." Her admiral's open threat cut through the rapidly growing gloom like the proverbial hot knife through butter. Her head snapped up, sending her reddish hair flailing about in surprise. "I don't need to be a genius to know why you hate sleep. And I'm not going to tell you to get over it or any of that bullshit. But I am going to tell you that you are no good to anybody if you are not at your finest. Am I clear, sailor?"

"...Crystal, sir." Already she could feel unease and the tightening of her heart as she decided there was no alternative but to obey. Not helping was the increasing list of her stance, now taking her to starboard rather than port. Maybe she had pushed herself too far this time. "Admiral, m-may I..?" She made a gesture towards the general direction of the couch nearby. It was perhaps the only genuinely comfortable piece of furniture in the office, but at the moment all she cared about was that it was a place she could lie down.

"Yes Arizona... Yes you may." He pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood from his seat and marched intently around his desk. She didn't need to ask. Especially not in the condition she was in. A condition he was partly responsible for. "Come on. Lay your ass down already."

He wrapped one arm around her shoulder and forcefully guided the exhausted battleship towards the couch. Before she could collapse upon the plush surface, the admiral stood her straight and went about removing the heavy gloves and long-coat. Arizona put up only a mild struggle against his efforts but more because she wished to disrobe under her own power than anything else.

"Don't let Mutsu or the destroyers..." Her mumbling was cut off by a massive yawn, "...do anything funny." Finally giving up, the earlier fire completely spent, she allowed herself to collapse onto the couch in a rather unladylike mess.

"Christ..." The admiral swore as he set about moving the now asleep woman into a position that could pass as comfortable. She was always like this. Always trying so damn hard. He draped the sizable longcoat over her as a blanket, pulling the collar up to her chin. Trying to pry her boots off would have been an exercise in futility, so he left them be. Ignoring the voice in the back of his head reminding him that those boots had probably been through all sorts of hell by now as he did so.

He sat on the edge of the couch and brushed a lock of coppery hair out of the sleeping Arizona's face. She was so still in her rest that the slow rise and fall of her chest was the only indication that she was asleep and not an elaborate mannequin.

"Would it have been so hard to just get some sleep and not have me strong-arm you?" He sighed and sat in relative silence for a good quarter hour.

The door to his office opened slowly.

"Did she finally doze off?" The whispered voice sounded louder than likely intended in the quiet office.

"Yeah. Took her long enough." He looked up towards the slowly opening door. Were it not for the efforts to avoid waking the snoozing battleship, the new arrival would probably have simply strolled right in. Plus the hinges were squeaky and he couldn't be assed to grease them up a bit. Maybe when they reached the level of cringe inducing.

"Well, we've both seen how stubborn she is~" She managed to end her words with an almost musical lilt to her voice as she finally entered the room and made her way over to the couch.

"Like you're any better, Mutsu?" He glowered half-heartedly.

"Oh my. What a terrible thing to say, Admiral. You've hurt me so!" She gave an exaggerated reaction of heartbreak, complete with crocodile tears. The only response she received was a resigned sigh complete with hanged head from her commanding officer. She giggled and moved to lean up against his desk. "We all have something painful in our hearts. I'm just... a little better at handling mine than she is."

"You at least get some damn sleep." He glanced at Arizona once more before standing slowly and returning to his desk, pointedly ignoring the teasing expression he was receiving from the Japanese battleship. She didn't have to say or do anything. All she had to do was give him that damn look to know she had enough ammunition from that little encounter alone to last her weeks. Sometimes he couldn't stand that look. The one with the half lidded eyes and catlike smile.

"My, oh my. A girl does need her beauty sleep after all." She shot her own glance over at Arizona before turning to face the admiral again. "I am a little jealous though. Ari's still so pretty despite how little care she seems to put in her appearance. A little bit of this. A little bit of that~"

"I think she'd be better off without the raccoon eyes. And no dolling her up while she out. I don't want fourteen inches of fiery death shoved up my ass." He pointed a finger at Mutsu, who looked like she was about to spout off some form of teasing nonsense. When she was in the mood, she was nigh unstoppable. "NO."

"You're no fun." She pouted and crossed her arms over her considerable bust, looking away as she did so.

"I'm a lot of things. Fun can be one of them. Just not when it involves angry battleships out to send me to kingdom come." He tapped his pen on the desk before continuing, his mood turning genuinely serious. "So, report?"

Mutsu read the change in mood perfectly and snapped to attention. Her salute was crisp as ever and posture ramrod straight. Some of the other girls on base, few as they were, could stand to learn a thing or two from her. If they could muster the same level of professionalism, he might be willing to put up with more than he did. Especially from a select few.

"Zero contacts, sir."

"It really pisses me off that I don't want to hear that." He grumbled before beginning to scribble down a myriad of notes on another frequently abused notepad.

"If it's any consolation, air patrols are being stepped up specifically because of our lack of contact." She'd seen more scout planes in the past twelve hours than she had seen in the past week. Either something was brewing that they weren't being made aware of, or people were getting anxious. She hoped it was the latter. Anxiety let her know that those in command weren't getting complacent with the unusual lull in Abyssal activity.

"It's not." The admiral tore the sheet of paper from the notepad and crumpled it irritably. It was probably the main reason he didn't favor more digital means of taking notes. Hitting delete wasn't as cathartic as juvenilely manhandling a piece of paper. "Any news of reinforcements?"

"Oh? Did Jintsuu not tell you? My my~" Mutsu dropped the professional demeanor with a catty grin, holding a gloved hand to her mouth in mock surprise. Her admiral's frown very nearly had her breaking down into a fit of giggles. "Rumor has it we may be having a new friend joining us. Someone from your navy as well. It looks like someone is getting the hang of whatever is needed to bring the United States into the fight again."

Arizona had been... a favor granted by fortune. No one was really clear as to what the magic words had been nor the pixie dust sprinkled on the ground. But regardless, she had heard a call and she had answered. Subsequent attempts had all failed.

The admiral did his best to hide the sudden knot in his stomach, ignoring the tidbit about his supposed secretary not keeping him on the up and up.

"...Who is it?"

The only sound in the room was the slight rustle of heavy fabric as Arizona turned in her sleep.

Mutsu smiled.

"I believe her name is... O'Bannon?"

* * *

 **U/N: On a very related note, this write-up has me totally rooting for Mutsu/Arizona (Aritsu) couple. They be cute, yo, and we all know Nagato is going to go for White.**


	20. Chapter 17: Northern Lights

**Chapter 17: Northern Lights**

Jersey's bow crashed though the towering waves, burying itself is freezing water and splashing up a salty plume clear back to her A-turret. The long, slender lines of her hull made her an _exceptionally_ fast warship, but it came at the cost of lousy sea keeping in foul weather.

And she was sailing into some of the roughest seas known to mankind: the North Pacific Ocean in storm season.

"Gaaaahhh…." the battleship let out a pathetic rumble, her hands clutching her churning belly as her hull climbed up a wave trough. She felt her bulbous bow clear the water for a second, felt the freezing Arctic air scouring against her anti-fouling paint. Then she crested the wave with a mighty crash, sending salt and surf high into the air.

But at least she had fifty-eight thousands tons of ballast to keep her steady. The destroyers were bouncing around like toys in some mad god's bathtub. "You okay, kiddos?" she asked, hoping her face didn't look as green as she felt.

Johnston offered a shaky thumbs up, her salt-encrusted feathers flapping wildly in the howling breeze. _Fletcher_ class destroyers had a list of positive qualities a mile long. Excellent seakeeping wasn't one one of them.

None of the other destroyers looked much happier, and even Naka was letting her cutesy Idol act slip as she tried to coral the bouncing destroyer girls.

At least White looked _moderately_ happy. The tiny carrier was rolling in the waves worse than even Johnston, but she took it with a happy giggle every time her bow crashed though a frigid wave.

It was fucking annoying.

"Hey, Jersey?" Heermann pulled up alongside the battleship, her arms held out in a vain attempt to keep some measure of balance.

"Yeah?" said the battleship, peeling soaking wet hair off her brow.

"I'm, uh…" the destroyer gulped, slamming though a wave almost the size of her mast, "I've… been getting intermittent radar contacts-"

"Aerial?" asked the battleship, "And at extreme range?"

Heermann nodded.

"Yeah, me too…" said Jersey, scowling as she glanced over her shoulder at White. With her deck rolling that badly, just launching aircraft would be dangerous. Recovering them would be suicide. "What's your guess?"

"J-Jersey?"

"What're we seeing?" asked the battleship, hoping she could get at least a brief moment of diversion from the stomach-churning surf.

"Uh…" Heermann dove into a wave trough, her screws nearly coming out of the water. "Uh… they're just shadowing us, so… flying boats?"

"Probably."

"Is that bad?"

"'s not good," said Jersey scowling at the rain squalls surrounding her as far as she could see. "Keep your eyes on the sky, okay? I've gotta call this in," she said, tapping two fingers against her ear in pointless reflex, "Maybe see if they can vector us around this damned storm."

Heermann gave a brief little nod, peeling off to slot back into formation.

"NAVSTA Everett, this is Jersey, um… Actual, come in, over?" said Jersey, tapping her heel anxiously as the milliseconds ticked by. Her communications gear _should_ be good enough to punch tough the storm, but-

 _"Jersey,"_ the Admiral's voice sounded ragged, almost as ragged as Jersey felt. _"This is Everett-Actual, How's it going?"_

"Uh, not good, sir," Jersey glanced over her shoulder at the cluster of green-faced destroyers, destroyer escorts, and cruisers. Plus one annoyingly chipper escort carrier. "We're being shadowed."

 _"Say again?"_

"Intermittent contacts at extreme radar range," said Jersey, scowling as she felt her radar light up just such a troublesome contact in the very periphery of her vision. "I'm guessing H6Ks, maybe PBYs." She shrugged, "I dunno… the returns aren't quite right for… _anything_ I know of. But what the hell _is_ right about this things?"

 _"You think the convoy's in any danger?"_

Jersey scrunched up her nose, squinting into the salty surf as she thought. "Uh… not at the moment, sir. Heermann took a few potshots when they first showed up, they've been staying at range ever since. But, uh…" Jersey wiped the spray from her face, "It's spooky."

 _"Copy that, Jersey,"_ said Williams without even a moment's hesitation. He must know that feeling well. Hell, he probably knew it _better_ than Jersey. _"Can you send a CAP to interdict?"_

"Negative, sir. White's had to chain her planes down," said Jersey. "Seas are pretty awful up here. She, uh, she already lost one over the side. I think it was a TBF?" she glanced at the carrier who shot her a beaming smile an thumbs-up. "Yeah, TBF."

 _"Shit,"_ hissed Williams. _"You have your girls on Air-Defense?"_

"Yeah," Jersey nodded, "we're doing what we can, but it's not a CAP." She scowled, tucking her head down as she battered though an unusually towering wave, "You got those fancy satellites, yeah? Any chance you could vector us out of this storm?"

 _"That's a negative, Jersey, it'd take days to route you around."_

"Damn," said Jersey, too motion sick to put much emotion into her voice. "You got that fleet composition from the SDF yet?"

 _"Yeah,"_ said Williams, his voice pausing just long enough to make Jersey worry. _"Fleet composition is as follows: DesDiv 6 under command of IJN Tenryuu-"_

"Ooh, you'll like her!" said White with a stifled giggle.

"Yeah, Tenryuu-san is really…" Fubuki stopped as she battered though a wave, her flare-nosed hull handling the waves moderately better than the taffies, "You'll like her," she finished.

 _"-IJN Ryuujou will provide CAP. And…"_ Williams voice trailed off for a minute, and Jersey could practically _feel_ the long-suffering sigh as her Admiral mulled over a series of what were probably equally-horrible options, _"A fast-battleship task force of IJN Kongou and IJN Kirishima."_

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit," hissed Jersey, stretching the word out as long as her lungs would allow. Nearly every ship sunk at Samar—the last stand of the Taffies— had their stories end the very same way. 'And then Kongou sunk her.'

 _"Yeah. That's affirm, Jersey."_

"Is that really the best fleet-comp they could send us?"

 _"They don't have a lot of hulls to spare,"_ said Williams. He didn't sound angry as much as… spent. _"And most of what they do have's either too slow, too stuck in the old ways, or some combination of the above. Think it'll be a problem?"_

Jersey bit her lip, glancing to each of her charges in turn. "I…Don't think so? Sir?" half-asked Jersey, cringing as she desperately hoped she was telling the truth. "Taffies are scared stiff of causing you trouble. We should be fine. I think."

 _"What about Sammy?"_

"She's… an escort sir," said Jersey, praying to whatever god looked over shipgirls that her hunch was right. Off Samar _Samuel B. Roberts_ had fought like a caged lion, but only after her charges were threatened. Escort ships weren't born killers like destroyers, they wouldn't act unless provoked.

Right?

 _"You certain?"_

Jersey shrugged, "Yo, Sammy!"

"What?" the little destroyer had to scream over the crash of water against steel.

"You gonna start any shit?"

"Not 'less they start it first!"

"Yeah," Jersey tapped her fingers against her ear, mentally refocusing the conversation back to her admiral, "I think that means we're good."

 _"What the hell, I'll take what I can get."_

Jersey shook her head. It would have been funny if it wasn't so damn true. "Uh, sir… one more thing?"

 _"Go."_

"How's the, uh… summoning going?"

The four marines in crisp dress blues had given Crowning a new understanding of true meaning of "loud." He'd met enough to understand Marines never really did anything without putting their heart and soul into it—at least when there were civilians around to impress.

He, however, had never experienced what marines with guitars hooked up to Naka's excessively powerful sound system could do. For almost two _hours_ , the band had been blasting away with all their strength. They'd tried rock ballads from the 80's, grungy stuff from when he was a kid, even Johnny Cash.

And the summoning pool remained depressingly empty.

"I'll die fighting!" boomed all four marines in a thundering harmony of excessively manly volume, "With my brothers! Side! By! Side!"

Crowning scrunched up his face as they held the last chord. Loud, boisterous music was never really his thing, but if the girls liked it… He shot a hopeful glance at the summoning pool, hoping that something _anything_ would be waiting there.

Nothing. Not even 'The Power Of METAL' as Yeoman Gale had declared it, could rouse so much as a _destroyer_ from her well-earned sleep.

"Damnit!" Crowning slammed his fist against the railing, wincing as his flesh hit the unyielding steel. The sound echoed though the nearly-deserted summoning chamber, a pulsing reminder of his failure.

"You okay, sir?" said the marine lead singer, Master Sergeant… something or other. After so much grating music, Crowning's mind was in a permanent state of fuzz. The marine didn't sound all that better, his voice was almost raw.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Crowning, rubbing his smarting hand with the other.

Gale shook her head, apparently too frustrated herself to bother laughing.

"Do you, uh," the Master Sergeant gave a shrug of his enormously muscled shoulders, "Do you want us to try again, sir?"

Crowning shook his head, trying to goad the ringing inhabiting his ears into vacating. "No no… we- there's got to be something we're missing here."

"Sir," rasped the Master Sergeant, "We're good to go, just say the word."

Crowning shook his head, "No… no… it took Jersey _one song_ to summon those destroyers. We're missing something here."

"Like… Jersey?" said Gale, tapping a tuneless little rhythm out against her laptop.

Crowning gave her a confused look.

"Maybe… you need a shipgirl to summon another one?"

"If you do we're fucked," opined the Master Sergeant.

Crowning let out a long sigh, collapsing into one of the folding chairs set up next to the mess of audio equipment. "No other ritual requires a shipgirl," he said, "Not the Brits, not the Japanese…"

"We… we're already pretty different, sir," said Gale.

"Well…" Crowning bit his lip, taking in a breath of the salty air and holding it in for a second. "Well, if that's the case, there's nothing more we can do here. So let's assume it's not."

The marines chorused their agreement, and Gale offered a resigned nod.

"Look, sir…" Gale drummed her hands against her belly, "I'm not saying we stop, but… Maybe we should break for chow? Sometimes… it's good to step away and think."

Crowning scowled, "It's only-" he glanced at his watch. "Oh…" He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping as he stuffed his hands into his sweater pockets. "I guess you're right."

"Part of working with Jersey, sir," said Gale, "I always know when it's mealtime."

Crowning let a faint smile cross his face, "Yeah… imagine taking her out for dinner."

Gale smiled, her eyes twinkling in a brief almost-wink. "Funny you should say that, sir."

"What?" said Crowning, glancing at her in honest confusion, "What? I… pardon?"

"The kiss, sir," said the absolutely mountainous Master Sergeant with utter stoic aplomb.

"At the docks," said Gale, "You, uh… you won me fifty bucks."

"No, no…" Crowning felt his face go cold and white, "That- she kissed me."

For a moment there was silence. Then Gale wordlessly handed the Master Sergeant a crisply folded twenty.

It was almost sundown—or the closest thing this god awful place could _get_ to sundown this late in the year—before the skies finally started to clear. The monolithic pillar of steel-gray thunderheads dumping seemingly infinite amounts of freezing sleet _right on Jersey's nose_ was gone. In its place was a ragged mix of freezing rain squalls and equally freezing patches of clear sky.

"Fuuuuuuuk," grunted Jersey, cupping her hands to her mouth and trying to breath some circulation back into them.

"Jersey-Sempai?" Fubuki glanced over, her face dripping with concern and… actual, literal saltwater. These seas must be _hell_ for her.

Jersey growled in response, taking her hat off just long enough to pull her salty bangs out of her eyes before smashing it back on. "'m fine."

"You don't really look fine," said Naka. The torpedo cruiser was really… more of a glorified destroyer. She didn't have the displacement to weather these seas properly… But she'd made this run before, and was doing an admirable job of still somehow looking put together.

Jersey scowled, scrunching up her face until her nose buried itself in her sopping wet scarf. If a cruiser could do it… "I'll be fine," she said, forcing her voice into a calm, friendly tone she _really_ didn't feel.

"Just a few more days," said Naka, idly playing with the frilly hem of her stupidly short skirt. "Then we'll be back in tropical waters."

Jersey glanced at White, "Yeah… that's what I'm worried about."

Naka tilted her head to the side, letting out a quiet little "hmm?" sound.

"Plan has us making the dash to Hokkaido at 20 knots," said Jersey, her eyes flickering from point to point as she referenced one of the maps in her bridge. "That's… what, fifteen hundred nautical miles?"

Naka nodded, "Something like that."

Jersey sighed, balling her hands to fists at her side. "That's more than three days. Three days White has to run _at flank._ I can't even do that."

"Well…" Naka glanced at the little escort carrier, who was of course blissful oblivious to the conversation as she bounced over a wave, giggling all the way. "She's got uniflow engines, right?"

"Yeah," said Jersey, giving the cruiser a sidelong look, "How'd you know?"

"I ran a convoy with her," said Naka, "She… talks a lot. Look, uniflows are meant to run closer to max RPM than our turbines."

"Closer, not _at_ ," said Jersey, "And it's still three days at emergency power, which is called that for a fucking reason."

"She's…" Naka bit her lip, peeling off just slightly to put a few more yards between her and the battleship, "She's a tough girl, and the docks at Yoko- what?"

"What?" Jersey's icy glare didn't move from the horizon.

"You just looked at the sky," said Naka, building up steam just in case, "Every single one of you Americans looked at the exact same point."

"Yeah," said Yuudachi, "It was,like really creepy."

"Radar master race," half-heartedly bragged Johnston, her feathers quivering in the breeze as her gaze was locked on a point just above the Northern horizon.

"Sush," Jersey waved her hand at the destroyer girls.

For a few tense seconds, the flotilla was deathly silent, even the sound of waves crashing against steel and the thrum of steam turbines seemed to die into nothing.

"Torpedo bombers," said Jersey and Johnston in near-harmony.

"At least twenty," said the battleship.

Naka felt her heart drop like a cannonball, her knees going shaky as she scrambled to build up more steam. Her anti-aircraft armament was anemic on paper, and the triple-mounted 25mm guns had _never_ lived up to their already humble promises.

"Johnston," barked Jersey, "You, Hoel, break and engage."

The two destroyers nodded, their wakes churning white as the slammed their engines to flank. As they peeled off, Heermann gracefully slotted into formation to take their place.

Naka gasped. Against air attack, the smartest thing to do was tighten up the formation and hunker down. Two destroyers couldn't _hope_ to hit _all_ those targets, not without joining their fire with the rest of the fleet, right?

"Naka," said Jersey, smirking that utterly incandescent American smirk, "Bet you twenty bucks they don't get a single fish in the water."

Naka just nodded wordlessly as she stared at the two destroyers sprinting headlong into certain doom. With the torpedo squadrons ducking in and out of the clouds… even _with_ radar, there was no way they could maintain their firing solution!

Then, as suddenly as the two girls has ripped out of formation, they heeled over in hard turns, their sterns flipping out as they raked huge white scars though the churning Pacific sea. Their 5in turret traversed to starboard and…

And Naka wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. The destroyers opened up with their guns. Bursts of flame and gritty black smoke appeared in the sky, taking whole squadrons down at once.

Blast and fragmentation tore the evil black aircraft apart, shredding their carapaces, stripping skin from their skeletal wings, or simply erasing them from existence.

"P-poi~" stuttered Yuudachi, her jaw hanging loose as she watched the Americans at work.

And work it was. There wasn't a shred of the usual bravado, besides occasionally calling out targets, the two girls barely spoke, each locking their iron-hard gaze on the oncoming aerial assault.

But it wasn't enough! The torpedo planes kept coming, they had to be almost in range!

And then the destroyers exploded. Tracers in both 40mm and 20mm variety poured from what seemed like every flat area on each ship, raking the sky with burning light.

Every plane they touched burst into flame, spewing an ugly trail of sickly black smoke as it augured into the surf.

Naka had to scoop her jaw off the ocean surface with both hands.

"Aw shit," scowled Jersey, her eyes stuck in that glassy far-off look ships got when they were 'seeing' with their radars. "New contacts, on my two and ten."

Naka gulped. The classic hammer-and-anvil attack of the IJN. Two spreads of torpedoes that were nearly impossible to dodge.

"Fuck the bastards learn fast!" Jersey waved at the last of her destroyers, "Heermann-"

"On it!" said the last of the _Fletchers_ , her turbines spinning up as she joined her sisters on the air-defense picket.

"Sempai!" screamed Fubuki, frantically waving at something off Naka's stern.

The torpedo cruiser twisted to see what Fubuki was-

Oh.

Oh _fuck_.

—|—|—

Fubuki wasn't jealous of her American counterparts and their ridiculously overdeveloped Anti-aircraft suites! That much topweight crammed into a slender destroyer hull just wasn't suited for rough North Pacific seas.

They were bouncing all over the place, unlike the Special-types who crashed though the waves with aplomb. Still… it was kind of impressive to see Johnston and Hoel tear into the oncoming-

"Aw, Shit," Jersey scowled, her hands reflexively tightening around the revolves hanging off her broad hips. "New Contacts, my two and ten!"

Fubuki saw her sempai tense up, the muscles in her bare legs going taut as she steeled herself for combat maneuvering. The battleship might not want to admit it, might not even fully understand it, but she was scared. Terrified, maybe. Fubuki didn't blame her, torpedoes were a battleship's natural foe, even one _without_ Jersey's compromised torpedo-protection.

As Jersey barked orders, Fubuki turned her eyes to the horizon. She might not have Air-Search radar like the _Fletchers_ , but her long 10cm guns were potent anti-aircraft weapons, and-

And… The special-type destroyer let out a sharp intake of breath, her hands tightening around her turrets. "Sempai!" she shouted, waving frantically off her stern.

Abyssal torpedo boats were roaring though the surf, their glimmering black hulls skipping though waves. Glittering red eyes glowed with the power of concentrated hatred as the tiny boats zipped around the splashes of Fubuki's near-misses.

They weren't stopping, their hatred almost palpable as the cluster of boats angled for their attack. As they angled to put torpedoes into her convoy, her Sempai.

That wasn't going to happen.

"Yuudachi-chan! Naka-Chan!" called Fubuki, her engines roaring to flank as she heeled over into the tightest turn she'd ever pulled. Her tail flicked out into the surf, scraping a broad wake of churning foam.

"Follow me!" she screamed, her turbines pushing fifty-thousand horsepower though her shafts as she churned the water white. Some back corner of her mind recognized the other two ships peeling off to join her, but it was almost a haze. A half-remembered dream. They didn't matter now, only one thing mattered.

The Torpedo boats.

Fubuki hunkered down as she slammed though a wave, salt spraying off her flared hull and dripping down her flanks. She didn't care if the Abyssals sank or ran, she barely even cared if _she_ sank.

Those boats were _not_ getting their fish in the water.

Fubuki brought her gun up to her eye, her vision tunneling in until her universe consisted of nothing more than herself, her Sempai, and her targets. Her high-angle 10cm gun wasn't the biggest, and she didn't have the fancy air-search radar of fire control computers of the Americans.

But she _did_ have months of experience in hash arctic seas, her crews had trained with her optical range-finders until they could acquire a polar bear in the middle of a snowstorm. Fubuki would do her best! She'd protect her friends!

 _Bang Bang_ her twin 10cm guns spoke in unison, neatly bracketing a torpedo boat and sending it and its mates scampering to break her solution. An instant later, the splashes were joined by the thunder of Yuudachi and Naka's 12.7cm and 14cm guns.

"Dump the fish!" barked Jersey, her voice booming over the rumbling thunder of her 5in anti-aircraft mounts.

"H-hai!" stammered Fubuki, traversing her torpedo launchers in the general direction of the oncoming swarm of torpedo boats and firing them all in a rough salvo. 61cm oxygen torpedoes were her trap card against bigger ships. But against small, maneuverable torpedo boats with next to no draft, they were little more than fire hazards lashed to her deck.

Judging by the splashes behind her, Yuudachi and Naka had done the same. Fubuki didn't bother looking. Her universe was in front of her. The torpedo boats were still pressing their attack.'

She wouldn't let them. Fubuki pulled a hard turn, unshadowing her after guns and exploding in a string of ripple-fired 10cm high-explosive shells.

Her first volley was a near miss. Columns of spray washed over the torpedo boats, jostling them like bath toys and spoiling their firing solutions.

Her second was better, a shell slammed into the water mere inches in front of a torpedo boast. The boat was physically lifted out of the water as the shell blew under its keel, then it slammed back down with the force of a thousand sledgehammers, snapping its hull clean in two.

Her third was perfect, she caught two torpedo boats clean amidships. Her shells buried their way though what little armor they had, detonating in their sensitive machinery spaces.

One simply crumpled as her shell tore it apart, letting out a scream of pain in the instance before its hull was torn apart like wet paper, leaving nothing but a slick of burning gasoline behind.

Her other shell must have hit a torpedo. The entire front half of the boat was simply gone, what remained flipped stern-over-bow to land with a crash of twisted, blackened metal and flaming carapace.

"THAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME!" screeched Sammy, throwing an enthusiastic thumbs up as she re-targeted her guns to focus down the next wave.

"Way to go, Fubuki!" boomed her Sempai, the battleship's voice somehow carrying over the frantic roar of her 5in and 40mm guns.

The Special-type destroyer blushed, she'd never felt so self-conscious in her life.

"C'mon!" cheered Yuudachi, grinning as she pulled alongside her sister, "We'll, like tag-team the next wave!"

Fubuki gulped, squinting into the surf. Torpedo boats. Torpedo boats as far as her eye could see. She tensed and un-tensed her fingers around her turrets.

"We can take them," said Naka, forming up on the little destroyer like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Together."

"With you, skipper!" cheered Sammy, pulling up abreast of the torpedo cruiser.

"Hai!" said Fubuki, tucking into the surf as she and her ad-hoc squadron surged into the fray. She'd do her best, everyone would! She only hoped it would be enough.

* * *

 **U/N: Yes, me and the author know that Fubuki and Yuudachi are not actually sister ships. The meaning was supposed to be akin to "sisters-in-arms". Not that I suppose you guys won't point that out anyways since you don't seem to read these bits.**


	21. Chapter 18: Battle Off Alaska

**Chapter 18: Battle Off Alaska**

In an instant, time stopped. Jersey felt her hull glide to a halt atop a wave crest like it was cast in concrete, the glittering water droplets pouring off her bow turning to miniature diamonds frozen in midair.

It felt weird as shit. Some freakish combination of the adrenaline coursing though her veins and the twenty-seven-hundred faeries manning their stations was letting her process at lighting speed. She… she needed to think.

Jersey stormed down a corridor, _her_ corridor, her soggy running shoes slapping against the deck with a frantic rhythm as she broke into a quick jog. This wasn't just a fight, she wasn't wading alone into the devils' jaws. She had destroyers, freighters, and the entire fucking nation of Japan riding on her command.

She launched herself down a ladder, landing with a loud clang against… her own decking. That was gonna stay weird for a while. A Master Chief snapped to attention, giving her a warm nod as she passed him.

Jersey returned it with an almost automatic salute of her own, letting her legs take here deeper into her own hull, almost sprinting towards… towards wherever she needed to be.

She rounded a corner into…her own CIC. She was built as a flagship, after all, she had a Combat Information Center to rival a fleet carrier.

Her faeries snapped too as she ducked though the watertight hatch, each holding a hand to their disproportional faces, huge eyes locked on her.

"H-hey guys," said Jersey, awkwardly returning the salute as she made her way to the plotting table. "Uh… as you were."

The faeries wordlessly resumed their posts. Enlisted ratings in blue coveralls hunkered down behind glowing amber screens while faeries in tan officer's uniforms congregated by the plotting table.

No, not faeries, _officers._ Jersey recognized them, ever captain, every admiral who'd ever served with her standing ready to guide her. "Thanks… sirs," she said, her hand snapping to her brow in a crisp salute.

A beat, a nod from her captain.

"Alright," Jersey slapped her hand against the plotting table frame, "Let's get to work. This a map of the AO?"

Another nod.

Jersey hunched over the table, briefly admiring the tiny model ships—and abyssal—scattered around the board. Where, exactly, the'd _found_ models of the demonic little PT boats was a question she didn't want to get into. Then she saw it.

"Oh…" She glanced up at the assembled cadre of officers for a brief second, hoping for confirmation that she was simply imagining the pattern she saw.

No such luck.

"Shit," scowled Jersey, her icy gaze focusing down on the tiny models as if her stare could destroy their very real counterparts. Her destroyers were hopelessly out of position. Between the Taffies pulling air-defense and Fubuki charging headlong into the torpedo boats, her entire southern flank was wide open. "No way they can disengage?"

A resigned shake of the head from her Captain. With her girls that fully engaged even _trying_ to fall back would cut them to shreds.

And then it got worse. One of her faeries wordlessly shuffled though the sea of brass to deposit a handful of model destroyers just off Jersey's southern flank. So close she could almost _taste_ the concentrated… wrongness from her CIC.

"How the hell did they get so close?" snapped Jersey.

The faerie tech gave her a conciliatory nod. Radar was awful in these seas, and she'd been focusing on the sky anyways.

Jersey slammed her fist against the table. Stupid! She'd let—she glanced at the slowly-growing cluster of models—seven destroyers close to torpedo range clear off her beam. A more perfect shot—at her _or_ the convoy—there never was. If they _hadn't_ dumped their fish already, they would any second now.

Ideally, she'd try and extend away from the destroyers, leveraging the superior range of her 16 inch rifles to keep them at arms-length. But they were _already_ in knife-fighting range. But the only way she could do _that_ was to cut though the convoy, leaving the freighters undefended, and charging headlong into the torpedo boat swarm. And she couldn't stay put, not if she wanted a torpedo to the gut.

That left one option.

"Ah hell," sighed the Battleship, closing her eyes as she took in a deep breath.

When she opened them again, she was back at sea, her bow crashing though a wave as if the entire strategy meeting had happened in an instant. Didn't matter, she knew what she had to do.

Her turbines roared as she shunted all the steam she could generate though them, pushing almost a quarter million horsepower though her shafts. The sea off her stern turned to nothing more that foaming white as the battleship built up speed.

She heeled over into a turn, swinging her bow around to spoil the destroyers firing solution as she charged straight at them.

 _"Jersey, what the hell?"_ growled Williams in her ear. _"What are you doing?"_

"Only thing I can, sir," said Jersey, gritting her teeth as she saw the destroyer column turn on its axis, each destroyer in turn unshadowing its torpedo tubes. A twilight torpedo attack, turning to fire at just over 5 nautical miles… she'd seen this before. Textbook perfect IJN tactics.

Those bastards were flinging long-lances. If just one of those oxygen fueled monsters hit her…

She shook her head, forcing her fear down to the remotest corner of her bridge. "They are _not_ going to sink this battleship," she growled.

 _BOOM!_ Her six forward rifles barked in agreement, whipping the roaring waves into craters as they spoke. High explosive shells raced though the sky. At this range, their trajectory was almost perfectly flat.

All but one missed, frantically evading destroyers were tricky to hit on seas that _weren't_ rolling like Neptune himself wanted Jersey to miss. Five towering splashes of sapphire-dyed water bracketed the destroyers, sending them bobbing like leaves in a gale.

Jersey's last shell was dead-on. Only a freak wave saved the destroyer, dropping it at the very last instant to save its paper-thin hull from a direct hit.

Instead, the shell careened though its superstructure, tearing everything above the weather deck clean off and spitting it out in a mass of twisted, burning metal. With its bridge gone, the brain-dead destroyer listed over, burning its nose in the surf as it coasted to a stop.

One down. Six to go. No time to brag, just act.

Jersey more felt than saw silver streaks of torpedoes racing towards her as they punched though the churning waves. If she hadn't turned into the spread when she did… No. No time. She grimaced as she felt the scream of high-speed screws wash against her hull as torpedoes raced past her on both sides. Six more to go.

Thirty seconds before her sixteens were up again. She shifted focus to her five-inches, splitting her attention between port and starboard as she sailed right into the hornets' nest.

 _BoomBoomBoomBoom_ her turrets barked at her command, her faeries hitting the theoretical maximum of 22 rounds per minute. Adrenaline coursed though her veins as red-hot shell cases bounced onto her decks. Freezing rain mixed with salt spray as howling wind drove what felt like entire oceans into her face.

She barely even noticed the destroyers returning fire. High-explosive shells raked her exposed superstructure, tearing at her clothes and singing her hair. White Phosphorus shells exploded against her decks, setting her wood decking alight.

A shell exploded in front of her face, tearing her radar director clean off and gouging a bloody gash across the battleship's brow.

Jersey screamed in fury. Without her radar, she was down to visual-targeting only. Blood trickled into her eyes, mixing with rain in the howling winds as the battleship circled her would-be killers. Her body was aflame, presenting a target they couldn't miss while she struggled to find her mark.

 _Which didn't matter._

They'd fired their torpedoes, the only weapons that could penetrate her citadel, and missed. They'd blown their one chance to kill her and missed. With her armor and her damage-control faeries… they _couldn't_ kill her, only hurt her.

And Jersey was so _fucking_ mad even the burning phosphorus on her fantail barely registered. Those bitches were going five miles _straight down._


	22. Chapter 19: Night Rising Sun

**Chapter 19: Night Rising Sun**

Heermann gulped as she pulled alongside Jersey, matching the battleship's generally-westward course as best she could in the pounding waves. She'd never really seen a battleship gun-duel, especially not with her _own_ eyes like this. And she'd _never_ seen what the end-result of a close-in savaging looked like.

"S-Skipper?" she stammered, glancing from her bloodied friend to the churning ocean as she tried to edge close enough to use her fire hoses.

"Eh?" the battleship grunted, but her gaze was fixed straight ahead. Her waist-length braid was burned back almost to her neck, and Heermann saw the tell-tale sighs of 5 inch gun fire raking across every square foot of her super structure.

Her vest was torn to shreds, and her shirt wasn't much better, revealing the charred skin of her stomach and the dull-gold of her sports bra. Her shorts were burned black, and her legs oozed blood and fuel oil from a thousand ragged cuts.

"H-hold still," said Heermann, starting up her fire hose pumps and spraying down the battleship's battered decks as she tried to wash away the grime as best she could.

Jersey… actually laughed. Laughed a dry, humorless laugh as she gave Heerman a wry grin.

Heermann almost dropped her fire hose into the ocean as she gasped. Jersey's radar was just _gone_ , leaving nothing but a ragged tear across her brow and a bloody socket where here eye'd once been.

"That bad, is it?" asked the Battleship, reaching up to touch ever so gently at the raw flesh around her missing gun director.

"Y-yeah," mumbled Heermann, hastily looking away as she concentrated on hosing off Jersey's superstructure… which was also her very flat, very toned, _very naked_ belly. She felt _so_ lewd right now.

"Relax, kiddo," said Jersey, glancing away to save Heermann from staring into her mangled face much longer. "I'm a battleship."

"A bleeding one," said Heermann, pulling up even closer to make sure she could hose off… anything that needed hosing!

"I'm a brawler, it's what I'm for," said Jersey, reaching over to muss the destroyer's hair. "I got twelve inches of the best damn steel mankind has ever produced protecting my belt."

"Yeah, but-"

"But I'm not like you," said Jersey. "I have a citadel. Unless they punch though that, I can't die. And…" she glanced down at her fully displayed, but suspiciously unscathed bra and boyshorts, "Seeing as I still have my dignity, they didn't. Apparently."

Heermann gave the battleship a sidelong look.

"I didn't write the rules," said Jersey, fishing her somehow-intact aviators out of her mostly-destroyed vest pocket and slipping them on. "I look like hell, don't I?"

"Sorta, yeah," said Heermann, swallowing a cheeky grin that somehow escaped onto her face.

"Don't worry, kiddo," said Jersey, adjusting her shades and hat to hide the worst of her facial wounds. "This is… this is just a flesh wound."

Heermann had just started nodding in response when Jersey suddenly… snorted. At first, Heermann thought it was just some straggler of a fire getting put out, but then the battleship's cheeks started to twitch up in a smile, her shoulders quivering as she tried to hold in a laugh. "Skipper?" asked Heermann, her firehose at the ready for… hosing.

"Flesh wound," gasped Jersey between bouts of snorted giggles.

—|—|—

Gale's smile was one overbearing tax away from declaring independence and seceding from the rest of her face. She stared from person to person at the mess hall table, her eyebrows bobbing on her face as she waited for her dining companions to acknowledge what was clearly the _best idea ever._

"Okay," the semi-shaven bear of a Master Sergeant who'd played guitar earlier stared at her with bemused comprehension. "The only words I understood from that were 'love child'."

Crowning just shrugged, taking a solid bite out of his burger to absolve him of the need to say anything further.

Gale huffed, her smile fading to a grimace. "Okay, let's work the problem here," she said, slumping back to her seat. "You need _emotion_ to rouse a sleeping ship girl, right?"

Crowning tilted his head, giving the Yeoman the 'I'm waiting for you to unpack that thought' look seemingly all teachers had in common.

"Think about it," said Gale, grabbing a salt shaker to use as a visual aid. Somehow, "despair when Big J showed up. Wasn't, like… there was a huge thing all over the country when that happened?"

"Sure as hell was over here," said the Master Sergeant.

"And when White showed up… I swear every sailor-"

"And Marine."

"Yes, and Marine," Gale was too excited to bother with a snide response. Especially since he outranked her by a generous margin, "was getting pumped when Big J came storming up the straight and…" Gale threw a massive haymaker at the air, "With the music and everything? I swear, The Admiral was _this_ close to jumping into the air screaming."

"Okay…" said Crowning, pausing for a moment to dab at his mouth with a napkin. "I still don't see how love children factor into this."

"Let me finish! Uh, sir," said Gale. "When we summoned the Taffies, I mean… it was _Danger Zone._ That song… that movie drove Navy recruiting up like five-hundred percent."

The Marine nodded in agreement, "It was pretty fucking rad."

"And what could top all that emotion but…" said Gale in a bouncy sing-song, turning to focus right on Crowning, "A kiss between forbidden lovers, shared before a mission? Sammy's your love child, doc!"

Crowning sighed, rolling his eyes _ever so slowly._ "Yeoman, you do know I'm an English professor, yes?"

"Yeah? So?"

"I know when someone's reaching," said Crowning, his tone not _once_ rising from flat academic detachment.

—|—|—

"This suuuuuucks," droned Johnston,her feathers hanging slumped off her head. "I hate this and it suuuuucks." She raised one hand, thumbing the hammer down on her revolver and firing off a salvo at the flying boats meandering in and out of her maximum range.

"You _want_ another battle?" said Hoel, a resigned smirk on her face. Johnston knew, _knew_ that her sister was just as ready for a fight as she was. But she had to be all 'responsible' because she's the 'division leader.'

"It'd be better than…" Johnston paused, throwing up a few 5 inch anti-aircraft rounds at a flying boat that ventured a little too close, "Better than spending the night plinking while they play hard-to-get."

Hoel shrugged, "Yeah… yeah, I guess it would. Least the seas are calm though."

"Yeah… and the torpedo boats are gone. I _hate_ torpedo boats," scowled Johnston, her nose burrowing into the scarf she'd brought along for the arctic weather, her bare arms crossed accros her chest in defiance. "I hate them and I hate stupid… pussy-pedoes."

"Uh… Johnston?" said Hoel, rolling her eye so hard they probably generated more torqe than her screws.

"Yeah, sis?"

"What're those?" asked Hoel, pointing to the quintuple torpedo tubes hanging off the _Fletcher's_ hip holster.

"Uh… my leg?"

"Over it."

"My pants?"

"Oh my god!" scowled Hoel, throwing up her hands in defeat. "You're so stubborn!"

"It's why you love me."

Hoel sighed. "Yeah… yeah it is, sis."

Johnston beamed, letting out a little giggle as she reached over to fuss with her sister's flaming hair.

"Wait," the two girls said in harmony, their eyes snapping over their shoulders to the same exact bearing. "Is that-" the looked to each other. "Shiiiiiiiiiit."

"Skipper!" screamed Hoel, "Incoming-" she squinted as she tried to make sense of the returns, "Uh… heavy bombers, I think. Like… thirty of 'em. Is your AA up?"

"No Joy," said Jersey, her arms strategically placed to preserve as much of her dignity as possible. "No radar for the fives… only about half the 40s are good."

Hoel cursed using the worst words she could think of. Jersey alone had more AA guns than everyone else in the convoy put together… Maybe if… "White! Is your deck spotted?"

"Working on it!" chirped the little carrier, tossing TBFs over the side of her cramped little fight deck to clear space for her Wildcats to form up.

"No, just… just store them," said Jersey, sailing over to bring what AA she could over the tiny carrier girl. "And purge your avgas lines."

"On it!" said White.

"Hoel," said the battleship, "Talk to me, what're we going against."

"Uh… uh…" Hoel squinted into the early-morning sun, straining her eyes to pick out details. "Four engine… twin tails maybe? There're definitely land-based."

"Land based?" Jersey scowled as she swung what AA guns she still had on target. "Where the hell are these little bastards coming from."

"Wherever it is, let's send them back!" growled Johnston, spinning her guns around her fingers as she traversed them on-target.

"We'll, like, send them down to hell!" agreed Yuudachi, taking on an obligatory "poi!" to the end.

Hoel gulped. She was a badass, she and her sisters. Hell, after last night, she'd even count Poi, Bucky, and Naka as badasses too. But heavy bombers were… heavy. Big, tough brutes with tons of bombs apiece. If her guess was right, twelve-thousand pounds. Each. Headed straight for their noses.

"Sisters?" asked Johnston, offering her fist to Hoel.

"Sisters," said Hoel, stacking her fists atop the other girl's. "To the end."

"I hate waiting."

"I know," said Hoel, her eyes glued on her fire control computer, counting off the seconds before she could open fire.

"Hell of a ride though," said Johnston with a cocky grin.

Hoel's only response was a booming salvo of gunfire, tearing into the approaching wave of bombers as best she could. But they were smart, flying so high her guns could barely even reach, let alone actually _hit_ worth a damn.

Johnston was doing moderately better, forcing the bomber formations apart with each salvo, and even clipping the odd wing or tail here and there.

It was Fubuki who had the best luck. Those stupid aren't-I-cool-my-guns-shoot-so-hot-they-eat-themselves 100mm guns were lobbing shells fast enough to foil the lumbering bombers' lazy evasions.

"Must shoot more," muttered Johnston, her guns barking in rapid harmony as she slammed shells into breaches as fast as humanly possible "Must shoot faster, must shoot faster," she chanted.

Hoel echoed the sentiment, throwing up 5 inch shells as fast as her guns would let her. If she couldn't knock a plane down, maybe she could shoo them away from the freighters.

"GOT ONE!" screamed Johnston, allowing herself a split-second of celebration as a shell slammed into a bomber's wing root. The plane simply cracked in half as it suddenly lost lift, rolling over in a lazy aileron roll as it plowed towards the surf trailing sickly black smoke.

"Make that two!" said Hoel, smiling as shrapnel from the first bomber shredded the one behind it.

"We need to do better!" said Fubuki, her long-barreled guns barking in hungry rhythm, straining to make their first kill.

Hoel focused on her shooting, trying not shut out the recurring thought of "it's not going to be enough." If only she had a CAP to back her up! A few of White's Wildcats… hell, at this point she'd even take-

Zeros? The fuck?

"Johnston?"

"Yeah?"

"Bearing two-six-zero, you see what I see?"

Johnston glanced over her shoulder, squinting as her radar acquired her target. "Zeros? the fuck?"

 _"Heya,"_ chirped a new voice, one that Hoel thought sounded every so vaguely southern. _"You girls won't shoot down my planes, yeah?"_

"Uh… no?" replied Hoel. "Just… just stay out of our firing solutions."

 _"Alright! Attack squadron sortie out!"_ , said the voice with equal measures resolve and playfulness. Hoel got the feeling she'd _like_ this new voice. _"Light carrier Ryuujou, heading in!"_


	23. Chapter 20: Flight Decks, HO!

**Chapter 20: Flight-Decks, HO!**

Ryuujou's Zeros fell on the Abyssal bombers in a merciless swarm. Breaking off into two-plane formations, the Zeros raked their targets with machine gun rounds, truing in their aim as she merged with the horde of lumbering bombers.

As a light carrier, Ryuujou spent her time flying air cover for fishing ships, not amassing the great strike forces of Kaga or Akagi. A minor blow to the carriers pride, yes. But it meant her pilots had plenty of practice in air-to-air combat. They were good.

Very good.

Very _very_ good.

The Zeros tore though the formation with professional precision, using their machine guns to check their aim before putting quick bursts of 20mm fire into the toothy maw of the bombers' radiators.

Not every shot was a kill, but the Zeros didn't stop their relentless pace. They'd leave the wounded for the surface ships to finish off, their prey was still ahead of them.

Ryuujou almost cackled to herself. She knew her planes would be going up against four-engine bombers, those were the only planes that could range far enough to smash the American convoy. But she'd worried she'd be going up against American flying fortresses with their seemingly infinite number of fast-firing machine guns.

These… these bombers were flinging rifle-caliber rounds at her Zeros! It was almost embarrassing.

Almost.

"C'mon! That all you got?" cheered the carrier, regrouping her Zeros as they cleared the scattered mass of bombers.

 _"CV Ryuujou, this is USS Hoel,"_ Ryuujou heard a young, but commanding and distinctly American voice filter though her wireless, _"I'm, uh… I'm running air defense down here,"_ she added in what sounded like an afterthought. _"Thanks… for the assist,"_ she almost spat out.

Ryuujou was too focused on regrouping her planes for another attack run—and keeping them out of that _ridiculous_ hail of flak—to respond.

Fortunately, the convoy flagship had no such preoccupations. "No Problem, Dess!" cheered the fast battleship Kongou, one huge billowy sleeve flailing in the stiff arctic breeze as she threw her hand up with a dramatic flourish.

 _"Holy Hannah!"_ screeched a new voice, a deeper one that sounded not unlike Secretary Ship Nagato. But grouchier. _"Volume, dude. Volume."_

Kongou just smiled, her hair whipping in the breeze as she steamed ahead, her face gleaming like the Imperial Seal proudly displayed on her bow. She'd actually been rather quiet for the past few hours, sprinting though the night must've taken some effort for the old battleship.

But now, with the taste of battle hovering in the wind… She was back to her usual goofy self.

Tenryuu rolled her good eye, her gloved fingers flexing against the hilt of her katana. She looked as fierce as ever, even with a gaggle of adorable destroyer lolis bobbing in her wake.

"By my calculations," said Kirishima, her glasses shining as the early-morning sun glinted off the finely polished lenses, "We should meet up in thirty-two minutes."

Kongou nodded, the one stubborn tuft of hair on her head bobbing down before springing back to attention. "Remember," she said, glancing at Tenryuu for a split-second longer than anyone else, "The Americans are our friends! Make sure you show them a warm welcome, Dess!"

"Hai," chorused the Destroyers, with their purple-attired light-cruiser minder chiming in at the last second.

"I hear they have a battleship!" said Akatsuki, "A real battleship! Like Nagato-san!"

"I hope she's nice," said Inazuma, clutching at her borrowed scarf as her bow careened though Tenryuu's wake, "Nanodesu."

"Of course she is, silly!" Akatsuki, giggled, waving her over sized sleeve at her sister, "She's a _battleship!_ they're all elegant ladies!"

"She's a _fast_ battleship," corrected Hibiki. The snowy-haired destroyer seemed to be the only one who didn't have a problem with the cold.

"So?" Ikazuki shrugged, waving at Kongou, "So's Kongou-San!"

The battleship beamed on cue, spreading her flowing sleeves in the best approximation of a curtseyshe could pull off while steaming at twenty-eight knots. "Of course!" she said with a kind-hearted laugh.

Hibiki didn't say a word, but by her expression, she clearly had a choice few loaded and ready.

"Fufufufu," Tenryuu laughed, swinging her sword out of its sheath to rest the gray-red blade against her shoulder, "You girls aren't gonna leave me for some big slow battleship, would ya?"

"She's two knots faster than you," said Kirishima, her eyes glued to the horizon as she looked for any sign of the American convoy.

If Tenryuu had anything to drink, she would have spewed it all over her shirt. "She _what?_ "

"No, it's true!" said Aktatsuki, "When she came in to save Fubuki-chan!—" the girl let out a sigh as she thought of her half-sister—"She was going thirty-five."

Kirishima nodded. She chewed on a pencil she'd gotten from… somewhere, her head tilting by fractions as the cams in her brain recomputed her course.

"Well…" Tenryuu fell silent for a second, her shoulders slumping until she regained her devil-may-care attitude. "Well ha! Finally someone who can keep up with me!"

The DesDiv6 lolis giggled their approval.

* * *

English-born returnee Kongou couldn't help but grin like a fool as she smashed though the waves, her hair blowing back in the stiff Arctic breeze as she steamed at close to flank. She'd been looking forwards to meeting these Americans again!

She'd only had the honor of facing the destroyers of Taffy 3 once in her life, and that time the battle had gone her way. But Kongou didn't hold grudges, those girls fought with honor and courage! She'd been proud to meet them, and she knew she'd be proud to serve with such dedicated women of battle! Akatsuki would be so happy to meet them!

But even more than that, she couldn't _wait_ to meet Miss New Jersey! Kongou and her three sisters were the only fast battleships the Japanese Navy had, and she was looking forwards to meeting another. Fast battleships truly were the most elegant of naval weapons. Steel hidden in fast, agile, silk, they were the pinnacle of ladylike honor on the seas!

Little Akatsuki could take a lesson from Miss New Jersey too!

"There they are!" she yelled, her cheery voice echoing off the waves louder than the commanding bark of her fourteen inch guns. Kongou smiled, waving her billowing sleeve in greeting, "Hello, friends!"

One of the _Fletcher_ class destroyers waved back, the one with her coppery-red hair tied back in a braided ponytail. "USS _Hoel_ , she said, swinging around to veer back towards the convoy, AA guns blazing all the while, "You Kongou?"

"DESS!" beamed Kongou, reading all one-hundred-and-eighteen of her Type-96 25mm anti-aircraft guns.

"The hell does that mean?" grunted back the destroyer, her turrets slewing around to maintain their firing solution even as she swung around. Those Americans always were trick-shooters, but let's see how they fare against the pride of the Japanese Navy!

"It means 'I am' you ignorant little fuck-nuggets," growled the most un-battleship-like battleship Kongou'd ever met. New Jersey—it had to be her, Kongou paid careful attention to Teitoku during her briefing, Dess!—towered over Kongou, and her legs were easily twice as thick. And… and…

Kongou gasped.

Jersey's bare legs were covered in raw, bleeding flesh, her hair was singed short, and… And a solid chunk of her face was just _gone_ , even if she _was_ trying to hide it with those mirrored glasses. "N-New Jersey?" asked Kongou, her voice suddenly tender and motherly.

"'m fine," growled the battleship, scowling as she stared down Kongou. "'s just a flesh wound."

"Are you sure?" said Kongou, biting her lip as she adjusted course, shielding the destroyer lolis with her hull. She'd never _seen_ a girl get so badly battered, even a battleship.

"I'm fucking fine!" said Jersey, her glare somehow coming though her shades. She threw her hands up in an angry show of defiance. And by the instant change in her bloodied face, she instantly regretted it.

"FUCK ME!" she barked, her mouth hanging open in a quiet gasp of pain as she _sloooowly_ brought her arms back down, wincing as her ragged shirt dragged along her charred skin.

Kongou could hear Akatsuki's lofty dreams shattering like glass under the power of a Type-3 shell, but the English-Built fast-battleship wouldn't give up. Miss Jersey was _obviously_ hurt, and what kind of host would she be if she didn't help? "I can dispatch a damage-control party, Dess?"

Jersey shook her head, "Unless they got a spare radar and gun director, wouldn't do me any good."

"Probably just fuck you up worse!" said an American Destroyer, sailing between the two battle wagons and 'accidentally' training her twin quintuple torpedo tubes down the Japanese girl's track.

"Oh hell yeah," agreed the girl who'd identified herself as the Hoel. "Ni-"

Jersey glared at the girl. "Hey fucktards! Bombers!" she barked, jerking her head at the bare handful of burning, bloodied Abyssal aircraft. "Idiots," she added just loud enough for the girls to hear, her scowl flickering into a smirk.

"Aye aye, skipper!" cheered the destroyers, their AA guns barking in eager harmony as they criss-crossed though the sea. They almost seemed to… giggle as the chewed though whatever planes Ryuujou's fighters hadn't smashed.

"A-are Americans always so loud?" asked Akatsuki, her voice very small as she cowered behind Tenryuu's skirt.

Kongou swore she saw Hibiki smirk for just a second.

Kirishima didn't say a word, her face reddening as she buried her face in her notebook, jotting down… something. Kongou would make sure to investigate later, Dess!

Tenryuu shrugged. "What, you girls scared of a little noise?"

DesDiv six sheepishly shook their heads, falling into formation behind their one-eyed minder.

"Form up around the convoy, Dess!" said Kongou. With the American destroyers preoccupied with anti-aircraft duties, her girls would be best watching the surface.

Jersey peeled off to form up with Kongou, gliding to a stop a few hundred yards abreast of the English-built battleship. "Yo."

"Hmm?"

"You and my girls have a history-" Jersey dipped her head towards the destroyers and their little carrier friend, "-You start anything, I'll put a salvo though that thin-ass belt of yours, range finder or not."

Kongou would have been offended, if she wasn't worried about the _Americans_ doing the exact same thing to _her._ "Don't worry," she said, her voice dropping so only the battleship could hear, "I saw that interview you did. We're with you, dess."

Jersey nodded, wiping blood from her brow with the back of her hand. "Good think we're on the same-" she stopped dead in her tracks, her head slowly slewing to focus on Tenryuu. "AY!"

"Fu?" The light cruiser gulped at the sight of battleship staring her down.

"Is that a Katana?"

"Yeah."

"Does it have a _fucking waterline_ on it?"

"…Yeah."

Jersey didn't say anything for a second, her split lips slowly turning up in a smile. "That… that's fucking awesome."


	24. Chapter 21: Shall Defend

**Chapter 21: Shall Defend.**

"What if we're looking at it the wrong way?" said Crowning, idly stroking the developing stubble on his chin as he stared at the scribble-covered white board.

Gale grunted, scowling to herself as she balled up yet another piece of paper and let it fall into the mound gathering at her feet. "We've been at this for hours, Doc," she said, running her hands though her hair as she leaned back in her chair. "What-" she let out a long yawn, "What else is there?"

"Well…" Crowning stood, walking aimlessly towards the board as an idea started to ferment in the back corner of his mind. "What if…" he picked up the eraser, spinning it over in his hand to present the felt side to the board. "We discount Jersey." He dragged the eraser across the board, wiping out the spot where Gale had written 'Jersey—-? Pie?'

"Hey, Doc, what're you-" Gale stopped mid-exclamation, her extended hand falling lamely to her desk. She sighed, "Continue."

Crowning tapped the Styrofoam eraser against the tip of his nose, "Jersey's special… we were trying to summon her when she was sunk."

Gale jerked her hands wider in an exasperated display of 'yes, and?'

"We'd been begging her to come back for weeks," continued the professor, the outside world starting to tune out around him as his mind built up a head of steam. Hmm… maybe he'd been spending too much time around the ship girls if steam was the metaphor his mind immediately went to.

He shook it off, letting this train of thought wander were it may, "We tried every trick in the book. Hell, even Victory got in on it. I think…" he stopped, drumming his hands against the white board frame, "I think they were in the middle of a ritual when she took that torpedo. There were hundreds of us begging her to come back, and the second she could…"

"Wait." Gale was suddenly sitting straight up."Say… say that again."

"Victory got in on it?"

"No no…" Gale's exhausted face was suddenly beaming with energy as she _bounced_ up to the board,"The… you said there were hundreds of you begging Big J to rise?"

Crowning nodded. Then his eyes went wide as well. "Holy shit," he breathed. "How did we miss that."

Williams took a long sip from his steaming mug of oil-black coffee, letting the foul, salty, yet somehow comfortingly familiar taste hang on his palette for a moment. Even with all his girls gone, the mystical bullshit they seemed to generate wouldn't give him a moment's peace. Coffee, as disgusting as it might be, was his only refuge.

The Admiral set his cup back down on his desk. The mug made a soft _clink_ of ceramic on polished wood as it touched down behind a pile of requisition orders.

"So… Yeoman," he said, "would you like to explain why you're bashing down my door at oh-six-hundred?" he asked, steepling his fingers as he gave the manically-smiling sailor his most stoic Admiral Stare. She'd found something, he knew _she_ was sure of it. But months of disappointment had taught him to temper his expectations. "Perhaps using words, instead of one long utterance?"

—|—|—

"Uh… sorry sir," said Gale, biting her lip as she stood at attention, "I.. haven't really slept much in the past few days."

Williams sighed. He'd blame her, but he was doing the very same himself. The very fate of the Pacific war hinged on Jersey's convoy.

"We've found it, sir," said Crowning.

"The secret to the summoning," added Gale.

"It's people."

Williams gave the two a long, blank stare.

"Uh," Gale gulped, "I mean… it's _people_ , sir. Plural." She glanced at Crowning, clearly begging the academic to take over.

"Every time we've pulled off a summoning, it was with people—hundreds of them—cheering the girls on," said Crowning. "Before Jersey showed up, there were hundreds of us trying to summon her."

"And during Jersey's first battle," added Gale, "Right before White showed up, every man and woman on this base was glued to the TV. Hell, there were probably millions watching on CNN all across the world."

"And every last one of them," concluded Crowning, "Was urging her on. Our girls are Americans. They won't answer to a single man, to a king or regent, or even an Admiral… they've earned their sleep."

The professor leaned in, his voice dropping an octave as he reached out to grasp the point he was about to make. "But a hundred, a thousand, or even a million voices crying out in unison, reminding them of the country they served, and the glory they once carried… what red-blooded American could resist such a calling?"

Williams bit back a smile. He wanted to believe, wanted desperately to believe… "Okay, you've explained Jersey, White, and the Taffies. What about Sammy?"

"Well," Gale stepped forwards, absentmindedly wringing her hands as she gathered her thoughts. "When that convoy hit the water, I sure as hell was wishing those girls well, and don't tell me you weren't."

"Maybe that… or maybe she didn't think she was needed," said Crowning. "She's an escort, right? Her convoy, her… her charges were safely in port when we called."

"But once they sailed out," interrupted Gale, "she _had_ to tag along. Sir… look at how she acted during Leyte."

"She hung back with the carriers," said Crowning, his voice dropping into an almost theatrical register, "Avoiding the action she was never built for until, _until_ her carriers were put in harms way." He paused, a smile flickering across his face as he locked his gaze on Williams.

"Then she lost all sense of self-preservation," said the Professor, leaning in as he continued his story, "And charged into battle like a mother protecting her cubs."

Williams tapped his fingers against the tip of his nose. He wanted it to be true. Wanted so desperately for it to be true… "What do you need?"

"A band," said Crowning.

"And every Marine, Sailor, and contractor you can spare," said Gale. "And… probably then some."

Williams allowed himself a brief smirk. "Is that all?" he said, reaching for his phone, "I'll have every available man report to the summoning room at eighteen-hundred."

"Won't let you down, sir!" said Gale, beaming as she bounced on her heels.

—|—|—

 _Darkness. Peace. One might even call it serenity._

She liked it.

She wondered if anyone still remembered her, though she doubted it. She'd been just one ship. One lone ship doing her duty among a fleet of heroes and gods.

Hornet, the bringer of hope in her nation's darkest hour. The ship who did the impossible, who gave her all to make god himself bleed.

Yorktown, the hero who simply refused even death. The ship who came back from the very brink of the abyss to land one final blow. The Savior when her nation needed a shield.

Enterprise… Enterprise the very incarnation of her nation. The ship that beat every odd, who took a pounding again and again and returned ready for one more blow. The ship who gave her all, who stood alone against the might of the Enemy and stopped them cold.

Johnston, Hoel… the valiant destroyers who refused fate's games and made death itself cower in fear.

Her accolades were far humbler. She'd met her opposite on The Enemy's side over Ironbottom sound, the ship she was built to engage. Met, and triumphed though her crews bravery and training.

She was happy. She'd done her duty well, she'd made her country proud.

And she'd brought her crew home alive. Through all her action, she'd kept them alive, every last one of them.

Only to have four stolen from her.

 ** _General Quarters._**  
 _  
The call resonated though a hull she hadn't had for decades, summoning scraps of steel and iron from the very corners of her home._

Her boilers slotted into place, glistening like new.

 ** _General Quarters._**  
 _  
Her turbines spun up, churning the ocean to foam as she build up steam._

 ** _General Quarters._**  
 _  
She was back from the breakers. Back in action._

It'd been a long, long time.

When the missiles came, she'd thought her task was over.

But a thousand voices told her otherwise. Told her she was needed.

Told her she had to be once more.

 ** _General Quarters._**  
 _  
She didn't know how, or why… but the age of the gun was back._

And she was the very number one with her guns.

And her nation needed her.

And she Shall Defend!

—|—|—

As the last dying chords of AC/DC's "Back In Black" echoed across the packed-to-capacity summoning hall, what seemed like the entire navy base held its collective breath.

Every eye pivoted down to the newcomer standing on the waves, her shoulders thrust back at parade rest.

She looked for all the world like Jersey's little sister. She wasn't quite as tall, and her russet brown braid only hung to the middle of her back.

But she had the very same build, tall and solid. Her legs were wrapped in the toned muscle of a runner or rugby player, though her shorts were longer than Jersey's. The sleeves of her crisp white sailor top were rolled up to her elbows, and the snug fabric showed off her shapely figure.

Her face was calm, almost serene, and her steel-gray eyes traced out the thousands of faces staring down at her with calm aplomb. She had grace, poise as she seemed to take in her new situation, her hands resting on the twin revolvers hanging off her hips.

Finally, Admiral Williams broke the silence, stepping forwards to address the new girl. "Report."

The girl snapped to attention, her queenly face flickering in a warm smile. "Sir, USS _Washington_ , BB-56, reporting." Her hand slowly came up to her brow, forming a salute with oiled mechanical precision. "It's good to be back, sir."

* * *

 **A/N: What? the fic's called Belated Battleships. Another was was going to show up sooner or later.**


	25. Chapter 22: Queen of the Sea

**Chapter 22: Queen of the Sea**

Jersey scowled to herself. In the eighteen hours since the IJ—sorry, SDF— girls had driven off the last stragglers of the Abyssal bomber horde, her little convoy had fallen into a rhythm. Tenryuu and her girls would pull air defence for a few hours, then rotate with the taffies and Fubuki… Over and over and over again at a plodding eighteen knots.

The battleship glanced over shoulder. She could go faster. Her destroyers could go faster. Hell, even the cargo freighters could go faster. But not little White.

Jersey cringed at the way White's legs quivered as she sailed though a wave, the way her jaw was set as she pushed all the steam she could generate though her engines.

"You okay, kiddo?" called the battleship.

White panted, gulping down air as she forced enough oxygen though her lungs to speak. "M-mmhm," she said, waving Jersey off as best she could.

Jersey wanted to argue. To point out that no, White was _not_ okay. She was going to wreck her machinery. But she couldn't. Not with the fate of Japan riding on this convoy. It drove her up the fucking wall… And that wasn't the only thing eating away at her.

She'd tried to ignore it, but it kept gnawing at her. A tingling in her gut harsh enough that it couldn't be brushed off. Jersey scowled deeper, pushing her turbines just a little harder to pull out ahead of the convoy.

"Hey," she said, offering a lame wave as she pulled up abreast of Kongou.

Kongou smiled, the little tuft of hair standing bolt upright on her head waving in the breeze. "Is your girl going to be okay?" she asked, her accent lightly seasoned with distinguished British diction.

"Who, White?" Jersey sighed, idly picking at the scar forming over her missing eye. "She's… a tough girl."

Kongou smiled, dipping her head in tacit acknowledgement. Of course she knew White was a tough girl, she was _there._

"She'll make it to Hokkaido," said Jersey, hoping that if she stated it emphatically enough reality would bend to her wishes. "I know she will. I might have to tow her ass the rest of the way, but…" Jersey trailed off.

For a few minutes, the two fast battleships steamed together in silence. Jersey stared off at the horizon, while Kongou… Kongou seemed entranced by finding interesting shapes in the clouds above.

"I'll talk to Johnston," said Jersey. She bit her lip, her mirrored shades barely meeting Koungou's warm gaze. "She flagged you, and she knows damn well she did it."

Kongou didn't say a word, but her eyes were warm, her half-smile anything but angry as she let Jersey air her feelings out.

"But also… that was a pretty shitty thing of me to do," Jersey glanced away, pulling off her shades so she could talk to the battle ship eye-to-eye. "You fought with honor and respect, you- you of all people deserve more than that."

Kongou… actually giggled. Her hand flew to her mouth, keeping the tiny chortles more or less bottled up. "Jersey, I don't blame your girls," Kongou smiled, her hair waving lazily in the breeze, "And I don't blame _you_ either, Dess. You obviously love them very much."

Jersey scowled. "Still a shitty thing to do…"

"Life is full of shitty things," said Kongou, "but they pale in the power of Burning Love." The battleship smiled, flashing one of those stupid one-eye-open finger signs Naka was so fond of.

Jersey stared, "The hell?"

"I said Burning Love!" repeated Kongou, grinning even larger as she pumped her fist, her huge billowing sleeve flapping around in the breeze. The battleship stared off into the horizon, holding her pose just long enough for Jersey to crack a smile.

—|—|—

Yeoman Gale gulped. The young woman—or rather, very old battleship—standing in the middle of the summoning pool was… gorgeous. Tall and shapely, with her russet brown hair that glowed like honey in the summoning chamber hall. Her face looked carved from marble, and somehow the slight asymmetry in her broken nose only made her more beautiful.

Very quietly, very softly, the Yeoman pouted to herself. All the shipgirls were good-looking in some way or another. The taffies were adorable—when they weren't making her tear her hair out—, Naka was girlishly cute, and Jersey had that skater-tomboy vibe going for her.

But Washington… she was downright _queenly_. Her face, her bearing, her… figure… Gale felt like she had to wear dress white just to _see_ the battleship.

The feeling didn't go away as Washington walked over to the ladder. The taffies had just bounced across the waves like the hyperactive murderballs they were, but _Washington_ moved like a proper lady. Gale even forgot for a second how unnatural _walking across water_ was.

She smiled sweetly as she crested the ladder, offering a polite, demure, but slightly soul-less smile to the countless sailors staring at her. Gale breathed a sigh of relief, at least there was _something_ she wasn't good at.

"So," said Washington, her hands falling to her sides, her fingertips brushing at the fabric of her running shorts. "I take it I'm not the first ship to return, then?"

Williams smirked, "That doesn't make you any less welcome, Washington."

"Wash, please." The battleship responded almost in reflex, her eyes glancing askance as her mind caught up with her mouth.

"Wash, do you know where you are?"

The battleship glanced up, her fingers twitching as she thought. Or consulted her gyrocompass. Or whatever the hell shipgirls did. Gale had long since given up trying to understand it. "Everett, unless I'm very much mistaken," she said.

Williams nodded.

"Though," Washing- 'Wash' glanced at Gale, then the other sailors crowded around her, "Time's passed, yes? I'm certain those uniforms are new."

"You… could say that," said Williams, crossing his arms as he thought. "It's twenty-fifteen."

To her credit, the only note of surprise Wash offered was a simple "Hmm." She glanced up at her Admiral, her steely eyes glittering in the light, "I thought missiles were the way of the future."

"Maybe," admitted Williams, "But right now we could use a gunslinger. And you're one of the best."

Wash… actually blushed. Her ivory cheeks going beet red as she suddenly found her shoes utterly fascinating. "Sir…" she said, her face bouncing between at least eleven different emotions, "Sir… if you need me… let's get to work."


	26. A Certain Lady Part 2

**A Certain Lady Part 2  
**

 **By Old Iron**

Fast Battleship Hiei heaved a sigh of relief as she exited the primary command staff building of Sasebo Combined Fleet Command headquarters, officially named Building CSHQ-01 and more commonly named Fort Doom. She really hated seeing that glare on Admiral Richardson's face. It was scary and unnerving and generally gave her the heebie-jeebies. At the very least it hadn't been directed at her this time.

"I wonder what happened this time." She crossed her arms and adopted a look of deep thought as she meandered towards the mess hall. "Hmm... Arizona was there. Maybe she stole his coffee again? He was reading something. Ahh! I'll worry about it later. I'm hungry!" It really wouldn't do her any good to spend too much time trying to figure out the latest source of her commander's foul mood. All she really cared about at the moment was the fact she wasn't the one under his horrifying glare. Well, that and refueling. Her night patrol with Mutsu and Combined Escort Detachment 75 had been painfully dull and left her with far less fuel than she liked running on.

She wasn't a carrier like Akagi, but she still had a healthy appetite.

A growl of near epic proportions made itself known as she walked. Hiei clutched her stomach in embarrassment before deciding to throw caution to the wind just seek out breakfast at flank speed.

"Halt sailor!"

"Whoah!" Just as she was getting up to speed, a voice called out and brought her to a near screeching stop. Hiei flailed her arms for a moment to regain her balance and avoid a what could have been a rather painful faceplant. Concrete wasn't a very good cushion.

She turned towards the direction of the voice and her startled expression turned into a wide grin. Hiei immediately adopted the most serious expression she could muster while snapping to attention with a salute even Nagato would be impressed by.

"Good morning Ensign Richardson! How are you this fine morning?" She retained her posture even as the ensign approached and began giving her and thorough looking-over. Some might break into a nervous sweat under the sudden scrutiny, but like her namesake, Hiei did not so much as twitch.

"Hungry. And I was hoping a nice lass like you would join me." Ensign Richardson spoke with an all too serious tone. "Well, sailor?"

"It would be an honor, sir! In fact, I was already on my way there." Hiei kept her blue eyes firmly focused on the slightly off-center cover adorning the nine-year-old's head, doing her very best to avoid eye contact. It was not easy at all. Especially considering just how hilariously out of place everything about the little girl was.

There was a sputtering sound as an aborted laugh managed to slip its way past the lips of the third, and thus far silent, member of the gathering. Jintsuu was trying her hardest to not give in to the giggles with very little success. Both Hiei and Ensign Richardson turned to look before locking eyes on one another and breaking into their own fits of laughter. It didn't take long before all three were caught up in the amusement completely.

"Commander on deck!" The ensign hollered out just long enough to give Hiei warning before leaping at the battleship who caught her with considerable ease.

Ensign Jane Sarah Richardson was an ensign in name only. Much like how other members of the service might play along with the make-believe world of someone's child imagining themselves as being a member of the service or even a superior officer, Jane's situation differed only in that the game had been going on for months. And that the members of the service she was playing with were warships from an era long since past. Her father happening to be the same admiral that nearly gave Hiei a heart attack.

"You slept well I bet. All full of energy." Hiei lifted the ensign up onto her shoulders with a grin and held her fast with a firm grip. A rather easy task even if she didn't have the ludicrous strength of a battleship. Jane was a slip of a girl and appropriately featherweight. Small hands gained purchase on her headgear as she steadied herself. "And I'm staaarving. No amount of burning spirit can substitute for a hot meal. Especially after running around at sea all night."

"I slept really good. And I'm reeealy hungry too." Jane pointed in the direction of the mess hall and gave a rallying cry that the battleship mimicked. "To food!"

"You slept well, Jane. Not 'good'." Jintsuu's soft voice sounded out, now having recovered from her bout of laughter. In her hands were a multitude of folders and papers bound together. Some of which looked ready to spill out onto the ground and make the light cruiser's morning more hectic than usual. She had come across Jane whilst on her way to the admiral's office and been swept up in the girl's morning routine of 'base inspection'. It was a day off from school so there was no need to worry about truancy officers.

There weren't always other children for Jane to play with, so she had gravitated towards the shipgirls who were almost constantly running about doing something or another. The battleships especially drew her attention. It did make sense, really. Mutsu especially had a knack for interacting with little ones and Hiei had energy to spare for virtually anything a rambunctious group of children could throw at her. Arizona was... Arizona was... steady. Like a security blanket. Jintsuu couldn't really put it any other way. And it wasn't like the American warship was forthcoming with explanations either.

"Oh, lighten up a bit Jintsuu. You going to join us?" Hiei smiled before twirling about, much to Jane's amusement. "Mutsu's probably debriefing the Admiral right now and Arizona was in there too. I think she stole his coffee again. He had one of those super angry glares going." She shuddered slightly.

"Hehehe. Ari's always taking daddy's coffee." Jane giggled while Jintsuu sighed in resignation at the statement.

Going almost hand in hand with the seemingly unending consumption of caffienated beverages, Arizona had resorted to various measures to ensure she was properly wired up and awake at all times. The measures employed had resulted in Admiral Richardson's morning brew almost always being mostly or completely drained by the time he reached the pot. Thus often forcing him to make more while existing in a state not too dissimilar to a zombie.

Jintsuu idly wondered if the obsession with coffee was a Western thing. Or caffienated drinks to be more specific. She'd seen plenty of Japanese people enjoy such beverages, but in her mind it never really compared to the near slavish devotion she saw demonstrated in particular by the Americans. The armed forces seemed to have their own branch-specific rituals related to coffee and she rarely saw any serviceman without a cup, canteen, or thermos filled to the brim with the black liquid. Especially in the morning. And if Arizona and the rumors about the other American warships were any indication, battleships were particularly devoted.

The fact that Kongou was born in England and showed a comparable fanaticism for black tea made her worry for Hiei. And the rest of the fast battleships for that matter.

"Daddy makes the best coffee in the world." She leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to Hiei. Whispered in the sense that anyone nearby could hear her. "Ari even said so!" Well, more accurately, Arizona had said she preferred the admiral's coffee to the stuff she could find around base. But to Jane that was close enough to being the best in the world.

"If she said so, then it must be true." Hiei laughed before gesturing to Jintsuu, breaking the girl out of her thoughts. "Come on. Breakfast is more fun with more people. And then we can brag to the admiral how he keeps missing out." She wished that her sisters, Kongou in particular, would have been able to join them, but they had their own missions to take care of. She'd have to make sure she made up for everything they missed.

"Certainly. I'm rather hungry myself." Jintsuu chuckled softly. "And we'll drag him out of his cave one of these days." The Admiral had an unfortunate tendency to skive off breakfast, or eat it in bar form on the way to his post. Neither really lent themselves well to him spending quality time with his child in her opinion. Or with the girls under his command for that matter. She'd heard some of the other admirals in charge of shipgirl fleets went out of their way to make some time to get to know them a bit better.

The Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force was still adjusting to the new challenges brought on by the massive number of unknowns and new discoveries that came with the onset of the Abyssal War. Certainly not helping was the resource crunch. But one thing that many commanders had realized was that it was much harder to treat a shipgirl like a regular soldier. After all, not many soldiers were warships from the early half of the 20th century made flesh.

Still, flimsy excuses for Admiral Richardson aside, she really ought to find a way to drag him away from his desk more frequently. As his secretary it was her duty to help her commanding officer and find ways to keep him from being buried in work. Whether that be through paperwork or confiscating those historical fiction books of his. Jintsuu wanted to put a hand to her head in sorrowful exasperation. They were a bit too much of a distraction and she knew quite well how the time could fly if you weren't paying attention. And he seemed to have a never ending supply of them.

But she'd worry about that after she had a full tank.

"Then lets get some grub." Hiei turned towards the direction of the mess and raised a fist to the sky. "Breakfast Corps! All ahead flank!" Both Jane and Jintsuu raised their hands to match the battleship, the former sounding off with a far more energetic voice than the latter.

* * *

 **U/N:** **This was actually written awhile ago but I totally forgot to upload it so... oops?**


	27. A Certain Lady Part 3

**A Certain Lady Part 3  
**

 **By Old Iron**

 _A steel shadow's comforting watch over a casket marked by a great marble headstone._

Lauded with honors and respected beyond comprehension. Even those who had sent both her and those who sailed upon her to the deep paid their respects to the fallen and the brave. A lesson for the history books. Immortalized for her failure.

She hated it.

She loathed it.

Her rusting corpse enshrined as though she were a mighty warrior or some steel goddess of the high seas. It only served to embitter her as hot tears of crude stained the waters around her.

She was no grand figure to be worshipped nor deity of tragic remembrance.

She was someone who had failed to do her duty.

Every laurel, hymn, and salute reminded her of what she believed to be the greatest failure in her existence.

She remembers the screams of her crew, those who burned and those who bled as they died. The pleas and the resignation of those who were trapped by her twisted hulk as they drowned and starved and died without hope in those weeks after the attack. She would not die until the last sailor trapped breathed his last.

Her admiral's ring fused by fire to her hull, his body no more than ash.

Slain like a pig at the butcher's market, she offered up no defense against the howling planes as her virgin guns sat silent.

She was furious and she was desolate.

It mattered not that the price for their lives had been repaid a thousand times over.

It mattered not that she was not and would never be forgotten by anyone who could claim to know that there was indeed a location in the Pacific by the name of Pearl Harbor.

She had failed in the most spectacular manner. Failed her crews, her sisters, and her country. Being struck down in a hellish storm of fire without so much as a thought and then languishing upon her deathbed. Praised for dying a dog's death.

Her duty remained incomplete. No matter what the souls who died with her said, she would never claim she had done her part. No matter what the souls who came to rest alongside her said, she would never embrace forgiveness for her lack of action.

A piercing whistle cut through the deep.

 _ **General Quarters.**_

Fire roared in her belly as twelve boilers raged to life once more.

Patient and wrath filled guns, once broken and shattered, swiveled into place with a vicious grace.

 _ **General Quarters.**_

She latched onto the command like the damned to salvation and thrust away from the embrace of peace.

She was not so noble in her intention.

It was selfish and arrogant.

She would never again rest.

She would never again let her guns lay silent.

Revenge for the fallen and a bulwark for those who lived.

 _ **General Quarters.**_

It mattered not how.

It mattered not the cost.

She would fight once again.

And Her Foes Will Die.

—|—|—

Admiral Richardson looked both haggard and irate. For the better part of four hours marines, sailors, and even the air force had cycled in and out. Music had been blaring nearly non-stop as they all poured out everything they could muster. If they had a shred of musical skill, they had taken stage to stir up those gathered. The chanting. The shouting. The cheering. The near desperate call to arms from every soul that could be called upon.

All for the sake of drawing out a single ship from the deep.

They had followed the instruction provided by ONI to the letter, but no one had responded. He had dismissed the fact they were currently sitting pretty in a naval base that worked joint operations with the JMSDF as being a reason. If anything it would only raise more questions for the girl when she awoke. Did they not have enough people? Were their pleas insufficient? Did she just not like the damned music?

He glanced to the side as medical staff carted out one sailor who had pushed himself to fainting in his fervor. They were getting nowhere and taking their sweet time to get there. The troops were reaching their limits. Some of those with family were arranging to see if it was possible to have them present if only to add another voice. Whether in person or over the airwaves.

A gloved hand rested itself on Richardson's shoulder and he turned to see the weary yet still smiling face of battleship Mutsu. She had stepped out momentarily to take his daughter back home. Jane had begged and pleaded until her father had allowed her to come. She hadn't wanted to miss out on a chance to finally meet an American shipgirl and even more to help summon her. Even so, she managed only an hour before the noise had become too much. Constantly cheering for the unknown warship had certainly not helped and the poor girl had very nearly fallen asleep in Mutsu's lap despite the ludicrous volume. She had been just that tuckered out.

"She took her time going to sleep, didn't she." It was more a statement of fact than a question.

"My, my, your girl is a handful. I had to read five chapters to her before she finally fell asleep." Mutsu was rather amazed that despite being as tired as she was, the little girl still had the energy to complain and beg for a bedtime story once she was all nestled under the covers. She sighed and allowed the smile to slip into a saddened expression. "Still nothing?"

"I still don't know why she thinks the operator's manual for a boiler is fun bedtime reading." His frown slipped for a moment as he tried to piece together where the manual had even come from. It and dozens more. "The lights haven't even flickered."

"A Babcock and Wilcox boiler." She clarified before removing her hand from Richardson's shoulder and beginning to scan the seas.

Another song reached its end and it looked as though everyone was spent. The admiral was half ready to call this attempt a wash before going somewhere nice and quiet so he could curse until the the flora began to wither. Before he could do so, he felt the other half swell with anger. People were suffering. The allies of America needed more than handouts. They needed power. A power to help fight back the abyssal monstrosities.

Power they were failing to bring forth.

He grit his teeth to the point where he felt they might crack as the frustration built. Not even the beginnings of a new song helped to quell his ire.

"That fucking does it!" He roared before storming over to the waterfront. Mutsu jumped in surprise and more than a few troops looked at him as though he'd finally lost his mind. Which was well within the realm of possibility.

Richardson, fully loaded with piss and vinegar, had been ready to launch a tirade of epic proportions at the empty sea. Prepared to vent all his frustrations out in the open. He opened his mouth and the vitriol on his tongue turned to water. A blast of frigid winter air swept through the base and brought near everything to a halt. Only the band continued, filling the stillness with chords heavy and potent.

A sharp, long whistle pierced the music.

"Maybe she's already here." Mutsu lowered the whistle with a half smile and a shrug before giggling. "And maybe you've summoned a sleepyhead." The battleship walked over to one of the MP's and took a polished white megaphone from him. Good for barking orders. Very good. She thumbed the power switch and tossed it to Richardson who caught it awkwardly, somehow not hitting the trigger as he did so.

He locked eyes with the brunette who merely gave a playful smile. She had no more idea than he did at this point, but he was glad she was trying. Certainly more than he at least. They were all strung out and morale would take a sharp dive if they didn't at least try everything they could think of. Not when they had the supposed formula for sparkly magical shipgirl summoning.

Richardson nodded and she brought that shiny whistle to her lips again, this time with hundreds of eyes upon her.

Once more that whistle sounded out. Starting low and shifting high.

When Mutsu finished, he raised the megaphone and drew in a deep breath.

Then he roared.

"GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS! ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

There was silence as the band finally stopped.

And then the lights dimmed.

A churning sound placed all eyes upon the sea. A growing froth spread violently as flames licked the epicenter. A gloved hand breached the dark waters and slammed down upon the surface. It was joined by a second as their owner struggled to pull itself free from whatever chains still tried to bind it. The sound of straining shafts preceded the figure finally pulling itself free with a great heave of the sea.

Wide, mad eyes scanned the crowds until they locked onto the closest officer: Richardson.

The woman in the navy longcoat stepped forward with footfalls that sounded far heavier than they actually were. Even the concrete seemed to groan under her boots.

She looked nothing like the ships Richardson had seen in the reports. Despite being mostly concealed by the singed coat, he could tell she did not have the build of a hard hitting runner. Nor was she a short, sinewy brawler. And she most certainly did not share any likeness with the adorable little escort carrier.

Mutsu approached from the rear and the newcomer tensed, looking for all the world like she was about to jump the battleship and send her packing to the breakers. It lasted for only the briefest of moments however. The woman's eyes went hazy and a look of comprehension seemed to bubble up before she locked eyes on the chrysanthemum crest upon Mutsu's bow. There was a nod and she turned her gaze back to Richardson.

He offered a salute, no longer appearing as the man who had not minutes ago been ready to live up to the adage of swearing like a sailor and now looking every part the stern commanding officer. "You're late sailor. Report."

"No excuses sir." Her grey eyes glinted in a way that reminded him of someone about to snap. The flecks of dark gold did not help. "It won't happen again. Sir."

"Your name?"

"Pennsylvania-class battleship. Hull number 39. USS Arizona." She offered up a salute, however oddly it may have felt to her. She'd never had hands before after all.

There was a pregnant pause as everyone in earshot digested this information. One of the most famous battleships in American history now stood on the waterline at Sasebo. No one seemed to breathe as Richardson sized up the returned Arizona.

"United States Navy. Rear Admiral John Richardson. Welcome to the fleet." His words and salute were crisp and absolutely formal. Even if they hadn't just summoned the embodiment of the tragedy of Pearl, he'd have done the same. He paused for a moment before risking a glance to his side and saw Mutsu at attention.

"Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force. Battleship Mutsu." She broke formality and smiled warmly. "Welcome to the fleet, Miss Arizona."

Arizona looked rather confused for a moment, not quite expecting the warm welcome she was receiving. Had she not failed her duties so absolutely? Should she not be reprimanded at the very least? She had even been late according to Admiral Richardson.

"Good to be... here?" Arizona spoke uncertainly, wondering just what was going on as the confusion continued to mount with each passing moment.

"Okay. I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry. I and everyone here am exhausted and hungry." Richardson gestured to the massive crowd who had remained silent thus far by some miracle he could not be bothered to comprehend at the moment. The formality continued to fall as he decided to take full advantage of both Arizona's apparent confusion and the fact they had finally summoned a shipgirl. "So." He pointed first to the new arrival and then to the smiling Mutsu. "You two." He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "And I. Are going to get some God. Damned. Food."

"But first~" Mutsu gave no warning as she sided up next to Arizona. "Three cheers for Arizona! Come on everyone!" She hollered to the crowd with all her enthusiasm as she reached over to the shorter battleship's hand and raised it triumphantly to the sky.

"Wh-What?" The copper haired woman was nearly floored by the roaring cheers that accompanied Mutsu's declaration. This wasn't what she expected at all!

Richardson put a hand on Arizona's head and ruffled her hair. "Don't think too hard. Just... Come on. Lets eat." He removed his hand and gestured for the two battleships to follow. They could worry about more complicated things later when they weren't all tired, hungry, and strung out on music.

"A double booking? Oh my, my my... Isn't that dangerous?" Mutsu's positively dangerous grin was made impossible to take seriously owing to the twinkle in her eye. Still, she did not relinquish her hold on the utterly baffled Arizona's hand.

"You be quiet." Richardson's grumbles earned no shortage of laughter from Mutsu or those troops in earshot as she began walking along him.

Arizona was dragged along almost effortlessly with abject confusion painted plainly on her features.


	28. Chapter 23: A Proper Lady!

**Chapter 23: A Proper Lady!**

Other than the very occasional clarifying question, Washington hadn't said a word since Williams started the impromptu briefing. And even then, it was a short three-or-four word question before she went back to attentive listening and scribbling on the notebook she'd produced from… somewhere.

Williams knew this should relax him. After working with destroyers who got distracted if there weren't plenty of pictures in his slide decks, and a battleship who insisted on eating her brunch at briefings, a proper military-precise briefing should have been soothing.

But it wasn't. It was driving him up the wall. The other shoe was going to fall, he just _knew_ it. And if it waited this long, it must be very _very_ big.

But he was an Admiral of the United States Navy. If he feared inevitable disaster, he wouldn't have taken the job. Dauntless he sailed, plowing though the abbreviated history of the Abyssal war thus far.

"Which brings us up to now," he concluded, folding his hands behind his back as he waited for the battleship's pen to stop moving. "Any questions?"

"No, sir," said Wash in that calm, demure, but somehow thunderous voice. She looked up at him with a hit of a smile, sliding her pen into her notebook's spiral binding for safekeeping.

Williams caught himself mid gasp, passing it off as a mere intake of breath as his eyebrows creeped up. "Wash… I just told you that animate, demonic ghost of warships long past have risen from the abyss, and our only hope is the spirits of our own warships."

Wash nodded, glancing at her notes for a second. "Aye, sir. I'd… say that sums it up."

"And you have no questions?"

"Sir," Wash folded her hands, her cheeks going a slightly redder shade of marble. "When I was born, battleships were queens of the sea," she explained, clearly struggling to avoid patronizing her Admiral, "by the time I was decommissioned, not only had aircraft taken over the throne, but they didn't even require the help of a propeller to hold it."

Williams shrugged. In hindsight, that made a decent amount of sense. A worrying amount, even. "Times have changed," he said, "I think it's time for the battleships to regain their throne."

Wash stood, her hand snapping up in a crisp salute, her russet brown hair glistening in the florescent light like she was actually wearing a crown. "It would be my honor, Admiral."

"Good to hear it, Wash," said Williams, snapping off a salute in return, swallowing the feeling in the back of his mind telling him that _he_ should have saluted _her_. "As per procedure, you are to be commissioned to the brevet rank of Lieutenant Commander, full rank to be bestowed following approval from Congress."

"Thank you, sir," said Wash, her cheeks positively glowing as she smiled at her Admiral. "I won't let you down."

"Outstanding," said Williams, sitting back in his chair and turning to the pile of paperwork he'd been neglecting. "Yeoman Gale will see to any further requirements you have, dismissed."

Wash clicked her heels together, puffing out her… rather sizable chest and flashing a smile. Then she turned, her hair billowing with the suddenness of the movement. "Tell me, Yeoman, do they still have mess halls in the future?"

"Uh, Aye, ma'am," said Gale, her face sagging into an expression of utter defeat. "Right this way."

—|—|—

Gale stared at Wash in disbelief, her jaw only barely holding on to the rest of her face as the battleship treated herself to her twenty-seventh plate—Chicken pot pie with green beans.

And for once, it wasn't the sheer quantity of food the shapely woman was somehow managing to fit into her slender waist. She'd seen Jersey wolf down ten thousand calories in one sitting—and that's when she _hadn't_ been sailing around.

No, what surprised her was how damn civil Wash was being. The battleship'd made sure to thank every sailor manning the serving lines, and even posed for a selfie with one—though Gale noticed she looked _very_ confused the entire time. And even when she got to the table, she had her napkin carefully folded against leg and dabbed at her mouth every few minutes.

"Is something the matter?" asked Wash, setting her fork down with a tiny _tink_ of metal against plastic.

"Hmm?" Gale shook herself out of her stupor, "Oh, uh… no ma'am."

"Are you sure?" asked Wash, leaning across the table. "You look like your mind's a thousand miles away."

Gale bit her lip. It was so weird talking to Wash… Jersey might outrank her, but she treated her like an equal. Wash… Wash made her regret not wearing her dress whites today. "It's just… you eat like such a lady."

Wash raised one of her slender eyebrows. "And?"

"I'm just…" Gale shrugged, "I'm used to the Taffies, who just sort of…" Gale flailed her hands around, "wolf down whatever you out in front of them. That. Them, and Jersey, who does the same, but more so."

Wash smirked, her face momentarily echoing the same nefarious giggle that so often adorned her fellow-battleship's—cousin's?—face. "Hmm… of course she does."

"You have to let me bring a camera when you two meet," blurted out Gale.

"Yeoman…" Wash smiled, waving the tip of her polished knife at the sailor, "I would be worried if you didn't."

—|—|—

Kongou smiled as the fresh sea breeze washed though her airy miko outfit, ruffling her skirt and blowing salt though her long brown hair. It was a positively glorious day to be at sea, the crashing waves of the North Pacific had calmed, and there wasn't a cloud in the crisp blue sky.

The Abyssals couldn't take that joy from her, Kongou wouldn't let them. This was _her_ sea, they were merely unwelcome guests.

The British-built fast battleship took a deep breath, holding the salty air in her lungs. For just a second, she almost forgot there was a war on. The rhythmic crash of surf against her bow, the steady hum of her turbines… she felt at peace.

"Alright fucktards," barked Jersey, shattering the moment's peace Kongou had found. "UNREP time!"

The American scrunched up her bloodied face, glancing around for her little pack of hyperactive little—or not so little, given their bustlines. Americans certainly had their own style—destroyers.

If Jersey said anything after that, it was lost in the the cheers of Johnston, Hoel, Heermann, and Sammy as all four of them scrambled to be first in line for their snacks. Fubuki and Yuudachi looked at each other, shrugged, then belatedly fell in line behind them.

"Kongou-San?" Akatsuki tugged at the end of Kongou's sleeve, her enormous eyes staring up at the battleship with a timid smile on her face.

"Yes, Akatsuki?" said Kongou, beaming at the little destroyer. It wasn't often she got to talk to the third-generation Special-type destroyers. At least not without their minder nearby.

But, with such a large convoy to guard, Tenryuu had had to separate her children to cover the gaps while the Americans refueled.

"Um," Akatsuki bit her lip, watching as Jersey handed out sandwiches—peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off, if Kongou wasn't mistaken—and juice boxes to her clutch of destroyers. "What's 'un-rep' mean?"

"Underway Replenishment, Dess!" said Kongou, waving her hand in the air as she jabbed the sky with her outstretched pointer finger. Her long sleeve billowed behind her for a dramatic finish. "It's when one girl gives fuel, ammo, and Supplies to her friends."

"Oh," said the little destroyer, watching with rapturous attention as Jersey handed out apples and ice-cream bars to her girls. They all seemed to prefer the former to the latter, and Johnston almost tried to swap for Fubuki's ice cream before Jersey caught her with a light slap.

Akatsuki let out a single giggle before she caught herself, swallowing it back in with a 'proper' and 'demure' smile. "She's such a lady."

Kongou's eyes went wide. Jersey? Lady? She fancied herself a keen observer, her lookouts were some of the best in the entire Imperial Navy. But she couldn't for the life of her make that connection.

"Look at her," explained Akatsuki, "She's so hurting… but she's making sure her girls are fed!"

Kongou opened her mouth, then closed it again. That actually made a certain amount of sense. "Mmm," she said, "Yes, Jersey's a good flagship, like Tenryuu, Dess!"

Akatsuki smiled, "Maybe not _that_ eleph-" she stopped, taking in a quick breath as she corrected herself- "elegant."

Kongou pretended not to notice.

"Yo, Sword-chan!" barked Jersey with the abject lack of subtly only an American could truly convey, "I got leftover shit, you want an apple or something?"

"Fu?" For a split-second, the cruiser's face went white as Kongou's frilly little outfit, her good eye dancing over the surface. "Ah," she shook her head, regaining her usual laid-back demeanor, "Nah, I ate on the way out."

"Kay," said the Battleship, biting a huge chunk out of a shiny red apple. If she noticed the cruiser's momentary panic, she didn't say a word.

Meanwhile, Johnston had broken off from the pack, letting her sister slide into position at one of Jersey's refueling lines. Kongou wouldn't have thought much of it, except the destroyer was making a beeline to her.

With her guns and torpedo tubes conspicuously pointed exactly a hundred and eighty degrees away from the battleship's track.

"'Zuki," said Kongou, smiling as she gave the destroyer a pat on the head. "Why don't you see if Jersey has any snacks for you, Dess?"

"Oh, Okay," said Akatsuki, smiling as she peeled off, leaving Kongou alone as the lion-hearted American destroyer pulled abreast.

For a moment, the two ships sailed in silence, Kongou waiting patiently while Johnston stared at her shoes.

Finally, Johnston broke the silence. "So…"

Kongou smiled, waiting for the little American to continue.

"Um…" Johnston risked a glance at the much bigger battleship, "I'm a little shit, and I shouldn't have pointed my tubes at you." She bit her lip, running her hand though her salt-encrusted feathers, "You fought with honor, and… and…"

Johnston looked over again, her eyes filling with tears as she stared up at Kongou, "And I'm really _really_ sorry. I was tired and mad and I wasn't thinking-" her voice started to accelerate, the space between her words squeezing to almost nothing,"And I'll tell the Admiral as soon as we get to Japan I'm reallyreallyreallysorry!"

Kongou smiled. If she wasn't in her rigging, she'd have given the destroyer a huge hug. As it was, a simple ruffle of her hair would have to suffice. "Johnston… "

"Y-yes?" said the Destroyer, wiping at her face as she sailed just a little closer.

"What… exactly was your plan, hmm?" said the battleship, her voice sitting happily at it's regular bouncy timbre. No need to yell, _especially_ when the girl already felt miserable.

"My-my plan?" said the destroyer, "I, uh… I though maybe you'd… do something."

"So," Kongou, smoothed a loose tuft of hair on the destroyer's head. "You thought we might be a threat, dess?"

"Mmhm."

"And you were prepared to engage myself, Kirishima, Tenryuu, and all her destroyers."

"Kinda…"

"While _we_ have air superiority."

Johnston just offered a timid nod.

"All by yourself?"

An even smaller, timider nod.

"Johnston…" Kongou smiled, tousling the girl's hair. "That's what heroes do, Dess."

"Don't feel like a hero," mumbled the destroyer.

"You were," said Kongou, beaming as she planted her hands on her hips. "You and your sisters all were." She glanced over just enough to shoot the American a wink. "And I think you still are, Dess!"

Johnston sniffed. "R-really?"

"Mmhm!" smiled Kongou. "Now… go play with your sisters, Dess!"

* * *

 **A/N: Bonus points to whoever knows why Tenryuu got freaked out by the offer of an apple.**


	29. Chapter 24: And Now, We Eat

**Chapter 24: And Now, We Eat.**

Gale sneaked a glance at her watch as Washington mopped up the last scraps of gravy with her biscuit. Four and a half hours. Four and a half _hours_ of the exact same routine.

Wash would make her selection from the serving area, offer profuse thanks and a licked-clean plate in exchange for a fresh helping of her choice. The battleship would then return to her seat with a graceful hip-swinging walk she couldn't have been aware of and tidy her napkin before she dug in. Then it was the endless repetition of cutting a small morsel off her meal, chewing silently, and dabbing at her mouth when required.

For _four and a half hours._ She had to have ingested at _least_ ten thousand calories by now, shipgirl food was hearty stuff. Gale tried her very best not scowl.

The taffies might eat six meals a day—and that's not counting the nearly constant stream of candy and soda they ingested—but at least _each individual meal_ was more or less normal-sized. And Jersey… she just wolfed down her food so fast that Gale was never quite sure just _what_ she was eating. It let the Yeoman maintain a sense of plausible dependability, no matter how flimsy it might be.

But not Wash. Her demure eating habits made it _painfully_ clear how much she managed to fit into that slender little waist, especially when she wore that snug little haze-gray sailor top.

"Yeoman?" Wash set her fork down against her plate with a polite _clink_ of steel on plastic. "Is something the matter?"

"Hmm? I-" Gale snapped herself out of her daze. She wasn't staring! Honest. "I, uh… no, ma'am."

Wash gave her a look, those steely gray eyes warming up just a smidgen. She didn't say anything, just gave Gale _the look._

"You're gorgeous," said Gale, her voice just loud enough for Wash to hear, "Uh… I mean.. Ma'am?" The yeoman's face scrunched up like someone had poked her nose with a sledge hammer.

Wash's blush could only be described as thermonuclear. "That… That, uh," the elegant battleship actually _stammered_ before catching herself. She let out a short cough to require her bearings, "That worries you?"

Gale gulped, "Uh… not… I mean…" she held up a hand, begging for time to collect her thoughts.

Wash nodded, dabbing at non-existent specks of food on her face to hide her blush.

"Okay," Gale took a breath, "I'm in pretty good shape, yeah?"

Wash nodded.

"But… to keep in shape… I have to work out, watch what I eat," Gale sighed, "Pick a salad wrap for a mid-day snack instead of a brownie."

"Oh…" Wash looked utterly crestfallen, her shoulders going slack as she slouched back in her chair.

"Yeah," Gale bit her lip. "And here you are with…" the sailor waved generally over the battleship's perfect hourglass figure, "With… _that._ And you eat three times your own body weight in _crap._ "

Wash didn't say a word, the muscles in her slender—but surprisingly toned—neck flexing and un flexing as she thought. "Yeoman… didn't you say you worked with New Jersey?"

"Yeah… but it's less obvious," said Gale, "She just sorta inhales it all."

The corners of Wash's mouth twitched upwards, and the demure battleship had to bite her lip to keep from bursting out in laughter. It was an action that, however valiant, proved unsuccessful, as a low rumble soon echoed from her mouth. "Of course she does."

Gale couldn't help but laugh along with her. "Don't- Don't worry, Ma'am," she said. "I'm sure I'll get used to it."

"I'm sure you will," said Wash, popping the last bit of biscuit into her mouth. She chewed for a second, swallowed, then added, "Just keep that in mind if you ever ask me to dinner."

By the time Gale got her voice back, Wash was already halfway to the serving area.

—|—|—

"J-Jersey?" White let out a pitiful little whimper. Rivulets of sweat dripped off her ruddy face, soaking into her salty hair and freezing her neckerchief solid.

"Yo," The battleship visibly cringed at the flagging escort carrier.

"I, I have to-"

"Convoy, drop to five knots!" barked Jersey, shushing the escort carrier with a glance as she peeled off to join her, "RJ, get a CAP up."

"Hai!" said the flattop carrier, waving her hands over that scroll thing as she spotted a deckload of Zeros, "wanna hang Two-fifty kilo bombs on 'em?"

Jersey scowled, jostling into position alongside her exhausted escort carrier. She really _really_ wished she had proper fighter-bombers like Hellcats or Skyhawks around. Or Tomcats, like in that one movie with _Nimitz_. Zeros were air-superiority fighters, and flimsy ones at that… still, without White's TBFs to fly ASW… "Do it."

"You betcha!"

Jersey tossed a wave in reply. The Japs would cover her CAP. It… wasn't exactly a comforting thought, but she worked with what she had. And right now, she had more pressing problems. "Hey, kiddo," she said, her voice soft and warm as she fell abreast of White.

"Hey," said White with an exhausted grin. "I-I can make it, I jus' need a rest."

"Mm.." Jersey smiled, tousling the girl's sweaty hair, "Let's get you some food, hmm?"

White smiled, and gave a lazy nod.

"I got you a sandwich," said Jersey, pulling the neatly bagged items from her pocket, "and some strawberry milk, I know how you like that."

"I do," said White, reaching her shaky hands towards the bottle.

"Here," Jersey twisted the cap off and slid a straw into the frothy pink milk. "There," she knelt to offer the snack to her charge, "Drink up, kiddo, okay?"

White took a long sip, her eyes rolling back in undisguised glee.

"I'll get a DC team over there, yeah?" said Jersey, holding her hand out front of her vest pocket. A half-dozen faeries in dirty dungarees with bright red tool boxes obligingly crawled out, forming up in rough circle on the battleship's hand.

White nodded, silently sipping her milk as Jersey deposited her faeries on White's deck.

"You listen to her guys, okay?" said the Battleship, "They know uniflow better than you."

A tiny grunt in the affirmative.

"I'll be right here, take anything from the stores you need, okay?"

Another grunt, and the faerie puffed out her chest in pride.

"Yeah yeah…" Jersey smiled, handing White another bottle of milk as the carrier finished her first, "you're hot shit alright. Now do your jobs."

The faeries saluted, then disappeared into the carrier's superstructure.

Jersey sighed, her shoulders going slack as she steamed along at a crawl. Ryuujou was spotting her CAP, Kongou and Kirishima were watching for surface threats, Tenryuu was juggling the destroyers on Air-defense… Naka was handling C3 with that fancy-ass phone of hers… There wasn't much for the big battleship to do beyond cuddle her escort carrier.

"Hey, Jersey!" Naka waved at Jersey, steaming towards her at a good fifteen knots.

 _God fucking damn it._

"Message from Tei- um, I mean Admiral Williams," said Naka, holding her phone out to Jersey, "They did it! They figured out how to summon ships!"

"Hot damn, Lemme see!" Jersey felt her charred face crack into a smile.

Naka tossed her the phone. After a moment's blank stare for Jersey, she helpfully added "Press the green one to talk."

Jersey nodded, stabbing her thumb at the jewel-like button and holding the slender plastic rectangle to her ear. "USS _New Jersey_ , uh… over."

 _"Jersey, good to hear from you again."_ came the comfortingly familiar tones of her Admiral.

"Yeah," Jersey winced, "I think my radio got knocked out, it's been spotty at range."

 _"Fair enough, good to hear you're still in one piece."_

Jersey smiled, "Thank you, Sir. What's this I hear about a playmate?"

 _"We'll brief you on the specifics later,"_ said Williams, _"Suffice it to say, USS Washington is back and eager for action."_

"What?" Jersey let out a squeal of surprise. "Holly Hannah that's awesome! I love Wash! Tell Crowning I owe him-" she screeched to a halt mid-sentence, her body physically shaking from the mental whiplash.

 _"Jersey, come in, over. Did we loose you?"_

"Uh… no sir," said Jersey, "Just, uh… nothing, sir. It's nothing."

A pause.

 _"I'd say it's something, Jersey."_

The battleship winced, "Why's that, sir?"

 _"The Professor started laughing as soon as you said it."_

For a split-second, Jersey panicked. Then her glare went cold as ice, her head swivelling to bracket Naka with the deadly precision of her main battery. "Naka…"

"Yes~" said the light cruiser with a frustratingly cutesy sing-song idol cadence.

"Am I on speaker phone?"

"May~be~"

"Sir," said Jersey.

 _"Go ahead, Jersey."_

"Request permission to slap the shit out of Naka when we make port."


	30. Chapter 25: We're Finally Back!

**Chapter 25: We're Finally Back!**

Tenryuu didn't smile as the cool sea air washed though her hair, ruffling her skirt as the salty spray kissed her legs. She was far to tough for such a blatantly girlish display of emotion. Instead, she merely smirked and turned her head into the sun, letting its warmth beam against her skin.

She sighed, stealing one last breath of sunlight before turning her eyes back to the convoy. Her girls were pulling defence with the Americans and Naka's girls while Jersey doted on White.

She'd _never_ let anyone know, but Tenryuu was worried about the little girl. Even if White wasn't one of _her_ girls, she was still… not adorable, but… She was small and she needed protection. She needed a mama-ship to guide and protect her.

Tenryuu let out a single laugh, her hand tapping against the sheath of her stepped-back katana. With the way Jersey was doting on White, maybe the tiny carrier really _had_ found her mama.

Not… Not that Tenryuu had any idea about _that_ She was a tough badass after all, not a mother hen like… _Tatsuta._

The light cruiser felt a shiver run up her spine. In spite of that halo, her sister was no angel. Tenryuu scowled, forcing the unbidden thoughts out of her mind and focusing on just enjoying her day at sea.

It'd been a long _long_ time since she'd put to sea for anything more than an expedition. Not that she was complaining, mind you. Escorting fishing ships and convoys was a vital task, and it let her girls practice their ASW skills. But… it was also _really boring._ Tenryuu was built as a destroyer leader after all, she was _built_ to lead a charge!

Ah well, she'd have her chance, sooner or later. And when it came… well, her sword wasn't just for show!

Tenryuu smirked to herself, sliding her blade half out of its sheath, her one eye afire with intensity… until she realized what she was doing and dropped back into her detached tough-girl slouch.

Huh… the cruiser arched her brow as she spotted the distinctively flat silhouette of Ryuujou steaming off into the wind by herself.

It was probably safe enough, there wasn't a thing within miles of the convoy. But Tenryuu couldn't help but feel something—something which most certainly was _not_ maternal instincts, thank you—for the little carrier girl.

"Hey, Ryuujou!" she said, her screws biting into the water as she jogged over to catch up.

The carrier didn't respond at first. Her girlish little face was screwed up in concentration as she launched the last fighter waiting on her flat-top deck. Its little engine roared as it hurtled down her runway, bouncing into the air a few feet from the edge as it climbed up to join the rest of its squadron.

Tenryuu waited, holding position a few hundred yards abreast of Ryuujou. She hadn't spent much time with carriers, but she understood that launching planes was a rather zen activity. As much as she wanted to… well, to make sure the little carrier girl was okay, she'd wait until Ryuujou spoke.

Except she didn't speak. The flush-deck carrier just… sniffled, muttering something to herself as she turned back towards the convoy. When she saw Tenryuu, she froze, her eyes going wide as Kongou's main battery. "T-Tenryuu?"

The light cruiser laughed, "Fufufu, I scare ya?"

Ryuujou's face scrunched up as she struggled to hide a tear. "It's not fair!" she said, wiping her sleeve across her face.

Tenryuu wasn't expecting that. Her eyebrows rose at a slant, the horns hovering near her head following in suite. "Uh… okay?"

"I displace more 'n all of them!" said Ryuujou, waving at the gaggle of American destroyers lazily circling their Battleship minder.

"Oh…" said Tenryuu in confusion. "Oh!" It clicked. She glanced from the destroyers and their pronounced—and given their hyper energetic movements, rather bouncy—chests to Ryuujou's non-existent bosom. "Oh." she concluded, crossing her arms with an air of finality.

"Psh, is that all?" said Tenryuu, folding her arms and blowing a loose strand of hair out of her eye. At least flight-deck-chest was a proper ship of the line, not a glorified babysitter!

"Stop staring!" Ryuujou scowled, folding her own arms, "Chuuni!"

Tenryuu rolled her… eye. Maybe she had been staring a little too long, so what? Ryuujou was a damn aircraft carrier, she should have some self-esteem. Except… The cruiser sighed. She couldn't stay angry at a girl like that, not when she reminded her of the Akatsukis. "Uh, sorry," she said.

"You're… not helping," mumbled Ryuujou.

Tenryuu tilted her head, not quite following the flush-deck carrier.

"Oh, don't pretend ya don't know!" said Ryuujou, "You with that…" she waved frantically in the general direction of Tenryuu's ribcage, "You're a light cruiser! Why you! And not me!"

The cruiser shrugged. Yeah, she had boobs, but she'd never thought of her self as _particularly_ stacked. She was, at least bigger than her sister Tatsuta, which was all that really mattered. But Tenryuu didn't think that was her _defining_ aspect.

"Guh," Ryuujou shook her head, adjusting her cap as she wheeled around to link up with the convoy.

"Hey, these puppies aren't all fun and games you know," said Tenryuu. She would have patted the relevant… areas, but Inazuma was sailing by.

Ryuujou shot her a questioning glance.

"Whatever," Tenryuu slouched, her horns glittering in the sun. "Hey… you wanna feel better?"

The carrier nodded.

"Take a look at Jersey over there."

Ryuujou shot Tenryuu a sad look. "She's still curvy!"

"For a cruiser, maybe," said Tenryuu, "I think Kongou's got her beat, and she's not even a real battleship!"

"Ya'll know I can hear you, right?" Jersey looked up from her resupply duties. With her face either covered in salty dried-on blood or flat-out _missing_ chunks, she looked… downright terrifying. Even Tenryuu didn't have a problem admitting she was scared.

"Me as well, Dess!" said Kongou in the sweetly friendly, yet utterly bone-chilling tone only she could produce. She shot Tenryuu a smile as she happily bounced over without a care in the world.

For the first time in her life, Tenryuu wished she was a submarine.

Ryuujou giggled. At least little miss flight-deck-chest was happy.

* * *

Fubuki hummed a tuneless little song as she sailed slow circles around the task force. It warmed her heart to see Jersey-Sempai take such doting care on little White. The big battleship might be rough, and loud, and brash, and course, and profane, but… but that wasn't what really mattered. She was a true lady of war, the kind of warship all destroyers should look up to!

And then… Jersey-Sempai shot her a look. A very confused, slightly unhappy look. Fubuki tilted her head in confusion, then… then she realized she'd been staring at the battered battleship for far longer than a destroyer had any right to!

And probably with a silly lovestruck look on her face too! Silly Fubuki! The special-type destroyer let out a little gasp and looked away so fast her ponytail whipped around to slap her on the neck.

"S-sorry, Sempai," she mumbled, glancing down at her feet as she steamed away, angling towards where Kirishima was bent over her notebook, scribbling furiously.

Fubuki smiled, she'd spent months with just Naka and Yuudachi for company, and then those Americans came along. Between the hyperactive destroyers, the minute carrier who broke _every_ rule of grace and decorum, and a battleship who behaved like an overgrown destroyer, Fubuki could feel her sanity slipping away from her bit by bit.

But Kirishima, she was the calm in the storm, the eye of this typhoon of un-ladylike ships. During the War—the first war that was—Kirishima scored higher than any other ship. She was a calm, disciplined ship, a rock to cling to in the storm of Kongou and the Americans.

"H-hey, Kirishima-san," said Fubuki, pulling up abreast of the battleship as she wrung her scarf with her hands. "Are you-" she gasped.

The battleship's face was glowing beet red, and her fingers were stained black with graphite dust as she furiously scribbled in her notebook. Her eyes frantically darted across the pages like Shimikaze doing laps.

"K-Kirishima-san?"

"Huh?" The battleship suddenly stood bolt upright, her pencil bouncing off her notebook and disappearing into the chilly Arctic sea. "What?" she glanced around, her eyes locked on the horizon so she utterly overlooked the short destroyer sailing right next to her. "Oh, Fubuki-Chan," the battleship adjusted her glasses, offering a painfully forced smile.

Fubuki gulped, her hands frozen in place around her scarf. "K-Kirishima-san? Are you okay?" she stammered.

Kirishima nodded. "Kirishima is…" she took a deep breath, shaking her head as she righted herself. "I'm alright."

Fubuki raised her eyebrow experimentally.

Kirishima sighed, taking off her glasses and wiping them clean with her billowing sleeve. For a few seconds, the fast battleship was silent except for the gentle swish of silk against glass.

"K-Kirishima-san?"

"Do you know how I died?" said the battleship, slipping her glasses back on with a single elegant gesture. "The first time, I mean."

Fubuki silently shook her head.

"It was the battle of Guadalcanal.. November 13th, 1942," the battleship paused, closing her eyes as she took in a breath, "Seventy-three years ago to the day."

"It was fifty-nine minutes to midnight," Kirishima's eyes slackened, her gaze hovering somewhere in the distance as she began her story. "I sailed into Ironbottom sound intent on shelling the American Marines… but little did I know the Americans were steaming straight towards us."

"We spotted one battleship, Atago and I," continued Kirishima. "We lit her up with our searchlights, pouring our shells into her. We set her ablaze, we knocked out her guns… We did everything short of outright sinking her."

The battleship scoffed. "We thought we'd had the high ground… that we _owned_ the night," said Kirishima, "How foolish we were. One American ship, a ghost… an unearthly specter of the night had closed to five-thousand-eight hundred yards without a _soul_ knowing. And then…" Kirishima pivoted to lock eyes on the destroyer. "Midnight."

"When the clock struck twelve, sixteen inch shells from the _Washington_ tore into me with the best accuracy I'd ever seen," said Kirishima. "She tore me to shreds and got out without so much as a scratch on her paint."

Fubuki gulped, letting out the tiniest "oh my" she'd ever spoken.

"It was…" the fast battleship sucked in a breath of chilly air, holding her head high as she forced a smile, "It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen… such grace, such poise in battle…" she blushed, pursing her lips for a moment to gather her thoughts. "It was beautiful."

Fubuki let out a low sigh, her head sagging down to rest in her hands. Why was it always the Kongou sisters…

"Yo!" Jersey barked, her booming American voice echoing across the water, "Listen up, just got news from Sasebo. They, uh…" she was _grinning_ a toothy smile stretching from ear to ear on her bloody face, "They summoned another girl."

"Oh, really?" said Johnston.

"Who who!" demanded Hoel.

"Is it, like, someone we know?" asked Yuudachi.

"'Depends," said Jersey, that demented smile still stubbornly fixed on her face. "The name 'Arizona' ring any bells?"

"Oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuck," deadpanned Tenryuu.

—|—|—

Gale's boots padded against the thick carpeting lining the floor, her footsteps almost muffled into oblivion. "So yeah," she said, waving at the barren walls, "This is the shipgirl dormitory."

Wash nodded, her head tilting just so as she made a mental note of that fact in her log. The battleship hadn't said a word, other than the occasional polite courtesy, since the two women had left the dining hall. She just silently watched, recorded, and… and walked.

And did she _walk._ Each step sent those broad hips of hers swinging to and fro… she _had_ to know she was doing it, right? How could she _not_ know!

"It's quite large," said the battleship, her tone warm, but even as she inspected the rows of mostly vacant rooms.

"Um, yeah," said Gale, praying Wash hadn't caught her staring. "We didn't expect it to be so hard to summon ship gir- er… ship… spirits." The yeoman winced. She'd almost called Wash a girl. She was most _emphatically_ a woman! A lady even! "And the ones we do have like to room together."

"Hmm?" Wash raised one slender eyebrow, her hand resting on her hip as she waited for Gale to continue.

"The, uh, the taffies all have their own rooms," said Gale, nodding to the rows of doors marked with each girl's name and hull number. "But they usually sleep in White's room. In like…" Gale held her hands out in a rough approximation of three destroyers, one destroyer escort, and one escort carrier all dogpiled atop one another, "a big puddle."

Wash smiled, her teeth flashing in the light as she let out a demure little laugh. "That… that sounds adorable."

"Oh, Johnston hates when we say that," said Gale, "But yes. It really is."

Wash let out another laugh, a laugh that quickly segued into a barely-controlled yawn. The battleship held a hand to her mouth, stifling the worst of the noise. "Mmm.. sorry," she said, offering a shrug and a slight smile, "that was purely because of the hour."

"What?" said Gale, "Oh… oh yeah, of course. I'll show you to your room," she said. She padded further down the hall, fumbling with the key ring in the pocket of her utilities, "I'll just uh…"

She stopped, eyeing up the battleship's outfit. "I'm… guessing you don't want to sleep in that."

"Ideally, no," sighed the battleship, tugging at the navy blue neckerchief hanging around her sailor top.

"Why don't you borrow some of my stuff?" said Gale, biting her tongue just a second to late to keep that sentence from slipping out. Why did she say that? Why? WHY!

"That's very kind," said Wash, giving Gale a warm smile, "Thank you."

Gale offered a souless, toothy smile in return. Wash's figure? In her clothes? She was going to regret this. Oh, was she going to regret this…

—|—|—

"Ha ha, Land ho!" Johnston waved excitedly at the tiny green blob filling the horizon, her feathers whipping around as her whole body all but vibrated in sheer enticement. "Land ho, we made it!"

"Hear that, kiddo?" Jersey pulled alongside White, wincing as the exhausted aircraft carrier almost tripped over her own feet. "That's Hokkaido. You did it, kiddo."

White gave a weak smile, her chest heaving as she drew down ragged breath, the air rasping across her parched vocal chords like gravel. Her stacks belched a puff of smoke, then nothing at all as she gave her pathetically over stressed boilers a long-deserved break.

The little carrier rocked on her feet, barely keeping herself standing as her head lolled up to stare at Jersey. "Did- did I-"

"You did good, kiddo," said Jersey, shushing her with a hand to the poor girl's chapped lips. "You did good."

"T-thanks," panted the carrier, her head falling against Jersey's charred hip, making the battleship wince ever so slightly. "'m… tired."

"It's okay," said Jersey, waving her hand in the air to signal her convoy to stop and form a defensive line. "It's okay, kiddo, you can sleep now. I'll tow you in."

"Mmm… thanks, mama," mumbled White, collapsing into a heap at the battleship's side.

If Jersey's face wasn't covered in soot and blood, she would have blushed a luminescent red as she gently pulled ahead of the carrier, her faeries rushing to the fantail with tow rope in hand. "No problem, kiddo," she said, ruffling White's hair as the carrier slept, to tired to even snore.

"Hey, Jersey!" Johnston waved again, pointing at the cluster of ships—a battleship and her destroy screen, if Jersey's one remaining eye was any good at all—steamed over to meet them. "There's our escort!"

"Can we go meet them?" asked Hoel, her hands clasped in supplication.

"Please?" added Johnston, "We'll be good, we swear!"

"We wanna be good this time," added Heermann, making a show of traversing her torpedo tubes away from the oncoming battleship.

Jersey let out a very tired sigh, rubbing the bloody crust away from her one good eye with the heel of her hand. She was too damn tired for this, and the taffies were going to keep begging until they got what they want anyway… "Fuck it, fine."

"Thanks!" chorused all three girls, their wakes erupting in churning white foam as they poured the steam.

Johnston took a deep breath, putting on her most stoic, most… respectful-est face as she steamed towards the battleship. Four turrets, one stack… and one big-ass pagoda mast. "What do you think?" she asked, glancing across her beam at Hoel, "Nagato?"

"Or Mutsu," said Hoel, pointing out the battleship's _teeny-tiny_ little skirt and very visible abs—though Johnston noted with pride they weren't quite as toned as Jersey's abs!

Johnston gulped, her eyes going wide as she took in the Japanese battleship's figure. She was really pretty! Like… _really_ really pretty! "Uh… uh… hi!" she stammered, waving frantically at the battleship.

"Cone-e-chee-wa!" said Hoel, stumbling over the words as she bowed from the waist.

Heerman smiled, offering a wave as she hung back behind her sisters.

"Uh, Miss… Nagato-class battleship," said Johnston, bowing just a little deeper than Hoel, "Lady… person. Um… I'm USS _Johnston_ , DD-577."

"USS _Hoel_ , DD-533."

"USS _Heermann_ , DD-532."

"Mmmhm," said Johnston, still staring resolutely at the ground, "We wanted to thank your, uh… honorable selves for, uh… uh…" she stammered, racking her brain for every bit of formal protocol she knew—which really wasn't much—she was _not_ embarrassing Jersey and her admiral again!

"For allowing us the honor and pleasure," said Hoel.

"Of staying on your, um… did we say honor too many times?" said Johnston, shooting a pleading glance to Heermann.

Heermann rolled her eyes, "Thank you for having us on your island."

"And we promise we'll be good guests," added Johnston.

"Please don't hate us?" finished Hoel.

The three destroyers held their bow, waiting patiently—or as patiently as a _Fletcher_ -class destroyer ever could—for the battleship to respond.

For a few long minutes, there was nothing. Nothing but a very curious sound, like someone was very rapidly squeezing and squeezing a small rubber ball. Hoel was the first to risk a look.

The short-haired battleship had a hand clamped to her mouth, desperately struggling to contain her laughter at the three destroyers bent at the waist in front of her. Her cheeks were glowing red with effort, and her eyes were close to tears.

"M-miss battleship lady, sempai, ma'am?" asked Hoel.

"Mutsu," said the battleship, her voice a sing-song canter filtered though a bubbly laugh. "You- you must be the girls of taffy 3? Kongou told me all about you."

"Yes ma'am!" said all three destroyers.

"I'm really sorry," added Johnston, "I was being a little shit."

"You kinda were," added Hoel.

"Shut up, you thought it was badass."

"Still shitty," mumbled Hoel.

"Girls," Mutsu shook her head, "She told me you were _very tired_ , and you were _very_ apologetic afterwards." She smiled, ruffling Hoel's hair as she steamed past. "Everyone makes mistakes now and then, hmm? I should know."

"Oh…" Johnston scratched at the headband of her feathers, "So… you're not mad at us?"

Mutsu shook her head. "How could I be? You're so kawaii."

Johnston glanced back at her sisters. "I don't know what that means, but okay!" she said with a cheery smile.

Mutsu giggled, gliding to a stop a few hundred yards abreast of Jersey. "Battleship _New Jersey_?"

"Yeah?" said the exhausted battleship, her head very slowly looking up from the tow-line.

"I, Battleship _Mutsu_ of the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense-Force," Mutsu brought a hand up to her brow, "am your relief, ma'am."

Jersey was quiet for a second, then she slowly brought her charred hand up to her bloodied brow. "I, Battleship _New Jersey_ of the United States Navy, am relieved."

Mutsu snapped her hand back to her side in a single crisp movement, while Jersey just let her hand fall to her side like her tired muscles had simply given up.

"When will your tow be ready?" asked Mutsu.

"Gimme…" Jersey took a shallow breath, "Uh… fifteen minutes?"

"Understood," said Mutsu, nodding to her destroyer screen—two short-haired girls in shiny armored corsets—to form up around the convoy and herd them into formation.

"Girls?" said Hoel, glancing to her sisters, "You know what to do." Without a word, the three _Fletcher_ class destroyers formed up on Jersey, forming a silent wedge around the battered, bleeding battleship.

"We got you, Big J," said Johnston, smiling as she slotted into formation right off Jersey's bow.

"We're with you to the end, skipper," added Hoel.

"We love you," finished Heermann.

Jersey was beyond exhausted… but she found just enough strength to smile at her girls.

—|—|—

It was past nightfall when the convoy finally broke into Tokyo bay, not that it mattered much. Skyscrapers towered as far as the eye could see, glowing with every color of the rainbow like enormous pillars of luminescent crystal.

Jersey supposed she should be awed by the beauty, perhaps putting on a slack-jawed face of astonishment like the taffies were wearing. But, as pretty a visage as it was, it simply wasn't registering to her.

Not right now, not after she'd had to tank up so many destroyers. Her stomach was so empty it was physically painful. She felt the charred muscles in her core twist in on themselves, screaming in agony with each breath that she _needed_ sleep, needed rest, needed a good long soak in the docks. Every part of her ached, the skin on her legs was raw, her neck was charred into ash, and her hair was matted down with blood and oil.

"Heyyyy~," a low, sultry purr rumbled off the calm water somewhere off Jersey's starboard bow. She glanced over to see a…

She blinked.

Yup, there it was, a fat-assed, not to mention thoroughly-stacked submarine was sidling up against Hoel. She was so close Jersey swore she could hear the wet squelch of swimsuited submarine boobs against Hoel's hull.

"You're new here," said the very lewd submarine, pressing herself against one of her long-lance torpedoes in a very suggestive manner, "Haven't seen you around, heh~?"

"Who…" Hoel gave Jersey a panicked look. "Who… are you?"

"Eh heh heh~" the submarine gave a sultry little laugh that oozed with positively gargantuan amounts of lewd. "I'm the submarine I-19," she said, leaning closer to Hoel, her boobs piling up against the destroyer's weather deck, "Yes, Iku~"

Hoel gulped, staring at Johnston for help. Johnston was, however, doubled over trying to contain her laughter.

"Um… okay," said Hoel.

'Iku' gave another sultry laugh. "I'm going out on a mission," she said with a teasing smile, "But I couldn't let a cruiser like you just sail by, heh~"

"I'm…" Hoel gulped again, "I'm a destroyer."

Jersey'd never _seen_ a sub crash-dive that fast. Iku vanished into the inky water, leaving nothing but a trail of bubbles and a very confused destroyer repeating the word "What?" over and over again.

"That… that was Iku," said Kongou, her palm resting firmly on her face. "She does that."

"Yes," sighed Mutsu, sending her destroyers to supervise the convoy's berthing procedures. "That was Iku. Arizona-san should be waiting for you at the docks. If you'd like…" the battleship nodded to the cluster of destroyers—and one very tired escort carrier—surrounding Jersey.

Jersey thought for a second, clutching her aching belly with her hand. Food… food sounded so good right about now. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, they're my girls, I'll get them settled."

"You sure?" asked Mutsu, arching one eyebrow.

Jersey felt her belly rumble in disapproval, her muscles going taut and starting to cramp up. "Yeah," she said, nodding her head with a sense of finality. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Jersey forced her hunger to the back of her mind as she pulled up to a long concrete ramp. Her rigging de-manifested around her, fading back into the ether from which it came as she stepped back onto dry land.

"Come on, kiddo," she said, gingerly picking up the sleeping form of White Plains and cuddling her against her charred breast. White murmured something in her sleep, a tiny smile materializing on her face as she snuggled up tight to the battleship.

"Docks are right this way," said Fubuki, wringing her hands as she pointed the battleship towards an ornately-styled building at the base of the pier.

Jersey gave a silent nod, the world around her fading into a blurry dream. Her legs ached, her arms ached, her stomach was bellowing at her to get some food, she was _miserable._ But none of that mattered right now. Right now… she had to get White to the docks.

That's all that mattered, her universe was just herself, her charge, and the docks. The battleship grit her teeth, forcing one foot in front of the other as she plodded up the pier. She was getting to the docks, even if it killed her.

—|—|—

USS Arizona, the last of the _Pennsylvania_ -class super-dreadnoughts, and the first American warship to die at the hands of the Imperial Japanese Navy, stood at rigid attention.

Her scarlet hair was tied back in a short ponytail, the brass on her combination cover was polished to a mirror shine, and her navy greatcoat was draped across her scarred shoulders, framing her shapely form like a classical statue. She was the very image of stoic calm.

Then the bathhouse doors exploded open, and a cluster of destroyers the likes of which Arizona had never seen burst in. Following close on their heels was… Was a towering battleship, her amazonian figure on full display in her…

Arizona suppressed a gasp. She'd never believe a battleship would allow herself to be seen in something so… revealing. But the poor woman was covered head to toe in blood and oil. Arizona choose to believe her clothing had simply been shot away. "USS _New Jersey_ , I presume?" she said, bringing her hand to her brow in crisp salute.

The battleship nodded weakly, "I…" she glanced around, her gaze hazy as she slowly processed where she was. "I gotta get this girl-" she nodded to the sleeping carrier in her arms, "changed and into the docks."

"I can handle it," said Arizona, offering her arms to receive the sleeping girl. It was an offer Jersey was only too happy to accept.

"Don't worry, skipper," said one of the destroyer girls, the one with a feathery headress. "We'll watch her."

"You… you girls don't want food?" said Jersey, her voice horribly raspy.

"No, we're not-" another destroyer girl was abruptly cut off when her belly sounded a loud grumble.

"We're not gonna leave White," said the third girl.

Jersey let out a very tired sigh. "Alright then, uh… I'll bring you girls something."

The destroyer girls nodded.

"Be good, okay?" said Jersey, her shoulders limp as she glanced from the girls to Arizona.

"We will!" chorused the destroyers.

Jersey smiled, "Good girls…" she looked over at Arizona. "They're all yours now, Ari."

Arizona offered the best smile she could manage. "I'll take good care of them."

—|—|—

"It's past midnight you know," said Yeoman Gale, effortlessly sliding into the pleather-lined seat across from Crowning.

"Yeah," said the professor, taking a long breath a he stared into the frothy white beverage in front of him. "Yeah it is," he said, gingerly picking the mug up and taking a slow sip.

"Can't sleep either?" Gale slouched into the seat, her black sweatpants gliding over the surface with a gentle _fshhh_.

Crowning shook his head, "Hence the-" he raised his mug, "-warm milk."

"Warm milk, huh?" said Gale with a smirk.

"Jersey, uh… turned me onto it," said Crowning, taking another little sip. "Said it helps her sleep. And… given how much she sleeps…" he trailed off into a nervous little laugh.

"You saw the pictures, didn't you?"

"Hmm?"

"Of Jersey," said Gale, "Leading her convoy into Yokosuka all battered and bruised like that."

"Yeah."

"You're worried about your girl?" said Gale.

Crowning nodded, either too tired or too worried to react to Gale's teasing.

Gale pursed her lips. Whatever jokes she'd had in mind faded away into nothingness. Crowning, her friend, her comrade in the struggle to summon more warships, was worried sick. "She's gonna be okay, you know," she said.

"Hmm?"

"She's a battleship," said Gale. "A gun fight like that, a brawl… she's built for that. Those little bitches could wail on her all day with there peashooters and not sink her."

Crowning shot her a weary look.

"Relax, Doc. Your girl's coming home alive," said Gale, smiling as best she could under the circumstances. "You'll get that kiss."

Crowning smiled. It was a tiny smile, a faint quiver of his lips in an upwards direction, but it was a smile. An honest-to-god smile of genuine happiness. "Gale… how do you know. How could you possibly know about that?"

"Sir… I'm an NCO," said Gale, "We know about _literally_ everything."

—|—|—

It took all of Jersey's strength to walk out of the bath house with her head held high. The second she was out of sight of the taffies, she felt her knees buckle. She slouched against the tiled wall, one hand clinging to it for support while the other clutched her aching, charred belly.

She wanted-she needed food, she was running on close to empty. The battleship scowled, gritting her teeth as she forced herself to take another step. Her body fell back on its barest animal instincts: find food.

She took another step, but this time she almost bounced off the silk-covered bosom of a perky little Japanese fast battleship. Kongou smiled at her, the pointy tuft on her head waving in greeting.

"Kongou… I'm not in-" Jersey was abruptly silenced when Kongou shoved something rectangular and chocolaty into her open mouth.

"wa' dis?" mumbled Jersey, her spine going weak as the glorious taste of chocolate, caramel, and peanuts exploded in her mouth.

"Snickers, Dess!" said Kongou with a huge smile.

Jersey sucked the rest of the candy bar down in one bite, swallowing the delicious confection with a weary smile. "Thanks… Kongou," she said, "But I need more than a-"

Kongou produced an enormous.. pastry of some kind. A turnover that smelled of meat and potatoes and spiced apples… Jersey didn't know how the Japanese girl got it, and right now, _she didn't care._ Just the smell of it was enough to sate her hunger. Jersey grabbed for the pastry, taking a huge bite of warm bread and spiced meat.

"Cornish pasty, Dess!" said Kongou, smiling even wider at Jersey's unrestrained glee. "'Zuki and her sisters are making curry soup!"

Jersey's eyes went wide, almost as wide as her bulging chipmunked cheeks.

"And I know you Americans don't like bathing naked," added Kongou, producing… a tiny, if rather fetching, white and red bikini. "I brought you one of mine, dess!"

"Kongou… how did you- why-" Jersey trailed off, deciding that any answer she'd get couldn't be as rewarding as another bite of the fast-battleship's amazing cooking.

"Your kids love you," said Kongou, "You should be with them!"

Jersey blushed, swallowing the last bite of her meal. "Thanks… Kongou."

Kongou smiled, "No Problem, Dess! Dinner'll be right up!"

* * *

 **A/N: Too much caffeine, and a bunch of ideas I wanted to hash out before the convoy ends equals... this monster of a chapter. Hope you enjoy!**


	31. Chapter 26: The Other Sort of Escort

**Chapter 26: The Other Sort of Escort**

Sammy B Roberts sat on the polished stone bench in the middle of the bath house and scuffed her bare feet against the slick tile. Her hands were shoved firmly into the pockets of her oversized Marine duty jacket as she stared at her own faint reflection.

Arizona was busy getting White settled in the docks, and she could hear her friends from Samar—the three indomitable _Fletcher_ -class destroyers—rough housing with after-battle jitters as they showered off. But not her.

Sammy bit her lip, looking at the clock as she sat in the dressing room. She wasn't… like them.

In spite of her reputation, Sammy wasn't a fighting ship, she was an escort! She was built to scare away submarines and the odd aircraft. When Johnston and the others launched into battle, she just tagged along. She knew the outcome was doubtful, but… but she was going to do her duty.

She was an escort. An Escort never goes looking for trouble, lest she leave her charges undefended. An escort looks after her charges, she makes sure they're safe and comfortable.

Sammy sniffed, brushing a strand of salty hair out of her face as she glanced at the clock again. An escort looks after her charges, and there was still _one_ ship left. Sammy couldn't rest until _everyone_ was home safe.

"Uh," she slipped off the bench, her toes curling up against the chilly tile. "Uh, Miss Jersey?"

A pause. Sammy rocked on her heels, clasping her hands expectantly behind her back as she stared at the dressing room door. One Mississippi… two Mississippi… Hmm, _Mississippi_ was at Leyte Gulf too, over at Surigao Straight. Sammy made a mental note to ask Jersey how that turned out.

Before the little destroyer escort could let her train of thought get any more derailed, the towering form of her flagship slumped though the door. "Hey, kiddo," mumbled Jersey, offering her a horribly weak smile.

"Hey, Skipper!" said Sammy, running over to offer herself as a make-shift support for the battleship. "What's that?" she asked, poking at the bundle of wadded up cloth clenched in Jersey's fist.

"Swimsuit," said Jersey, wincing as she threw her shoulders back, holding her head high as she walked to the shower room with as much grace as she could muster. "Kongou… she lent me one of hers."

"Oh," Sammy nodded. "Miss Naka, uh, gave me one too," she said, nuzzling closer to Jersey's charred thigh and holding onto her waist to keep the battleship upright.

"Uh… Kiddo?" Jersey managed a weak smile.

"'m helping," muttered Sammy, very gingerly stepping into the recessed shower area. She glanced back and forth from Jersey's feet to hers, carefully guiding the wounded battleship across the two-inch step.

Jersey shook her head, propping herself up against the tile with one hand so she could ruffle Sammy's hair with the other. "You really wanna help?"

Sammy nodded enthusiastically.

"Help me get these clothes off," said Jersey, gingerly setting herself down on a bench to unlace her shoes. "And not a _word_ to Johnston."

"Mmhm!" said Sammy, darting over to help peel Jersey's tattered shirt off. It was easier than she'd expected, the puddles of dried blood and sticky black oil were really the only things keeping it on.

Jersey winced, sucking in a sharp intake of breath as the destroyer escort peeled her shirt back. The charred-black top-layer of her skin came with it, leaving bare flesh that was shiny and raw.

"Skipper?" Sammy let out a tiny moan. She _hated_ seeing her skipper this badly wounded! Hated it!

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," hissed Jersey, breathing though clenched teeth as the cool air kissed her bare skin. "Just keep going."

Sammy nodded, peeling the battleship's ruined shirt and vest the rest of the way off and tossing the charred clothing into the corner. She'd deal with it later. Jersey's shorts came next, but the fabric was so soaked-though with blood they practically disintegrated in Sammy's hands. And next… next was…

"Sammy?" Jersey glanced over, trying to see the little destroyer escort with her one good eye. "Why'd you stop."

"I… uh…" Sammy wrung her hands, "It's… I just have to take off your… uh…" she trailed off, giving Jersey a pitiful stare.

"You can say _bra_ , Sammy," said Jersey, cracking a faint glimmer of a smile.

"Don't wanna."

"Just… just cut it off," said Jersey, "And then go start the shower, hmm?"

Sammy pursed her lips, staring transfixed at the battleship's muscular back. With all the charring—and most of her clothes—gone, Sammy could see just how toned her skipper was. Only the the navy-blue fabric of the woman's sports bra kept the battleship decent, and Sammy was supposed to just _cut it off._

This felt wrong. So so so so wrong. "You… you sure, skipper?" she asked, nervously toying with the surgical scissors she'd grabbed from her medbay.

"Don't worry, kiddo," said Jersey.

"O… okay," Sammy slipped the scissors under the band of Jersey's bra. The battleship winced as cold steel touched her raw skin, but Sammy forced herself to soldier on.

Snip, snip, snip snip, she carefully cut along the battleship's spine, closing her eyes as she made the final cut. "Okay," she said, holding her hands out in front of her. "I will find… the shower."

Sammy shuffled to the side, running on nothing more than her compass and her memory of the room. Dead reckoning navigation, like the olden days. By her count, three more steps should take her to-

"Kiddo!"

Sammy felt her nose flatten against slick tile. "A wall!" she said, waving her hands around in search of a shower head.

"Sammy," Jersey's voice cracked into a pitifully weak laugh. "Kiddo… it's okay, I'm decent."

"Y-you are?" said Sammy, risking a brief glance over her shoulder.

Jersey smiled back, one arm held across her chest to cover her…self. Sammy couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was, even hurt like this. Her skipper was the most beautiful-est battleship on the planet! "Just get the water going, hmm?"

"Mmhm!" Sammy flung the taps wide open with all her might, sending a deluge of hot salt water pouring from the polished chrome shower. Once she was content the water was the perfect level of warm, she darted back to her topless skipper, slipping a hand around her waist to help her over.

Jersey let out a sigh of pure pleasure as the salt water poured over her wounds and washed away the crust of dried blood and oil covering her body. "Oh… oh that feels so good," she said, smiling as water poured off her chin.

Sammy smiled, bouncing on her heels as she waited for her skipper to finish cleaning off. And then her face slipped into mortified horror when Jersey started scooching her hips side to side, slipping off her navy blue… Oh my…

—|—|—

A tiny squeal of surprise echoed though the docks, interrupting the taffies silent vigil over their wounded carrier friend.

Johnston was the first to react, her shoes squeaking against the poolside tile as she spun in place, "What was that?"

"What?" said Hoel.

"That noise," said Johnston.

"I think it came from the showers," added Heermann.

"It sounded like Sammy," said Hoel, scratching at her gun belt.

"Should we check?" asked Johnston.

"Arizona told us not to," said Hoel, "She said… she said we should give Jersey privacy."

"But what if Jersey needs help?" said Heermann.

"Sammy's with her," said Johnston, glancing back to the escort carrier sleeping in a bubbling hot tub. "Our place is here."

Hoel sighed, "Yeah… yeah it is."

"We're not leaving White," Heermann agreed.

—|—|—

Jersey panted as she slouched against the shower room wall. The swim top Kongou had lent her fit rather well—after she'd criss-crossed the straps to take up some of the slack. Normally, she might be a little miffed that Kongou—a battleship twenty-six-thousand tons her junior—filled out a swimsuit better than she did.

But today, she was just frustrated that the damn bottoms weren't fitting over her damn thighs.

"S-skipper, you sure you don't want me to help?" said Sammy, her face still resolutely buried in her hands.

"You still going to do it with your eyes closed?" said Jersey, wincing at the painful memory.

"Mmhm."

"Then no," said Jersey, biting her lip as she stared down the scant bit of red-trimmed white fabric. She was a damn battleship, oceans quaked when she spoke, and nations folded before her guns… she could out-think a damn swimsuit.

"Fuck it," she scowled, grabbing both sides and tugging with all her strength. The fabric dragged painfully across her raw skin, running the blockade of her legs and settling around her hips. "Being a girl is so much work."

"C-can I look now?" said Sammy.

"Yes… yes you can," said Jersey, tugging at her top to make certain she was decent enough for the destroyer escort.

Apparently she was. Sammy's face glowed with pride, and she smiled up at the battleship. "You look better already!" she said, skipping off towards the docks proper.

"Not so fast," said Jersey with a scowl, her exhausted gait little more than a shuffle as she followed. Her skin was still damp from her salt water shower, but the wounds were starting to smart again. Her wet footsteps were tinged a grimy pink as blood and oil slowly seeped from the worst of her wounds.

"Officer on deck!" barked… barked Johnston of all people. The destroyer was standing at rigid attention, her hand held up to her brow and her eyes slammed shut. "I… think."

The other two taffies and Sammy snapped to, holding their little chins high as Jersey slowly made her way to the bath. "Kids… you don't have to-"

"We want to," said Johnston.

"You earned it," said Heermann.

"Thanks, kiddos," said Jersey, sliding into the frothing water. She let out a long sigh as the sweet-smelling salt water caressed her wounds, soaking into down to her keel.

"Any time, Skipper," said Sammy.

"What she said," said Heermann.

"Now sleep well," said Hoel.

Johnston didn't say anything. She just bit her lip and gave Jersey a nod, her eyes very pointedly staying away from any… area that might be considered even remotely lewd.

White curled up next to the battleship, mumbling something in her sleep as she snuggled up tight.

Jersey closed her eyes, sleep taking her with a smile on her face.


	32. A Certain Lady Part 4

**A Certain Lady Part 4  
**

 **By Old Iron**

Arizona worked silently in the bathhouse awaiting the arrival of the convoy sent over from Everett. The relief team consisting of Mutsu and two destroyers, Teruzuki and Akizuki if she remembered correctly, had rendezvoused with the fleet some two days ago. After that it had been little more than a waiting game for everyone else on base. A rapid deployment battle-group had been assembled in the event something went afoul, but thankfully they had been blissfully bored out of their minds.

She had hung her greatcoat on one of the coat racks by the entryway as she carried out her orders from Admiral Richardson. Resting on a hook just next to it was her combo cover. There was little sense in doing cleaning and general busywork with her entire kit on, so she had smartly set them aside. And in accordance with what she had been advised of Japanese bathing customs, she had removed her shoes and left them by the rest of her accouterments. Socks included.

Richardson had passed down orders to the effect of ensuring that the bathhouse was well and ready for the returning fleet's shipgirl contingent and to then assist upon their arrival. A genuinely menial task, but a task handed to her regardless. And one of the things she had sworn to uphold to her utmost was the completion of her duties. Even if those duties included picking up scattered bathing implements. It would seem whomever used these facilities last did not do due diligence in cleaning up after themselves. Her eyes narrowed in irritation as she knelt down to retrieve an errant hairbrush.

Arizona would need to have words with command about this.

As the copper haired battleship continued performing her tasks with a sort of methodical grace, she thought back to the past few days. For not more than four days ago, she had been little more than a rusting hulk at the bottom of Pearl Harbor.

Now? Now she was a flesh and blood human being. One with hair, eyes, hands, feet, and what have you. But at the same time... she was thirty thousand armored tons of American standard battleship. With twelve fourteen inch cannons and a not insignificant array of five inch guns to boot. She even had torpedoes.

Upon the eve of her summoning, she had experienced something for the first time that her crew and so many more did on a daily basis. She had partaken of a meal. And not just a serving of rations to be eaten on her own. No. She had dinner with her admiral and her superior officer in the mess hall amongst the cheering and revelry of the soldiers stationed on base. There had supposedly even been a good number of the base's assigned shipgirls present, but she could not for the life of her tell at the time.

There had been very little in the way of probing and informing, something she had been most thankful for given her abject confusion at the time, but rather she had mostly observed Mutsu and Admiral Richardson's back and forth while occasionally stealing a glance at the crowds.

All the while stuffing her face with dish after dish after dish.

Apparently the cooks had been given a heads up that if the summoning had been successful, they were to start prepping the most stereotypical All-American eats they could manage. Hamburgers stacked to the ceiling. Barbecue made in all manner of style. Hot dogs bearing toppings that spanned the country. Steaks and sandwiches. Fries, onion rings, and tater-tots. Milkshakes bearing whipped cream, sprinkles, and even the much sought-after cherry on top.

And the pie...

Arizona would certainly remember the pie most fondly. Hot pecan pie with a helping of vanilla ice cream.

Oh, she had done her best to eat with the poise and grace of a proper battleship. Demolishing every morsel of food before her with a true and genuine display of dignity. But it was sometimes difficult when you were still not entirely certain everything happening was real. Certainly not helping was when Mutsu had reached over to wipe a dollop of whipped cream from her face and then proceed to lick it clean off her finger. She had not appreciated either Mutsu's or Richardson's laughter at her reaction.

Mutsu had not stayed long after the festivities began winding down. The Japanese battleship needed to be underway for meeting up with the convoy and had departed with a smile, a wave, and yet another teasing remark. This one directed at the admiral. She hadn't quite gotten the reference, but apparently it was enough for Richardson to adopt a rather irate expression. It didn't last long and he had bid Mutsu safe travels before she slipped out the door.

As Arizona set about placing stacks of fresh towels in the appropriate receptacles, she held one of the smaller ones up and frowned. It reminded her somewhat of Mutsu's skirt. At least in what it could, or could not, conceal. That strip of cloth which attempted to pass itself off as a genuine article of clothing irritated her to no end. Had it been Mutsu's choice of casual or party-wear, Arizona would have paid it far less mind. She'd seen the short, revealing, and generally scandalous attire worn by the flappers of her era. She'd seen people wear far less even.

But Richardson had informed her the next day that such a shameless attire was no less than Mutsu's duty attire. Not a proper length skirt or slacks with jacket following the regulations of the JMSDF. No. Mutsu had decided that she would dress in a manner far more befitting a dancer or some sort of scarlet woman when she was on duty. Did she have no shame? No proper respect for her station or the fact she was a proud Japanese battleship representative of both ship class and her country? How not every single person with a set of functioning eyes had not seen what she wore for whatever might pass for undergarments was some sort of miracle.

Unfortunately for her hopes in regards to proper dress, Mutsu was not the only one to shirk regulations. If it wasn't something absolutely scandalous then it was something far more appropriate for a costume party. She granted a bit more leeway to the younger ships, but not much.

She'd been forced to tell herself that it was a different era, a different culture, and a very different sense of sensibilities.

Arizona could only pray that the inbound USS New Jersey dressed appropriately for her station. Both for propriety's sake and her own sensibilities. As one of the most powerful battleships ever produced by mankind and as an icon of American naval might, the second of the Iowa-class was held to a higher standard by the last Pennsylvania-class.

A horn sounded out from the comm on the wall and returned her train of thought back to her immediate duties.

"Arizona-san, Kongou-oneesama is on her way back! They'll be here in thirty minutes." Hiei's energetic voice filled the air. The excitement was palpable enough that Arizona would swear she could physically feel it through her uniform. The hyperactive fast battleship had enough energy at any given moment to rival an entire pack of destroyers. Even more-so if the topic at hand involved her elder sister, Kongou.

"I'm ready for them." Arizona stated after walking over to the intercom and pressing the transmit button. There was a short pause as she recalled something. "Lieutenant, where is Yeoman Jintsuu?" She could not wrap her head around how to properly pronounce either either the rank or position of her Japanese allies, so she was forced to settle for the english equivalent. The last time she attempted, she'd very nearly bit her tongue off. And she rather liked having that intact. Thank you very much.

"Ah, well... She's not feeling well. As in, really not feeling well." There was a slight sheepish tone to the fast battleship's voice. It soon vanished and was replaced by her usual bombastic self. "But she'll be just fine real soon. I'm going to make her some of my famous porridge and she'll perk right up!"

The line went dead before Arizona could open her mouth to reply. She offered up a silent prayer for Jintsuu's wellbeing. If Hiei hadn't made the poor girl ill to begin with, then she was certainly going to extend the recovery time.

Hiei, and her sisters from what she had gathered, were all... unique. That was the nicest way she could put it. Mad as a box of frogs was perhaps a better description, but she would hold off painting them with the same brush until she'd had a chance to meet them all. Hiei was a good girl though. Completely bonkers, but still a good girl. She could definitely use a bit more strictness in her life however. But her devotion to her sisters, Kongou in particular, was perhaps second to none so far as she could tell. Arizona could appreciate that sentiment. Perhaps if she ever had a chance to meet her own sister someday she might share in some of it as well. Within appropriate reason of course.

Surveying her handiwork, Arizona made certain nothing had been missed. And to her expectation not a single thing was out of place. She had also made ready the first aid kits just to be absolutely certain she had covered all her bases.

From the reports radioed in, Kongou's detachment had fared quite well. Scratches at best. However it was New Jersey's group she was more concerned about. The flagship had taken considerable damage to her superstructure to the point of having had a large portion of her secondary armament knocked out and her radar completely demolished. There was no lethal damage, but it was not insignificant either. Adding UNREP to that almost guaranteed the Iowa-class was going to be sailing in far worse for her wear. Even accounting for damage control.

USS White Plain would be another story altogether. No real damage, if any, from combat. However it sounded as though the escort carrier had pushed herself so far beyond her capabilities that she needed to be towed in. Damaged or outright wrecked machinery from stress rarely ever set well without a full examination and overhaul. She might compare it to someone attempting to run on a broken leg.

Perhaps the only silver lining to be had from the state of the convoy's combatants was that the destroyers had fared exceptionally and would need only a short stay in the baths, a hot meal, and good night's sleep to be back in tip-top shape.

Arizona set her jaw and went to retrieve her accouterments. The shoes and socks would be removed again soon, but she would not run around barefoot while she waited. It took only a few moments for her to be fully adorned once more.

She adjusted her combo cover in a mirror, making sure it sat just so and that the brass upon it retained its polished luster. Making a few last minute adjustments to her handkerchief were all she decided that remained before she walked into the foyer of the bathhouse to wait. If Hiei said thirty minutes out, then they were thirty minutes out. The girl had a knack for timing that contrasted sharply with her goofy antics. If it weren't for Richardson's temperament, Arizona ventured that Hiei might be serving as his Yeoman instead of Jintsuu.

Arizona took one glance at the clock on the wall and snapped to attention. Mulling about would be a waste of energy, so she had opted to simply exercise her patience and wait.

It had been twenty five minutes since Hiei's announcement, so she did not have to wait very long.

When the doors exploded inward, one of them barely hanging on by its hinges, Arizona got her first look at the American task force. She was dumbfounded to say the least. Albeit ludicrously well hidden.

These were United States Navy destroyers? They looked more like cruisers spoiling for a brawl than any destroyer she had ever seen. If it wasn't for the open worry and concern for the other two USN ships that had walked into the room, she would dare describe them as thuggish.

She trained her eyes on the tallest and most imposing member of the group and bit back a gasp.

To say that USS New Jersey looked bad was quite an understatement. The woman's clothes had been shot to shreds, exposing vicious looking wounds that dripped oil and blood onto the floor. Not to mention the poorly hidden fact that a fair portion of New Jersey's face was simply missing. No manner of sunglasses could hide that. She'd been stripped of her dignity and then had her superstructure brutalized. Arizona forced down her ire in favor of taking care of the far more important matters at hand.

USS White Plains was a third her displacement at best. But it still felt as though she was carrying something far smaller and far more vulnerable. It did not matter what sort of doom she could visit upon her foes. To Arizona, she simply appeared as an utterly exhausted and hurting child at the moment. The smile she gave to New Jersey the best she could muster at the moment. It was hardly her best overall, but she still had to offer some form of reassurance to the battleship that went beyond words.

As New Jersey staggered out of the bath house, she turned to face the destroyers who had all trained their eyes upon her and White Plains.

"This way." She began walking towards the bathing facilities proper, making certain not to jostle White Plains too much. "There are baskets to put your clothes in and Admiral Richardson has made certain to have swimsuits supplied as well. I'll show you more as we get settled in."

Arizona would ensure these girls were well taken care of. It was her duty and she would perform it to her utmost.


	33. Chapter 27: Busy Busy Busy!

**Chapter 27: Busy Busy Busy!  
**

Jersey knew what sleep was like. Both from her own experience of collapsing onto her bed after a long day, and from the memories of her crew shuffling into their racks after a battle. She knew what it was like to rest, but this… this was more than mere rest.

The battleship floated on her back in the pool of warm, bubbling saltwater. She could sense the warmth of a tiny escort carrier curled up against her chest. Jersey's borrowed bikini was just a little too skimpy to keep White's hair from tickling the bare skin of her breast every time she took a breath.

Even with her eyes closed—or _eye_ as it were, she could tell her face was still missing a solid chunk of… face—she could tell the taffies were standing watch over her. Silent escorts though the night.

Jersey smiled. This wasn't just rest. This was… peace.

And mere seconds after she'd made that revelation, the piercing sound of a bosun's whistle shrieked though… though her own bridge. The cry echoed for a moment in her head.

Right. She was a battleship of the United States navy. She had duties to perform, regardless of how appealing bath cuddles were to her.

First item on the agenda: find the base Admiral and report in. She was already pushing up against insubordination by sleeping—she checked her chronometer— _fourteen hours_!

Before Jersey could throughly panic, she felt her stomach tense up, whining at her with the rumble of a quartermaster fairy. Okay… Item Two on the agenda: Get food. Food equals fuel, but it also—apparently—equals repair parts.

Jersey took one last breath, letting every last drop of peaceful pleasure soak though her pore before she gingerly opened her eye.

And found all four taffies, Sammy included, staring down at her with concern writ large on their little faces.

Jersey gulped. Here she was, lying on her back in a bikini that was at once too snug to cover her hips and too loose to cover her bust… and Johnston wasn't even _trying_ to sneak a peek.

It couldn't be her wounds either. A quick call to her damage-control fairy confirmed she _was_ healing up. Her skin might be tender and fresh, but at least it wasn't torn up and bleeding anymore. "Okay, spill it."

"Y-your belly," said Johnston, haltingly raising a hand to point at the battleship's exposed midriff.

Jersey glanced down, carefully adjusting White's head to get a good look at her belly. Her scar was still stubbornly present, a ragged mass of chewed-up tissue lighting-bolted across her muscular flank. "Yeah, I got a scar," said Jersey, "so what?"

Hoel shook her head. "It wasn't like that before."

Sammy wrung her hands, "It was like… you were a ship."

"We could see into your boiler room," said Johnston.

"There was torn steel," said Heermann, "You were leaking oil all over the place."

Jersey let out a long sigh. She _might_ have discounted it as some pathetic attempt at a joke. But all four of them looked deadly serious. Even Johnston didn't have the faintest _hint_ of a smirk on that face of hers.

Ah hell, looks like she had _three_ pressing issues to deal with today.

"Okay," said the battleship, gently tugging White's head off her breast. She grunted, pulling herself out of the calming water and plopping herself down on the poolside with a wet _squelch._ "Where's Arizona?"

Hoel looked at Sammy for a second. "I dunno, she said she had a thing."

"A thing," deadpanned Jersey.

"Yeah," said Johnston, "A mission or something, I didn't really ask."

"We were too busy watching over you," said Hoel.

"She had to check in with Mutsu," said Heermann.

"Oh yeah," Johnston nodded in agreement.

"Girls!" Jersey snapped at them. "Focus… please." She scowled at them, clutching her belly as her stomach grumbled an angry protest at the sad state of her fuel bunkers.

"Sorry," said the three destroyers in harmony.

"Miss Kongou said she'd bring breakfast," added Sammy. The little destroyer-escort jerked her arm up to check her watch, shoving her oversized sleeve back with her free hand, "She said she'd be here-"

"Breakfast Time, Dess!" Kongou didn't walk into the bath house. The hyperactive fast battleship just _appeared_ in an explosion of billowing white silk and flowing brown hair.

Jersey didn't bother questioning just _how_ she did it. Not when Kongou brought an almost-overflowing breakfast tray along with her. The American battleship was almost drooling at the smell oven-fresh scones and freshly-cooked bacon. Not to mention a tall thermos of the best-smelling tea she'd seen in her life!

"You look so much better, dess!" smiled Kongou, bouncing over like a giant smiling rabbit bearing food.

Jersey opened her mouth to respond, but Kongou happily shoved a scone in the opening before the American could produce as much as a single syllable. Instead, Jersey let out a happy "mmMm! Guh" as she happily munched on the warm cherry scone.

Kongou beamed in response, frantically toweling Jersey down with the softest bath towel Jersey'd ever even _seen._

And then… Jersey felt reality fracture around her. She could've sworn Kongou split into two or three copies of herself.

The Japanese girl frantically dragged her though the shower, dried her off, switched the American into a new outfit, all while making sure Jersey always had a fresh scone in her mouth and a full cup of tea in her hand.

And just as as suddenly as it begun, the whirlwind of Dess vanished. Kongou _popped up_ in front of the taller American, beaming an incandescent smile at Jersey.

Jersey took a second to swallow. She wasn't wearing her borrowed swimsuit any more, Kongou must've taken it off… at some point in her flurry of activity. In its place, Jersey wore standard navy PT-shorts, a yellow sweatshirt with "US NAVY" proudly emblazoned across the front in blue lettering, and… and…

Jersey's eyes—or eye, as it were—went wide and she clapped her hands to her chest."Kongou?"

Kongou smiled, "Yes?"

"How… how did you know my size?" said the battleship, clutching her hands protectively to her chest.

" _Jane's Fighting Ships_ , Dess!"

"Oh," Jersey shrugged, her hands falling back to her sides. That made sense, all her measurements were in the public domain after all. Before she could say anything more, Kongou abruptly rammed another scone down Jersey's mouth and trotted off.

"Time to see Teitoku~" sing-songed Kongou as she _skipped_ along the concrete, a smile on her face as she bounced along. Her flowing hair and sleeves whipped every which way in the light breeze, but the determined tuft of hair on her head stood sock-still. Almost like it was pointing to one building in particular.

Jersey scarfed down her scone, wiping crumbs from her face with the back of her hand. "Kongou, have-"

The Japanese battleship didn't let her finish. Before Jersey could get another word in, there was a thermos of warm tea being pressed to her lips.

Jersey might have raised a fuss, but the tea was… was _amazing._ Strong and milky and sweet… but there was something else. Something that elevated it from simply tasty to the very nectar of the gods. "Kongou," said Jersey, tearing herself away from the thermos when less than half remained. "What is this?"

"Builder's tea!" said Kongou with a grin, "I brew it with saltwater too."

"Oooooooh," Jersey nodded, the pieces falling into place in her mind. "Oh, shit." Another realization hit her, "Kongou, is anyone going to look in on the taffies?"

"Mmhm," nodded Kongou. "Tenryuu said she'd look after them until Arizona-San's back."

"Tenryuu, huh?" Jersey smiled. What Johnston would do with that sword…

"Don't tell her I said so," said Kongou, leaning in with a conspiratorial wink, "But she's really sweet when she wants to be."

Jersey smirked. Couldn't think of who _that_ reminded her of.

For a full second, the two battleships walked in silence. Together, they came to a pair of double-doors protected by armed guards—both of whom shot Kongou a friendly smile.

Jerse stopped just before going in. "Hey, Kongou…" she scratched at her head.

Kongou glanced over, her eyebrows creeping up as she listened.

"You… ever hear of a shipgirl's wounds mirroring her actual hull?"

"You mean the actual… original hull? The one you sailed as during the war?"

Jersey nodded.

"No," said Kongou, "that's…" the battleship pursed her lips, a frustrated look passing over her face. "You should ask Teitoku." She spun on her heel, bouncing back onto the sidewalk.

"Wait, where are you-"

"Fleet practice, dess!"

Jersey shrugged. She couldn't really be mad. Not after Kongou'd already spent so much time making sure Jersey and her girls felt comfortable. Oh well, she was in the admin building. Finding the Admiral's office should just be a matter of-

"Ow! Fuck me!" Jersey must've misjudged the angle when she spun around on her heel. Instead of passing neatly though one of the double doors, she'd smashed nose-first into the central divider, leaving a solid dent.

Before she could complain any further, a clatter of dropped papers and pens drew her attention to a white-faced little destroyer girl. Kagerou- or maybe Yuugumo-class by the looks of her.

"Sup," grunted Jersey, rubbing at her nose with one hand. It wasn't broken, as much as the dinged divider suggested otherwise.

"H-hello, Battleship-sama," said the destroyer girl, somehow managing to bow and salute at the same time. "Kiyoshimo desu!"

"Oooookay," said Jersey, giving her nose another brief rub. "Know where I can find the Admiral?"

"Oh!" the little destroyer girl snapped to so hard she bounced into the air. "Third door in the portside!"

"kay," said Jersey, "Thanks, Kiyoshimo."

The destroyer girl beamed, but Jersey was already halfway down the hall. Was everyone on this base insane? Before she could brood any further, she came to the right door. A frosted-glass plate bore gold lettering mark it as the office of an Admiral Goto Isoroku.

Jersey pulled her sweatshirt smooth, doing her best to look presentable while out of uniform. "Admiral?" she asked, gently rapping on the glass pane.

"Enter," game a gravelly, only lightly-accented, voice.

Jersey took one final second to make sure what hair she'd grown back was playing nice, then threw the door open and stepped though. "Battleship _New Jersey_ , BB-62 reporting, sir!"

"As you were," said the man behind the desk. He looked younger than _her_ Admiral, but not by much. He seemed to radiate a field of conniving slyness. Which made sense, he'd been fighting a war from a nation constitutionally forbidden from having a military. And holding his own… That shit took _wiles._

"Sir," Jersey smiled, dropping to parade rest. "I'm… I should've reported in earlier, sir. I apologize."

The Admiral scoffed, "Really? Mutsu, Kongou, and Kirishima all agree that you were in desperate need of repair."

"Just a flesh wound, sir," said Jersey, her voice softer than usual, "I could've made it."

"Doesn't mean you should've. It's good to have you with us," said the Admiral, his stony face cracking into an honest smile. "You and that convoy both. You don't know how big a weight it is off our shoulders."

Jersey blushed. "T-thank you, sir. It was my honor, but… credit really goes to White, the destroyers, and Naka."

"You stressed as much in your report," said the Admiral, tapping the stapled-together papers on his desk.

Jersey winced. She'd typed that up while the convoy was sprinting to Hokkaido… she was honestly surprised it was even readable.

"It's pretty spare on the details," added the Admiral. He raised one eyebrow at Jersey.

"I know, sir," said Jersey, wringing her hands behind her back. "I lost my radar early on, and the Abyssal main force was hiding behind the horizon."

"Main force?" said the Admiral, gesturing for Jersey to expand her point.

"Yes sir," said Jersey, "PT boats can't range that far on their own, and heavy-bombers need… some kind of landing strip. I'm guessing… maybe an island they've occupied. An Abyssal installation of some kind."

The Admiral nodded, "That fits with our understanding. And, I've got Iku on recon duty. Hopefully she'll give us a better picture of the abyssal force."

Jersey nodded, "Sir, there's one other-"

Before the battleship could finish her sentence, a tall girl with glasses and a headset hanging around her neck burst in. "Teitoku! Kaga made contact ahead of schedule!"

"Shit," hissed the Admiral, his chair skidding back as he lept to his feet. "I'm needed in CnC," he said, practically sprinting past Jersey, "Nagato will answer any further questions."

"Uh, okay, but…" Jersey's voice trailed off as she realized she was speaking to an empty room. She understood why everyone here was so jumpy… but it was still a lot for the battleship-girl to handle. She drummed her hands against her thighs, clicking her tongue as she built a plan of action.

First order of business: remove thy ass from the high sanctuary of The Admiral's Office.

Jersey quickly backed out, making sure to gently close the door behind her.

Second order of business: Find Nagato.

"Nagato… Nagato… Nagato…" Jersey muttered to herself, scanning down the rows of doors, finally settling on one marked 'Secretary Ship Nagato.' The battleship cocked one eyebrow at the title as she walked over and wrapped her knuckles against the glass.

"Come in," came a low-pitched voice not unlike her own.

"Hey…" Jersey swung the door open, making sure she didn't smack her face into anything this time. "USS _New Jersey_ ," she said, sizing up the Japanese battleship.

She wasn't much taller than Kongou… but she was certainly… significantly… bigger. In _areas_. And her tight-fitting sleeveless crop-top didn't do a _thing_ to hide all that topweight. Damnit, were all Japanese battleships like this?

"What can I do for you, Jersey?" asked Nagato, folding her hands in front of her face and staring up at the American.

"Okay, uh… I had a few questions to ask," said Jersey, forcing herself to look the Japanese heavy in the eyes, not her exposed abs or… elsewhere.

"Of course," said Nagato, "Admiral Goto figured you'd be curious. I'm at your disposal, Jersey."

"Okay, first off…" said Jersey, her hands resting against her hips to try and play-up her strengths. "Why's a battleship pushing pencils?"

Nagato gave Jersey a confused look for a second, her brows knitting fractionally as her mind crunched away. "Ah, you mean why am I but a secretary?"

Jersey nodded.

"I'm not," said Nagato, "At least not how you understand it. The translation is… vague at best."

"So what's your real job?" said Jersey, shifting her weight from one hip to the other, making sure to show off her best assets to her Japanese counterpart.

"I'm the Admiral's aide," said Nagato, her already impressive chest swelling with pride, "his surface warfare consultant, and I look after the physical and mental well-being of our kanmusu fleet." She paused, "Though yes, I do assist in the paperwork from time to time."

Jersey smiled. "That's more'n I do," she said, feeling her stomach start to rumble.

Apparently, Nagato heard it too. The Japanese battleship stifled a smile. "Shall we continue this discussion over lunch?"

"Oh fuck yes."

—|—|—

Yeoman Gale rubbed the last grains of sleep from her eyes as she shuffled into the barracks washroom. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were rumpled, and whoever coined the phrase "Beauty sleep" had _clearly_ never seen an actual person sleep before.

"Monin' Gale!" Yeoman Jennifer Bowers shot Gale one of her trademark winking smile.

Gale grunted in response. She'd always found her old friend's peppyness in the morning to be grating. But that was before she met USS-perfect-lady-at-all-times-Washington. At least Bowers had the good grace to look messy and disheveled in the morning.

"You got much on your plate?" asked Bowers, somehow managing to speak while brushing her teeth.

"Nah," Gale splashed nearly-freezing water over her face, sending the the last holdouts of sleep running for their white flags. "Girls are gone."

Bowers chuckled, "And Williams hasn't given you any new assignment."

Gale shook her head. "No, and I'm not gonna push it," she said, scowling at the general wear and tear wrangling destroyers had caused to her face. "Those girls…" she trailed off in a sighing grunt.

"Can't decide if you want to hug them or kill them?"

"Pretty much," said Gale. "I thought Poi was bad… then I meat the Taffies."

Bowers smiled, ruffling Gale's hair with her free hand. "Aww… I know you love them."

Gale let out an exaggerated sigh. "Yeah… I guess I do."

"That's very nice of you," said another voice. The… the trade-mark silky-smooth music of a particular North Carolina-class battleship.

Gale slowly turned on her heel, praying that she'd somehow imagined the voice. But reality refused to bend to her will. Standing at the next sink over was the toweringly shapely form of USS _Washington._

And she looked as immaculately pretty as ever. Her russet brown hair fell down past her waist in a flowing, shimmering sea. She was still wearing the clothes Gale'd lent her, which wasn't inherently a problem. Gale had too much crap filling her closet anyway. No… the problem was _how_ she wore it! The battleship filled out Gale's old clothes like she'd been sewn into them. Her bust stretched the NAVY logo until it bulged like the cinemascope logo.

"The fuck?" blurted out Gale. "W-when did you get here?"

Wash tilted her head, her flowing hair cascading across her shoulder with photo shoot perfect grace. "Two minutes ago," she said with certainty.

Gale glanced from the exemplar of feminine perfection to her old friend Bowers, disbelief writ large on her face.

"I…wow," Bowers stared at the battleship, jealousy plainly evident on her face. In fact… _everyone_ in the washroom was staring jealousy at Wash. The only variable was the degree of subtly.

Wash didn't even notice. She just hummed a little tune to herself as she finished cleaning up. It wasn't until she started doing her braid up that she even recognized people were looking at her. "It's about breakfast time," she said, "would any of you like to join me?"

"No!" said Gale, throwing her arms out to protect the crowd of sailors from the humiliation that was dining with miss Wash. "No. No one does."

Wash gave the Yeoman a bemused look, then smiled brightly. "Very well, Have a pleasant day!"

—|—|—

Jersey stared at the small mountain of rice on her plate, her face twisted into an angry scowl as she jammed her chopsticks into it again and again. It wasn't that she didn't know _how_ to use chopsticks… she'd eaten the meat and vegetable courses of her lunch with her normal breathless haste. But the rice… She never came up with more than two or three grains stick between the tips.

"Nagato…" said Jersey, throwing her chopsticks down in disgust and grabbing a mound of rice with her bare hand. "These are like… the worst possible utensils for eating rice."

Nagato didn't say a word. The battleship just let out a measured sigh, her gloved hand reaching up to scratch the bridge of her sharp nose. "Perhaps you simply need more practice?"

Jersey's mouth was too full of rice to speak, so she contented herself with a shrug of acquiescence.

Nagato smiled. "Your girls have taken this new world rather well."

Jersey swallowed. "New world?" She said, cocking her eyebrow in question. "Oh, you mean the whole… demonic ships from the deep thing."

"That, and fighting on the same side as the Imperial Japanese warships that sank them."

"Sank _some_ of them," corrected Jersey, jabbing her finger in the general direction of Nagato's heavily armored collar. "But, uh… I'm honestly more surprised at how well your girls took it."

"Hmm?" Nagato uttered a demure hum of questioning, motioning for Jersey to continue as she plucked a bite off her massive ball of rice.

"Well…" Jersey tapped her fingers against the table. "Mine came back to the same America they left. Top of the world… democracy… all that shit. And, uh…" she pursed her lips, puffing her cheeks out before sucking them in again. "And we knew we were going to win the war. Just a matter of time."

Nagato nodded, "I could hardly dispute _that._ "

"But your girls," continued Jersey, "Modern Japan's nothing like the empire. No one's committing hari-kari left and right…"

"Harakiri," corrected Nagato.

"Yeah, that," said Jersey. "I would've thought you'd have more issues."

Nagato took another bite of her rice, chewing with slow, deliberate motions as she formed her thoughts into an ordered row. She swallowed, her chopsticks coming to rest against her plate with a tiny click of bamboo on plastic. "And that, Jersey, is why we have not."

"Eh?" Jersey tilted her head to the side in confusion.

"Have you heard of Bataan?" asked Nagato, "Or perhaps Nanking? We fought on the side of the monsters once. _We_ were the demons. We have no desire to be such again."

"Y-you're trying to redeem yourselves?" said Jersey, stuttering as she felt a tangled mass of emotions flash though her magazines towards her bridge.

Nagato nodded, wordlessly taking another bite of her rice.

Jersey tapped her heel against the floor. "Done a hell of a job so far," she said. Before her face could crack, she grabbed another fistful of rice and inhaled the whole clump with a loud gulp.

"Arizona's been the most bothersome, actually," said Nagato. The corners of the battleship's lips quivered into a hint of a smile as Jersey demolished her plate, but she reigned in back to her stoic, stony mask at the last second.

"Oh?" said Jersey, worry tinting her face.

"She doesn't approve of my sister's outfit. Nor mine."

The American didn't react for a split-second. Then she burst out laughing, sending bits of half-chewed rice flying though the air and spattering all over Nagato's impeccable white top. "'cause you dress like- like fucking…" the battleship stopped as she was overcome by chuckles. "

Nagato did her best to keep a straight face while the American caught her breath.

"Okay…" Jersey finally found her breath once more, "That skirt… it's like… it's a fucking pleated belt. Not…" Jersey didn't even try to hide her glance up and down Nagato's excessive bust and fully-displayed abs, "Not that you don't have the body to pull it off or anything."

The Japanese battleship, member of the Big Seven and for years the very embodiment of Japanese Naval Might… blushed. Her cheeks flushed a pale pink as she struggled to regain her composure. "You Americans… a girl in every port, hmm?"

"Apparently," said Jersey with a smirk. "It's not a stereotype for a reason."

Before Nagato could respond, the doors to the mess hall blew open and three hyperactive destroyers surged though.

"Jersey!" screamed Johnston, her body tucked down in a flat-out sprint towards her flagship. Her running shoes squeaked against the linoleum floor as she ducked and weaved around Japanese ships and sailors alike. She neatly vaulted a table, skidding the last few inches on her butt before falling back onto her feet and slamming into Jersey's bust at flak speed.

Hoel and Heermann followed mere seconds later, slamming into Jersey as if they didn't understand the very concept of "brakes." The three _Fletcher_ -class girls didn't displace nearly enough even move a freshly-fed _Iowa_. Instead, they simply piled up around her in a huge pile of sleeveless sailor tops and cuddles.

For an instant, the entire mess hall was deathly quiet. Then Johnston's head popped up from where she'd crash-landed. "We missed you!"

"We really did," said Hoel.

"But miss Tenryuu said you were busy," said Heermann.

"So we got breakfast with her," finished Johnston, squeezing herself tighter against Jersey as she hugged her flagship with all the strength her little arms could manage.

"Heh, thanks guys," said Jersey, ruffling Johnston's feathers with one hand and Heermann's hair with the other.

Nagato had gone suspiciously quiet. Her lips were tightly pursed as she fought down a smile.

"Oh, hey!" said Johnston, peeling herself out of the hug to wave at the Japanese battleship. "Shit, uh…" the little destroyer bowed from the waist, her sisters flowing a few seconds behind.

"Arigato, Nagato… uh… san?" said Hoel.

"It's nice to meet you, miss Nagato," said Heermann.

"Wait," Jersey gave the girls a sideways look, "How'd you know this is Nagato?"

"Because she's Nagato class," said Johnston.

"And we already met Mutsu," said Hoel.

"She's the one who suggested we join you for lunch," said Heermann.

"Did she now," said Nagato, folding her arms with a very tiny, very sly smirk.

"Mmhm!" said Hoel.

"Well…" Nagato's cheeks blushed a shade redder, though Jersey was the only American to notice. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Johnston-tan, Hoel-tan, and Heermann-tan."

"Tan?" muttered Jersey, more to herself than anyone. She'd have to ask Kongou what that meant.

"Same!" said Johnston, plowing ahead like the battleship hadn't said a thing out of place. She propped herself up on the table, leering past Nagato's heaping lunch at her very exposed belly. "Holy Hannah… look at her abs!"

The other two destroyers bounced over in a flurry of bobbing ponytails. Both didn't even try to hide their stares of awed envy.

"Look at those abs," breathed Hoel.

"I like her belt too," added Heermann.

Nagato's blush was getting redder by the second. Not that she was doing anything to _stop_ the destroyers. She just stood stock-still in her seat, holding her head high in stoic determination.

Jersey sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Kids…"

"Oh, don't worry, skipper!" said Johnston, bounding over to give Jersey—or at least her belly—a huge hug. "Your abs are still _waaay_ better."

"Uh, Miss Nagato?" asked Hoel, wringing her hands behind her back.

"Hai?" Nagato blinked away… something as she dipped her head to meet the destroyer's eyes.

"How come you're so much bigger than Skipper?"

"I'm…" Nagato paused, glancing from herself to the much taller American.

"Not there," said Johnston. "She means why are you so stacked!"

"Yeah, you've got pagodas _on your pagodas_ ," added Hoel. "Jersey's just kinda-" she nodded to the American's less impressive bust.

"Okay!" said Jersey, shoving Johnston off her waist. "Go bother Tenryuu again.

"But-"

"Go!" Jersey shooed the destroyers away with a wave of her hand.

The three destroyers bounced to a highly-energetic version of attention. Their hands snapped to their brows for an instant before they bolted for the door.

It took Nagato a full minute after the destroyers left to regain her usual complexion. "So…" she said, "sore subject, Jersey?"

"Could say that," said Jersey, hunkering over what was left of her rice. "Could maybe say I'm a bit jealous too."

"Don't be," said Nagato, "You're a fast battleship, and an American one at that."

Jersey shot her a questioning look.

"You were never built to match me in my realm," said Nagato, "Just as I was never built to match you in yours." The Japanese battleship pointed towards her American counterpart's broader hips and massively stronger legs. "I flank at twenty-six-point five," she said. "I understand you can beat that with half your boilers cold."

"Barely," mumbled Jersey, "But, uh… thanks. Nagato. I get what you're going for… thanks."

Nagato smiled, dipping her head in a polite little bow.

For a minute, the two battleships ate in silence. Nagato was as demure as ever as she effortlessly plucked morsels from the rice ball with her chopsticks. Jersey was noticeably less so as she rammed her chopsticks into the rice and tried to tear a chunk off. She finally succeeded in getting a good-sized chunk into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, then stared at Nagato, her chopsticks tapping out a rough cadence against her plate.

"Nagato?"

"Hmm?" Nagato raised an eyebrow as she dabbed her napkin against her mouth.

"You ever…" Jersey waved her hands in the air in an inarticulate attempt to describe her point, "You ever hear about a shipgirl mirroring the wound that sunk her?"

Nagato shook her head. "No… if we did…" she shrugged, "I would be radioactive, Naka would be blown in two… Your navy sunk a great many of us during the war. Why do you ask?"

Jersey glanced around, making sure no one was too close before she leaned in to Nagato. "Because I've got this scar on my side, right over my boilers. And every time I fall asleep, in turns into ragged steel and leaking oil."

Nagato let out a very tiny gasp, her eyes ratcheting a hair wider. "That's…" she sat back, her fingertips steepled in thought. "That's very strange."

"You're telling me."

"I'm afraid I can't help," said Nagato, "This is… quite perplexing. I've never heard of something quite like it."

"Yeah," sighed Jersey, taking a long drink of seawater. "All this magical crap is too much for me."

—|—|—

Admiral Williams settled into his chair. The old leather formed around him like a tailored glove, giving him a throne of comfort while he addressed all the profoundly uncomfortable duties his rank and position entailed. At least today was shaping up to be one of the nice ones. The convoy, the source of so much worry for months, had made it to Japan safely. His girls hadn't taken any damage they couldn't heal away. And the Admiral had a fresh cup of scalding-hot coffee waiting for him in his mug. This would not be a good day. But it might, perhaps, not be the worst.

Williams sighed, taking a sip of his salty black coffee as he opened up his e-mail. And noticed three messages from his girls. Whatever hopes he had for the day shattered into a million pieces as he read the first subject line.

From: "USS Johnston"  
To: "VADM Samuel Williams"  
Subject: I'M SO SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TOO  
 _I'm SO SORRY! Please please please please don't be mad at me! I was tired and worried about Jersey and we'd been dodging planes and pt boats all day and night and I just pointed my tubes at Miss Kongou when I shouldn't have and I made her mad and I made Jersey mad and I shouldn't have done it there's no excuse for what I did just please please please don't be mad at me I'll do whatever I have to to make it up._

 _I meant to tell you as soon as we made port but White was all sleepy and Jersey was feeling terrible and I wanted to watch over them so I did that instead of calling you like I should have and I'M SORRY! Please please please don't scrap me I can still fight I can run convoys or something just please forgive me and let me keep fighting._

 _I know what I did was wrong and I won't do it again I promise._

Williams sighed, rubbing his eyes as he tried to parse the unholy mess of run-on sentences. Before he could get thoroughly worried, he opened the next email.

from: "USS New Jersey"  
To: "VADM Samuel Williams"  
Subject: An apology for my actions.  
 _Admiral Williams,_

 _During the convoy run to Japan, I acted in a shameful manner. When Kongou's battlegroup—who'd done nothing but help us the entire time—pulled alongside, I not only allowed Johnston to flag her with her torpedo tubes, I threatened to fire my own weapons on IJN Kongou._

 _I've apologized to Kongou, but I must also apologize to you. For this mission, I am supposed to represent you to our allies in Japan. Yet my first act upon meeting said allies was to threaten violence upon them. I shouldn't have done this, and I knew that full well. But I let the stresses of combat and the exhaustion of my battle wounds overcome me._

 _I apologize for my actions, and I assure you that such actions will never happen again._

 _New Jersey._

 _PS: Can shipgirls get medals? White was a real trooper the whole run, I'd recommend her for something, but I'm not even sure where to start._

 _PPS: Could you arrange for a skype call with Doctor Crowning? I'm not sure how complicated of a process that is, but I'm guessing it's pretty involved._

Williams made a mental note to have Naka teach Jersey how to properly use her computer sometime in the future. But before he could go any further, his attention was drawn to yet a third E-mail with an unfamiliar header.

From: "KONGOU DESS!" .mil  
To: "VADM Samuel Williams"  
Subject: Don't blame your girls, Dess!  
 _Dear Admiral Williams,_

 _You probably got letters from your girls about what happened off Alaska. If you haven't, here's a brief summary. After a full day and night of exhausting combat, Johnston allowed her torpedo tubes to briefly point along my track, and Jersey made it known that she loved her girls. And that she'd protect them even if it meant firing upon me!_

 _Given our past history, I don't blame either girl for what they did. And I'd like to point out that Johnston was willing to attack me all by herself, while Ryuujou had air superiority._

 _Both girls were prompt and profuse with their apologies, and none have caused any problems since. (The taffies have bent over backwards, figuratively speaking, to be polite and respectful since they've arrived, Dess!)_

 _You shouldn't get mad at them for what they did! Please allow them to continue to serve with us!_

 _Respectfully, JDS Kongou._

—|—|—

Jersey settled herself into the soothing repair-pool water and let out a sigh of sheer contentment. Her belly, flat as it was, was fully to bursting with Kongou's delicious roast beef, peas, carrots, potatoes, and that weird bread thing that Kongou insisted was a form of pudding.

The Japanese battleship had even gone out of her way to buy Jersey a swimsuit that actually fit her; a snug-fitting racing bikini cut high enough to preserve the fast-battleship modesty paired with swim trunks loose enough to be comfortable around her hips.

"Mmmhm…" White let out a sleepy purr as she curled up in her sleep, snuggling up tight against her flagship.

Jersey smiled, ruffling the little carrier's hair. The final element to her sheer contentment… adorable carrier girls snuggling up tight against her. "Hey, kiddo," she said.

White purred again, a tired smile spreading across her chubby little face.

Jersey smiled too. She wanted nothing more than to hold White and never let go… but she was the flagship. She had other things to look after, including her own well being. "Gimme a second, kiddo," she whispered, gently disentangling herself from the carrier's embrace and swimming over to the pool side.

White let out a tiny sigh, but quickly curled up into a sleepy ball in the middle of the pool.

Jersey couldn't help but smile at that, but she had to get answers. The battleship rested her elbows against the poolside, her eyebrows knitting in concentration as she stared down the special water-proof laptop the Admiral hand provided her.

"Okay…" she clicked her tongue, staring at the keyboard like it was a ticking bomb. "So… I click the thing…" she fumbled with the trackpad, biting back curses as she struggled to bring the pointer over her target. A little more to the left… a little more… NO! TOO FAR! TOO FUCKING FAR!

After roughly ten minutes of increasingly frustrated clicking, Jersey'd finally gotten the Skype window open. She was logged in—apperently—now she just had to wait…

The battleship sighed, letting her breasts pile up against the poolside. Purely to get comfortable, she didn't have the slightest interest in looking good for her friend. Well… maybe a smidgen… she didn't want to shock him with the gash on her face after-

"Hello?" The laptop let out a gentle "boop" and the screen shifted to a somewhat jittery, but still watchable, video feed. Professor Crowning sat in what Jersey assumed was his quarters, dressed in a warm collared sweater with a mug sitting just inside the frame.

"Doc!" Jersey beamed at him, "Thanks for calling so early… It's pretty late over there, yeah?"

"Only midnight," said Crowning with a weary smile, his gaze drifting up towards the missing chunk of Jersey's face. "Mishap with your parrot?"

"What?"

"Your face," said Crowning, waving his hand over his own, "You're missing an eye… pirate…"

"Oh," said Jersey, her smile brightening, "Oh… heh," she hurriedly stifled a laugh. "Please don't make me laugh, White's trying to sleep."

Crowning held his hands up in surrender. "Of course, Jersey."

"Thanks," said the battleship, brushing a few strands of hair over her face to hide her wound as best she could. "Hey, ah… this a secure line?"

"As far as can be," said Crowning.

"I mean… no one's listening just offscreen, are they?"

Crowning made a show of looking over his shoulder, "Nah, all alone on my end. What about you?"

"White's sleeping," said Jersey, reflexively glancing towards the tired little escort carrier, "poor thing was a real trooper the whole convoy. Sammy's hanging out with Yuu- with Poi, and the taffies are joining Naka's livestream."

"Does Naka know that?"

"I honestly didn't ask," deadpanned Jersey.

For a second, both Jersey and Crowning held straight faces. Then Jersey devolved into snorted laughter. "I said don't make me laugh!"

"You did that to yourself, Jersey," said Crowning, "I can't be held accountable for your actions."

Jersey made a face at him.

"Anyways, what's up?" asked Crowning, "I don't imagine this is just a social call… is your face, uh… healing, or , uh… repairing well?"

"What, this?" Jersey waved to what was left of her face, "It's just a flesh-wound doc. Gimme another day or two and I'm right as rain."

"You sure?"

"Yes, mother," said Jersey with a schoolgirl smile. "I got the best damn DC crew in the world working on me. She sighed, tugging at her swimsuit to make sure she was fully covered. "But, uh… there is one thing."

Crowning leaned forwards, staring at her with intense worry. "Jersey?"

"I got the scar," said Jersey, "The one on my belly, you've seen it. It's… when I'm sleeping, it turns into torn metal…"

"Like a ship?"

"Yeah," said Jersey, "You can see into my boilers and everything…" she pursed her lips, tapping her fingers against the tile poolside. "Look… this is way to magical for me, maybe it's up your alley?"

Crowning thought for a second. Then another second. Then his face went white as a sheet.

"Doc?" said Jersey in a voice that sounded weaker than she hoped. "Is… is everything alright?"

The professor took a second to gather his breath. "Um… yeah. I, um… I think I know what's causing this. But you're not gonna like it."

Jersey nodded, resting her chin against the tile as she waited for him to continue.

"You're a very protective person," said Crowning, "And… it's because of what happened at Samar, right? You feel like you could've saved them. But you didn't, and you're trying to atone for that."

Jersey nodded again, her one good eye getting watery at the thought.

"Jersey…" Crowning rubbed his temple, "How much do you remember from when you were- from between your decommissioning and your summoning."

"Nothing," said Jersey, "Shadows… feelings… nothing concrete."

Crowning nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing. "We were trying to summon you for weeks," he said, "trying everything we could… begging you to come back. And I know… I know you wanted to… maybe something was holding you down… We were trying to summon you up until the very moment you died."

Jersey let out a tiny gasp. It made sense… it made too much sense. They'd been begging her to come back… She'd listen to their cries, she'd felt them—felt her people, the ones she'd sworn to protect—get snuffed out on her deck trying to rouse her to action. The battleship sniffed, blinking back tears as she stared at her own reflection in the tile. "So…" her voice was quiet, almost a wispier, "this is… this is just because I'm insecure or some shit?"

"It's because you're a proud warrior," said Crowning, "And a loving protector."

Jersey gave him a sideways look.

"You love your girls, and your country with every fibre of your being," said Crowning, "You'll move mountains and do the impossible for them… and even that's not good enough for you."

Jersey smirked in spite of herself. "Just doing my job," she said softly.

"And everyone here thanks you for it," said Crowning. "But right now, your job is to heal up. And get back in the fight."

Jersey bit her lip. "You just want another kiss, don't you."

"I wouldn't say no to one."

"When I get back," said Jersey, looking over her shoulder to make absolutely certain a sleeping CVE was her only company. "Until then," she said, kissing her fingers and pressing them against the screen.

Crowning smiled. "Until then," he said, touching his own hand to the screen. "Good night, Jersey."

Jersey yawned. "Mmm… night," she said, shutting the laptop and sinking into the water. The feeling of White snuggling up to her was the battleship's last waking memory before sleep took hold of her.


	34. A Certain Lady Part 5

**A Certain Lady Part 5  
**

 **By Old Iron**

Admiral Richardson sat on his sofa with his uniform shirt half unbuttoned and his cover haphazardly resting on an unread newspaper. Strewn out on the coffee table and the target of a hefty glare was the contents of a folder delivered to him by Jintsuu, who had apparently sampled some of Hiei's cooking and was beginning to look a little worse for wear. Not enough to stave off deployment at the moment however. Come hell or high water, he would make sure that Hiei knew how to cook without nearly killing someone. Even if he had pull her off active duty and ship her off to a culinary school to do so.

But that was neither here nor there at the moment.

"Are they serious. Are they fucking serious..." His mutterings were low and angry. He was glad Jane was sleeping over at a friend's house tonight. She saw and heard enough on base as it was. There was a little need for him to add to the pile if he could avoid it. Funny thing about being a parent, that.

With an angry motion, he grabbed the folder and read through the contents again to make absolutely certain he wasn't having some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination.

*** CONFIDENTIAL ***

FROM: UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE - PACIFIC FLEET COMMAND  
TO: UNITED STATES FLEET ACTIVITIES SASEBO - RDML JOHN ALFRED RICHARDSON

*** THE CONTENTS OF THIS MESSAGE ARE RESTRICTED TO THE EYES OF THE ABOVE MENTIONED RECIPIENT ONLY ***

MESSAGE IS AS FOLLOWS:

IN REFERENCE TO RECENTLY ATTACHED SHIP SPIRIT TO YOUR COMMAND: LT USS ARIZONA BB-39.

OWING TO THE ARMAMENT OF THE ABOVE MENTIONED SHIP SPIRIT, YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO RESTRICT DEPLOYMENT OF SAID SHIP SPIRIT.  
USS ARIZONA IS NOT TO BE DEPLOYED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES TO EVENTS WHEREIN ACTIVE COMBAT IS TO BE EXPECTED UNLESS NO RECOURSE IS OTHERWISE AVAILABLE.

*** CONFIDENTIAL ***

Nope, not a hallucination.

It was signed, stamped, and sealed, making it as official as any set of paper orders could ever be.

Richardson leafed through the other papers. A limited biography of Arizona, complete with her photo. She looked stoic as could be. Blueprints. Details on her armor and armaments. Minor historical notes. A few technical documents regarding his report on the summoning.

Still not a damn hallucination.

The only item he hadn't wanted thrown out in anger was a hand-written letter that he was almost absolutely certain wasn't supposed to have been sent with the rest of the tripe. Then again, it was sent from someone with enough weight to throw around that if they said the sun was made of ice cream then it damn well was and you should pray it was their favorite kind.

A Fleet Admiral kind of has that pull.

The letter had gone on to dispense with the official jargon and gotten right to the heart of the matter.

In all honesty, the brass had no idea what to do with Arizona.

It had been difficult enough deploying battleships when they were massive steel leviathans and command had a pretty good idea of what they could be used for. The advent of carrier based warfare only made it worse. Ship Spirits and the Abyssals had turned a great number of those notions on their head and made it all the worse. At least with their allies providing all the information they could and the arrival of USS New Jersey they had finally been making headway. The revival and updating of World War II naval doctrine had been progressing with leaps and bounds.

Unfortunately no amount of revival could help them plan for a USS Arizona who showed up wearing her commission kit. A Super-Dreadnought who was top of the line for 1916 was no better off against the Abyssal planes than a toothless cargo barge. It was simply too big of a risk and not a soul wanted to chance her deploying against an enemy carrier. It wouldn't be a battle. It would be a death warrant.

And adding to the stack against her was the fact she was probably one of, if not the, slowest battleships on the sea right now. An Abyssal with half a brain in its head would do everything it could to just run circles around Arizona and send her to the bottom with a death of a thousand cuts. Her armor was powerful, not invincible.

Richardson scowled, no more pleased about the explanation than the first time he read it over. At least someone had bothered to flat out tell him why. It was more than he could have ever expected and he was not about to complain about receiving it. No matter how angry he was.

"We were crying and begging for Navy girls to show up. And now that we know how to get them to show up, the brass is going to bitch and moan that they didn't get a ship with the right set of guns." He tossed the folder back onto the table and sunk back into the plush of his couch. He knew he wasn't being completely fair towards his superiors. Now that command actually had some troops and a means to add to their number, they could actually afford to actually think about who was assigned what. When all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. Now there were some wrenches and screwdrivers in the toolbox.

"...I wonder if they'd do the same thing to Oklahoma or Utah."

"Hmm... Utah might not mind."

To his credit, Richardson did not scream. He did however jump out of his skin and nearly had an intimate encounter involving the coffee table and his shins.

"Dammit Hiei!" He hissed while putting a hand on his chest to try and calm his now rapid heartbeat. With a glare shot behind him at the Japanese battleship, he collapsed back onto the sofa. "How did you get in here?" And how had she snuck up behind him? She wasn't exactly the most stealthy woman, or ship for that matter. Usually you could tell where she was from a mile away.

"The front door." Hiei smiled broadly. "You did give us all a set of keys you know. Just in case." She held up the aforementioned keys and gave them a slight jingle to accentuate her point. With an amazingly nimble vault, she hauled herself over the back of the sofa to land comfortably on the center cushion.

The fact she managed to pull this off without breaking the furniture amazed Richardson on a level he was fairly certain only existed owing to the late hour.

"She was turned into a target ship, right? I think she'd like to do some light escort duty. You know, help keep the younger girls sharp while stretching her legs a bit." The fast battleship swiveled in her seat so that her head lay squarely on Richardson's lap and her feet extended well over the opposite arm of the sofa. She blissfully ignored the fact he was looking at her like she'd grown another head. "I don't think Oklahoma would like it though. I bet Arizona won't either. She's old, but she's not useless. When are you going to tell her? We're setting out in an hour."

It was times like these that Richardson wondered just how mad he would go if he ever tried to figure out how exactly Hiei's mind worked. One moment she was an overly energetic goofball with a sister complex, the next she was insightful and serious. And that didn't even begin to cover the flip-flopping she did between being a lazy bum and being one of the most dedicated soldiers in his entire fleet. He really wished she would at least add some stability to the mix. If not for his sake, then the rest of her battle group.

"...It's that time already?" He looked at his wrist only to discover he had taken his watch off at some point. Just how out of it was he? As support for Mutsu and her two destroyers heading off to meet with the Everett supply convoy, he was sending Hiei, Jintsuu, and the freshly summoned Arizona directly to Yokosuka. They'd receive further instruction upon arrival, but their initial orders were to assist in securing the base for the convoy's arrival.

Yokosuka was a good sized base, but you could never be too careful. Especially considering its location and what was arriving. The fact Richardson's orders did not contradict the DOD's was a fortunate convenience in his book.

"I'm going to try to ignore the fact that you've apparently been reading confidential information over my shoulder for a while now. As for Arizona... She doesn't have to like it. I sure as Hell don't. She " He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't have time to give her the explanation she deserves, and I'd much rather tell her in person than over the radio." He placed one arm on the back of the sofa and the other on the armrest.

"At least you can still tell her on your own terms over the radio. Or the phone. Maybe she'll like that. Or she'll get super angry." Hiei chuckled before reaching up as if to grasp something. Richardson's eyes followed the motion until her arm was fully extended. "I don't know. All I can say is do your best with vim and vigor and high spirits!" She clenched her hand into a fist and smiled.

"Are we still talking about breaking shitty orders to Arizona?" Richardson's questioning tone sounded ever so slightly less terse than it usually did. He didn't feel nearly so strung out as before, that was for certain.

"Hmm... Maybe." Hiei extricated herself from the comfort of the sofa and Richardson's lap before turning about to face him. "However! Sir! As recompense for my checking in on you and raising your spirits, I would request two things."

He stood from the sofa to look Hiei in the eyes. It was a bit difficult owing to the fact she kept her brilliant slate blue peepers looking everywhere but directly at him. Now he knew she was playing around. Kind of. Maybe.

"I request a pat on the head as I cannot ask Kongou-oneesama at the moment and I would request your haste to the docks to bid us safe travels." She gave a salute, trying to look as official as she possibly could. The salute wasn't quite up to Mutsu's standards but it was still pretty good. Richardson returned it with as much energy as he could at the moment, but not before heaving a considerable sigh.

"Your requests are granted Lieutenant." He dropped his salute and gave the second ship of the Kongou-class fast battleships a good and proper pat on the head. She giggled proudly. "Let me get myself somewhat decent and I'll see you all off." It was hard to keep a sour demeanor around Hiei when she was actively trying to cheer you up and not going too far in doing so, which had a tendency to happen. And so help you if his daughter teamed up with her. He hadn't seen a foul mood last more than a minute on base when they worked together.

"Thank you sir!"


	35. Chapter 28: Battleship Bath Time

**Chapter 28: Battleship Bath Time**

Battleship _Washington_ sipped at her milk as she let the mess hall hustle and bustle carry on around her, a cloak of backscatter and noise almost as good as the gloom of a moonless night. She detested coffee in the morning, or any other time for that matter. Caffeine made her jittery… flighty… everything a battleship shouldn't be.

She hummed to herself, chewing the rubbery end of her pencil as she stared at the notebook—one-subject, college ruled, spiral bound—and the mass of half-solved differential equations scrawled down in her own rigid handwriting. Shell trajectories, aerodynamic effects, relative speed and bearing… all the morsels that made up a proper firing solution.

Wash scowled, her brows knitting as she stared down at the thrice-erased section of paper. As a battleship, she swam as much in math as she did in water. With her fire-control-computer, she should be able to acquire a solution in seconds. She understood the theory, she could do it on instinct, yet reproducing the math by hand was proving beyond her mental abilities.

"Having trouble, ma'am?" asked a the familiar voice of Yeoman Gale.

The battleship sighed, setting her pencil down across her work. "Could say that," she said. With the frustrating math problem temporarily pushed to the back of her mind, Wash suddenly became aware of the hunger gnawing at her stomach. "Just working on some homework," she said reaching for a piece of nutella-covered toast.

"Homework?" Gale gave the battleship a questioning look. Or… Wash was fairly certain it was a questioning look. It was hard to tell for certain when everything below the Yeoman's eyes was hiding behind Wash's mountain of still-uneaten tost.

Wash held up a finger as she finished chewing. It simply wasn't proper to speak with one's mouth full. At least not when one has unlimited time. "Mmm," she swallowed, smiling at the sensation of warm, sweet toast sliding down towards her belly. "Differential equations," she said, holding up the notebook.

Gale's face went a shade redder, and she hurriedly took a bite of her eggs. Wash didn't mind a bit. Yeoman Gale had been most kind to her, showing her around, loaning her the most comfortable pair of pajamas Wash had ever worn… the battleship was more than happy to give her her time.

While the Yeoman ate, Wash took another bite of toast. Sadly, this particular piece was a bit overdone, and her bite sent crumbs of charred bread falling all over the swell of her bust.

"Oh… dangit," she muttered, pulling the front of her shirt off her skin. As she'd feared… a few crumbs had fallen down her collar and were sitting against her breasts. They'd no-doubt annoy her until she'd properly changed, but that was an activity for another, more private, setting. For the time being, Wash contented herself with brushing away the crumbs that came to rest over the crisp fabric of her sailor top.

"Why, uh…" The Yeoman's face had somehow gotten even redder. "Why're you doing Diff-eq?"

"Hmm?" Wash glanced up from her impromptu cleaning. "Oh, practice," she said. "I'm trying to get a better grasp on the…" she pursed her lips, running a finger along her jawline as she thought, "The mathematics behind my FCCs."

"Really?" said Gale with an incredulous tilt of her head.

"Some people consider me a lucky ship," said Wash, pausing just long enough to take a long sip of her milk. "But I don't believe in luck. I owe all my success to my crew." She set the glass down with a soft tap of plastic-on-plastic, "Without their many hours of dedicated study and practice, I wouldn't have half the battle stars I do. If any."

"That's, uh…" Gale gulped, hurriedly scarfing another fork-full of egg into her mouth.

Wash smiled, letting the Yeoman take her time.

"That's one way of looking at it," finished Gale. "And, uh… Look. Skipper put me in charge of looking after you girls. You haven't left the base since you returned…" she shrugged. "Anything you wanna do?"

Wash thought for a second, her fingers tapping out a cadence against the skin of her bare thigh. "I should probably go shopping," she said, "I can't keep borrowing your clothing."

"Oh," Gale's shoulders slumped. "I… okay, we can do that."

"And I'd like to replace the clothes I borrowed," said Wash, smiling as earnestly as she could. "I might have, uh… stretched out some of your shirts."

Gale's shoulders slumped even more. "Yeah, uh… yeah, probably." She gathered a forkfull of eggs, stared at it for a second, then set it back down on the plate with a sigh. "I'll, uh… I'll see you around," she said, collecting her plates and standing to her feet.

"Of course," said Wash, offering a parting wave at the Yeoman as she walked over to the dish return. Hmm… she reached for her pencil, scribbling down another line of calculations. She'd solve the problem, even if it took her all day.

* * *

Jersey felt herself fade back into consciousness, the wispy fabric of her dreams—assuming she actually had any—slipping away like mooring chains as she departed from the comforting berth of sleep.

There wasn't a shrieking bosun's whistle this time. Just the warm purr of a sleeping escort carrier curled up atop her like a wet, warm, incredibly adorable blanket. Jersey smiled, thanking whatever god looked after animate-warships-who-were-also-girls as she blinked her one good— no, actually, as she blinked _both_ eyes open.

Her faeries must've fitted her replacement gun directors during the night. Everything felt so much sharper, so much more in focus… She could count the individual tiles above her instead of seeing a smooth surface of undisturbed white. She could hear the chimes of tugboats in the harbor, she could feel that-

That she wasn't alone. Well, that she and _White_ weren't alone. The sleepy American battleship gave her tiny charge a warm hug, glancing over at the presence she felt a few yards down the tub.

Another girl was sitting in the bath, her face a mask of concentration as she folded a towel into a crane. She was a flat-top, obviously. But her flight deck was just about the only thing "flat" about her. Even with the suspiciously well-placed steam clouds, Jersey could easily trace the lines of the girl's… rather excessive… displacement.

Probably just those stupid-ass stacked hangers. "Yo," Jersey waved at the other girl. "Kaga, right?"

The girl looked over, her face a stoic mask of serenity. "Mm," she said with a nod.

"Figured," said Jersey, looking over the girl's- over Kaga's figure. Purely for informational purposes. She was built like a battleship, that much was obvious. But what surprised her was the glaring lack of any battle damage. The girl didn't have as much as a scratch on her. "Just come in for a dip?" she asked.

Kaga stopped her towel-folding work. Her head swiveled over to face Jersey with oiled, mechanical precision. "No," she said with a very tiny shake of her head. "I've come to repair my hull."

Jersey cocked an eyebrow. Kaga was Tosa-class. A battleship with battleship armor. She should be able to take a hit, right? "Where'd, uh… where'd you get hit?"

"I didn't," said Kaga, snapping her towel-crane tight with a crack of fabric going taut. She took a deep breath, her excessive chest swelling even more excessively as she held the air in her lungs. Would it _kill_ the JMSDF to issue swimsuits? "At least, not to my hull."

Jersey cocked an eyebrow, leaning as close as she could while dragging a sleeping escort carrier like a blanket.

"A submarine penetrated my task force," said Kaga, staring intently at a ripple as it propagated though the warm tub. "And fired a single torpedo that sheered off my rudder." The battleship-come-carrier shot Jersey a rueful glance, "It didn't even detonate."

Jersey shrugged, "Yeah… that's a Mark fourteen for you."

Kaga nodded wordlessly.

Jersey scowled. Something was bothering the carrier, she could _smell_ it. Something was eating the stoic Japanese fleet carrier from the inside, and Jersey couldn't just let it happen. She'd spent her her entire military career protecting carriers, looking out for them ran in her blood. Even if Kaga wasn't as adorable as little White. "Okay, seriously…" she said in her most tender voice, "What's up?"

Kaga shot her a look of feigned confusion.

"You're being all…" Jersey waved her hand in the air, "Broody McBroodster over there. Seriously, what's got you to mad?"

Kaga took another deep breath, sinking into the water until she could rest her head on the poolside. "I returned from battle before my patrol was complete," she said, "Now another must fight in my stead."

Jersey blinked. "What?" she grunted. "Ships get juggled all the time… Goto's smart. He'll figure it out."

"My country's not like yours," said Kaga.

"Well…" Jersey couldn't help but think of the singing, dancing traffic cone-cruiser she'd sailed over with. "No shit."

"We do not have limitless resources. Nor can we afford to gamble on improvisation. We sit on the razor's edge." Kaga pursed her lips, her jaw tensing ever so subtly as she stared into the distance. "Discipline, professionalism, precision… even grace. These are our saving virtues in this war."

Jersey nodded. The Jap carrier was right, after all. She'd been born after Midway. She'd never know the feeling of fighting an angry giant… She didn't say a word, she couldn't. She just sat back in the water, retreating to her own section of the tub.

White mumbled something, her eyes blinking open just long enough to confirm that Jersey was still there before cuddling up again.

"You, uh…" Jersey glanced at the escort carrier pretending to sleep. "You know I know you're awake, right?"

White shook her head.

"Little fucker," said Jersey with a forced laugh as she peeled White off her breast. "Look, I gotta get breakfast."

"Okay," mumbled White, curling up into a tight ball as she let Jersey out of her grasp.

Jersey pulled herself out of the pool, looking from the sleepy escort carrier to the brooding fleet-carrier. "You know," she said to Kaga, "You forgot a virtue."

Kaga raised an eyebrow.

"Friendship." Jersey glanced over at White. Without a battleship to snuggle, the tiny carrier was slowly drifting her way over towards Kaga. "You got allies now."

"We did before," said Kaga, "The Tripartite pact-"

"Doesn't count," said Jersey. "Germany's on the other side of the world and they had too much shit to handle by themselves. And Italy…" she smirked, "Italy's just fucking useless at… things. They helped us more than they ever helped you."

Kaga's face was the same stoic mask as ever, but Jersey swore she saw an extra note of warmth creep into the carrier's porcelain cheeks. She liked to think it was because of her speech, but… the escort carrier latching on to Kaga's waist was another possibility.

"'m helping," said White.

Jersey shrugged. She couldn't think of a better way to cheer up Kaga than cuddling with an escort carrier, so she contented herself with a quiet nod. "Be nice, White."

White nodded. "'s so warm," she purred.

Kaga dipped her head towards the battleship.

Jersey smiled. She was about to say something profound when her belly let out a truly earth-shaking rumble. Okay. Food. Food, then she could be profound. "You know where to find me."


	36. A Certain Lady Part 6

**A Certain Lady Part 6**

 **By Old Iron**

The hour was not terribly early, but early enough that the sun had only briefly considered peeking over the horizon.

It had been less than a day since USS New Jersey and the rest of the Everett convoy had made it to Yokosuka Naval Base and things appeared to be settling down about as much as one could expect for an active naval base during wartime. Thankfully there had been enough of a lull to allow for those that needed rest to obtain it and for those who hungered to sate their massive appetites. Some places even seemed to have entered a state of calm.

"I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to. I thought I did it right this time!" A battleship with short brown hair and a very nontraditional priestess garb clasped her hands and bowed in earnest next to an occupied bed.

The barracks was not such a place.

"I-It's fine. Don't worry, Hiei." The occupant of the bed tried to put on a reassuring air, but the paleness to her already pale complexion and the weakness in her soft tone did not provide any support. Neither to its intended target nor the other battleship in the room. At least the latter was going a far better job of holding herself together. That is, if the the latter was even out of sorts in the slightest to begin with.

"But... I really did." Hiei's downcast expression looked wholly out of place on her. Regardless of her many moods, such a look appeared genuinely alien on her.

"Then would you assist me with these, Lieutenant?" Arizona's level tone cut into the mood much like the knife she was handling in one hand. She held up the apple in the other revealing jagged and uneven lines on the bared surface. There were even pieces of the peel still sticking to places. "If it is just peeling an apple, you should be fine."

"Ah, Arizona-sa-" Jintsuu held back a wince at the blunt words before she was cut off.

"Yes! This I can do without fail." If there had been an insult behind Arizona's words, Hiei either brushed it off or simply didn't care. She bustled over to where the American was sitting and handily disarmed her of the cutting implement. Arizona blinked in veiled surprise, not expecting the action in the slightest. "Lets see... Hm! Simple is best here."

As Hiei began manhandling one of the apples on the plate, Arizona made her way over to the other side of the bed where the other battleship had been bowing and fretting. She pulled up Hiei's unused chair and took a seat, pointedly ignoring the creak of metal and plastic as she did so. One day she would figure out why some things seemed to react as though she were trying to put the full weight of her hull on it and why others seemed to treat her with the same logic as an ordinary human being.

There was a pause wherein the only sound was Hiei's merry humming and the soft scraping of knife against apple flesh.

"A-Arizona-san?" It was Jintsuu who broke the silence with a curious, if not weak tone of voice. She set her hands upon her lap as she turned her amber gaze to meet the battleship's own. "May I ask you a question?"

Arizona nodded stoically, idly fingering the brass emblem on her combination cover as it rested in her lap. She pondered just what sort of question the light cruiser might offer up. Perhaps something regarding deployment or even a question about her armament? Jintsuu should not have been so ill while at sea for her to have completely forgotten the technical data she had provided to her two fellow shipgirls. Rather, she had hardly seemed ill at all until they reached port.

Perhaps it was a more personal question? One more relevant to how she saw the ships who had been part of a nation which had sunk her. Or even...

"Have you ever had anman?"

Or something absolutely out of the blue.

"I'm... sorry?" Arizona blinked as Hiei laughed. The American's gaze shot over to the laughing woman confusedly as if expecting some sort of explanation. Instead Hiei just continued snickering whilst peeling the apples with surprising skill. She locked eyes once more with Jintsuu and was surprised to see her looking quite serious despite her condition.

"It's a steamed bun with sweet bean past for filling. Really sweet and really really tasty." Hiei cut in when it looked like Jintsuu was more focused on Arizona's answer than her apparent ignorance of the treat. "Jintsuu loves them. Especially with tea. Green tea though. Very important." She'd tried them with her sister's good and proper English black tea before. It was not nearly so tasty a combination as she would have hoped.

"Anman. H-Have you had it yet?" Jintsuu seemed determined to have some sort of answer out of the battleship.

"I have never heard of it before now." She'd only been in this form for less than a week. And quite a few days of that were spent at sea. There was little to no time for sweets and frivolity. The highly unexpected party following her summoning notwithstanding.

"That is... unfortunate." Jintsuu seemed ever so mildly disheartened by the admission, but she shook her head and locked eyes with the battleship. "When we have a chance. I-I would like to introduce you t-to a good place. We can a-all go."

"I bet we can even drag the admiral and Jane along for the ride as well. Well, if we're back home. We'll just have to make then jealous if they can't." Hiei set the knife down on the table and picked up a thin slice of apple with a toothpick. "Here you go."

Jintsuu blinked as the sliver of fruit appeared in front of her. Not too large, but not too small. It was expertly cut and sized to a point where it wouldn't be too hard on her stomach. She turned her gaze to Hiei and saw only the honest and concerned smile of the short haired brunette. It baffled her how someone with such apparent skill could at the same time produce such lethal results. At lest there was no actual cooking involved in the preparation of an apple.

She carefully took a bite and chewed it thoughtfully. It was cool and tasty and felt good as it slid down her abused throat.

"Good?" Hiei smiled cheekily before popping a slice of apple into her own mouth. She offered up a slice to Arizona as well, who accepted it with a nod of thanks. She'd not let Jintsuu have too many though. Just in case.

"Mmm. It is. May I ha-" Jintsuu felt a wave of nausea bubble up and she cut herself off to bring a hand to her mouth, looking far more green around the gills now than a second ago. Her eyes widened in panic as she felt her stomach rebel against her.

"Yeoman!?" Arizona's shout preceded the painful sound of Jintsuu emptying the contents of her stomach. The combo cover in her hands fell to the ground as she stood abruptly.

Fortunately for all involved, Hiei wasn't classified as a fast battleship for nothing. The woman had managed to grab a bucket set aside for exactly this reason and place it in front of the sick girl before a mess could be made.

"Whew... That was close." Hiei relinquished her hold on the bucket as Jintsuu grasped it in a death-grip. She winced as her friend continued to fill it with each shuddering heave that wracked her lithe body. The sight made her feel even worse given how she knew that she was the reason behind Jintsuu's current state of being. "I... guess you're still not good for solid food."

Both battleships pulled in close to flank the cruiser and offered what help they could. Arizona held Jintsuu's long hair back while Hiei rubbed her back and helped to steady the bucket. If there was any solace to be had it was that a cruiser's fuel capacity was far less than a battleship. Especially a light cruiser who had already been running low to begin with.

"...ank you..." Jintsuu's mumbled gratitude sounded all the more pathetic after she managed to get her stomach under control.

Hiei wordlessly grabbed a tissue from nearby and wiped Jintsuu's face free of tears and then any debris around her mouth. She helped her lay back down onto the bed and pulled the sheets up to the cruiser's chin so she would be more comfortable and plenty warm. The only sounds coming from Jintsuu were moans and pitiful groans.

"I'll take care of this." Arizona carefully removed the bucket of fuel oil and myriad unpleasant things from Jintsuu's grasp before making certain a spare was well within reach. One could not be too careful and it would undoubtedly prolong Jintsuu's recovery if she got sick all over herself. Food poisoning was bad enough. No need to make it last any longer than necessary.

As Arizona opened the door to take care of the bucket's contents, she very nearly crashed into Mutsu who looked as though she had just been about to knock on the door.

"My my, Ari! That was a close one." Mutsu stifled a giggle as the redhead saluted smartly with her free hand. She glanced past Arizona to see Hiei tending to Jintsuu and then towards the nearly full bucket. Her tone shifted from playful to soft and concerned. "Not feeling any better it seems..."

"No, ma'am." Arizona dropped her salute, her ponytail not even twitching with the crisp motion. She might have asked about the shortening of her name, but there was a tension in her superior that did not permit her to do so. There plenty of other issues to address that were of far greater importance regardless.

"Hmm... That's not good. Jo-Admiral Richardson says he's overdue for debriefing us and needs to issue new orders as well." Mutsu held up a hardy looking tablet as she spoke. "Jintsuu, would you like to sit this out? I can go over everything when you're feeling a little better." It would be easy enough to make time for and Jintsuu might not even remember half of what would be said in her current state anyways.

"No..." Her soft croaking voice tried to sound stronger than it actually was, but she still wanted to give a proper answer. "I will... at least be present."

"Are you sure? You really should get some sleep." This time it was Hiei who piped up, not sounding entirely enthused with the cruiser's decision. Her response was a stern nod.

"Hmhm. Our Jintsuu's a tough girl, isn't she? Ari, we'll get started once you've taken care of that." Mutsu gestured to the still present bucket of unpleasantness with an expression that clearly stated her desire for it to be removed with considerable haste. Arizona didn't need to be told a second time as she booked it from the room with as much haste and dignity one could manage when carrying such a thing.

"Video conference?" Queried Hiei as Mutsu entered the room and took Arizona's now vacant seat. The American hadn't called... what was it? Seatback? after all. "Or did he just send you a copy?"

Mutsu shook her head.

"Video conference. I think he's a bit worried about us. This is Arizona's first deployment after all. And we didn't really have a lot of time to sit down and really get to know each other." She pouted as she set about logging into Skype. The tablet was set up on a portable stand so it was far easier for everyone to see. "Well, I certainly didn't. And neither did Teruzuki or Akizuki. You and Jintsuu had her all to yourselves."

"Hrm... Arizona is..." Hiei crossed her arms as she looked for the right words. Her foot bumped against something under the bed and she reached down to see what it was. It turned out to be Arizona's cover, having rolled under the bed during Jintsuu's latest episode. She retrieved it and dusted it off. The pause lengthened as she looked at the brass emblem. Maybe it was just her imagination, but it seemed heavier than it ought to.

Hiei didn't get a chance to finish her comment as Mutsu's connection finally went through with a resounding beep and Arizona returned with a now empty bucket.

The redhead made no comment about having her seat stolen and instead simply grabbed another. She gave a nod of thanks as Hiei handed her cover over.

"Check. Check. Can you hear me?" Came the unmistakable voice of their admiral.

"Loud and clear, sir." Chimed in Mutsu. "Give me a moment and we'll be able to see you too. Lets see... There!" The screen lit up and Richardson's tired looking visage was put on full display. He looked a little haggard and appeared as though he hadn't shaved at all. Combined with what could be seen of his uniform, the girls accurately guessed he might have slept in it.

"Hahaha! You look terrible, sir!" Hiei's rather vocal appraisal of his disheveled appearance earned a mirthful laugh from Mutsu, a soft giggle from Jintsuu, and an appalled look from Arizona. "You slept in your uniform again, didn't you. Didn't we tell you to stop that?" Were it not for the tears of laughter streaming down the fast battleship's face, one might have taken her words as a serious criticism.

"My my my. Oh my, what ever will we do with you? We go out for a few days and already you're falling to pieces. Poor Jane must be devastated to see her father in such a state. Do you need me to tie a few ties and have them shipped back home to you~?" The mischievous grin on Mutsu's face promised more and more humor laden scathing. And she had more ammunition on hand than most countries.

"First off, no. Secondly, I will make you regret all this someday. Thirdly," He stopped to point next to the now chuckling Hiei, "Arizona looks like she's about to have a coronary."

Sure enough, the only American warship present looked like she was about to break her ever present stoic calm and fall into an apoplectic fit. The muscles of her neck were taut and her jaw seemed hard enough to crush stone. Such a blatant disregard for authority and disrespect towards one's superior officers offended her on such a base level that actually finding words to loose her indignant rage with would be a feat in and of itself.

"A-Arizona-san..." Jintsuu's soft voice drew the furious battleship's gaze towards her and she very nearly flinched at its intensity. "It's okay. They're like that."

"Stand down, Lieutenant. It's fine." Richardson's voice cut through Arizona's fury like a hot knife through butter.

"But, Admiral."

"Ari, Hiei and I have known Admiral Richardson for a long time now." Mutsu's smooth voice carried a certain edge to it. The kind that let one know that there was far more meaning to what was said than just the words alone. "I assure you, we mean no disrespect towards him or his station."

If Arizona had any further complaints, they were snuffed out when Richardson spoke again. "I let them get away with a lot of banter that might get a court-martial from most other commanders. But that's only because I trust them implicitly. Jintsuu too, but she's not nearly so vicious as these two are." He set a stony look upon the redhead, ignoring Jintsuu's faint blush. "Not every fleet is like mine. Some are far more hardline. Some are as lackadaisical as a drugged out hippie. Don't ask me how I know that."

"It's actually really funny." Hiei's stage whisper to Arizona earned her a resigned sigh from Richardson and a confounded glare from Arizona.

"Look, how about we get on with this? I have somewhere to be in about... three hours and it'll take at least two to get there." Richardson groused out as he made a show of looking at a nonexistent watch.

"I... Yes, sir." Arizona appeared stumped as to how she could respond to her admiral's statement, so she simply opted to agree to move on.

"Good. Anyone have any objections? No? Even better." Richardson remained silent for a moment, collecting himself and trying to calm whatever nerves he still had left. "Lieutenant Commander Mutsu, anything new to report since your last communication on the status of the Everett convoy?"

"None sir. New Jersey and White Plains are still recovering, but the Taffies are already running around base like they own the place." And one in particular was proving to be particularly rambunctious.

"Hmm... It sounds like White Plains may have hurt herself more than I thought. Arizona? Hiei? Anything to report?" There was the faint sound of scratching as he made a few notes on an unseen notepad.

"Nothing sir." Both battleships chorused their replies in unison. Only Hiei seemed to be fighting the twitch of laughter at the accident. Arizona simply remained stone-faced and professional.

There was a pause as Richardson turned his gaze to the last member of his fleet present.

"...Jintsuu?"

"N-Nothing to r-report sir." She seemed to shrink slightly under her admiral's eyes.

"I already knew that. Christ... What did you do to yourself? If you were feeling this bad, you should have told me and I would have had you shipped off to bed instead of halfway across Japan. And no, you may not blame Hiei's culinary catastrophes on this. You looked a little under the weather when you left port, but not even in the same zip code as this. Did you eat a can of expired motor oil or something?" The look in Richardson's eyes was not unlike an exasperated father trying to figure out why his child had just done something colossally stupid.

Jintsuu simply whimpered.

"My my, Admiral..." There was a sliver of warning in Mutsu's voice. "I know you're worried about her, but you could choose your words a bit better." Even Arizona had sense enough to nod in agreement.

"Fine, sorry. Jintsuu, I'll be talking with you later about this." He drew a deep breath and refocused his attention to everyone present. "Now for your new orders. They're simple as pie, so listen up. Mutsu, you and your destroyers are to remain stationed at Yokosuka until relieved by Admiral Goto. You will provide any and all support needed here up to and including combat operations, under which you will defer to Admiral Goto."

"Understood. I will do my best." Mutsu offered Richardson one of her most crisp salutes in response.

"I know you will. You always have. Hiei. Arizona. You two will return to Sasebo posthaste to run operations down here. Jintsuu, you will be joining them if you are deemed fit to travel. If you are not, then you will remain at Yokosuka until you are as such." Richardson allowed himself a moment to collect his wits for what was coming. "Any questions?"

Silence reigned.

"Good. Now. I've had time to think about this, and there is no way to say it nicely." Hiei offered Richardson a discreet nod. She knew what was coming and had remained silent on the matter. The fact she had been blatantly reading classified documents over her commander's shoulder aside, there were simply things one did not do. "Lieutenant Arizona."

"Sir." Arizona straightened even further in her seat. There was a niggling of dread in her heart. The words Richardson had used did not promote any sort of positive feeling.

"Per Pacific Fleet Command, you are hereby ordered onto light duty and will not be deployed to any region or on any mission where active combat is to be expected unless no recourse is otherwise available."

You could hear a pin drop in the dead silence that followed.

Hiei bit her lip in frustration. Knowing what was coming did not make actually hearing the delivery of command any easier. If anything, it made it worse.

Jintsuu looked flabbergasted, as if she could not believe the words that had just come out of his mouth. Even the soreness of sickness decided to take a back seat to the harsh things just spoken.

Mutsu gaped in open shock. "John, are yo-" She stopped when he held up a hand, his gaze never once leaving Arizona.

Arizona remained silent. Her eyes were hard and flinty and her posture remained as steady as it had been moments before. However the tension that once seemed to permeate her existence had been all but washed away. In its place was a deep and hurtful betrayal. Some part of her expected a punishment to come sooner than later. A fitting penance for her utter failure. Yet it did not seem to register that this could be it.

"If you will allow me to explain?" There was a mechanical nod from the redhead. "You can thank the almighty for this bit of information. Otherwise I'd be storming down to headquarters myself demanding answers. The long and short of it is this: the ones handing out these shitty orders have no idea how to make use of you. You're a Super-Dreadnought. One of the last of your kind. And the only one of your kind in the United States Navy at the moment."

"They think I am useless to the war effort?" If there was a hint of sorrow in her voice, no one present caught it. And no one else dared move or speak further until Richardson finished.

"Most of them are so used to sea power and air power going so hand in hand that they can't comprehend a warship without enough anti-air to blot out the sun. And others don't even know what kind of doctrine would be remotely useful with your armament. Your armament built for almost one hundred years ago. It doesn't help that you are the slowest active battleship in the world right now. If your guns were closer to what they were near the end, we might not be having this discussion.

It isn't pretty and it really sucks, but a lot of the brass have no faith in your abilities and none of them want to send you out to a fight as a sacrificial lamb. No one wants to be the one that has the blood of Arizona on their hands. I'm sorry, but that's what Fleet thinks." He sighed angrily and kept his eyes on the American warship, waiting for a response.

"What..." There was a tightness in her voice that she did not think needed to be there. Her furiously cold eyes bored into her admiral's with all the force of her main batteries. "What do you think?"

"Me? You want to know what this lowly Rear Admiral thinks? I'll tell you what I fucking think." He snarled angrily. "I think I'm going to abuse the most blatantly obvious loophole in this pile of shit like it was going out of style. No deployment where active combat is expected? I'm sorry, I wasn't aware we could track and plan offenses whenever we wanted. Because apparently the Abyssal Fleet posted their schedule on the internet."

Hiei managed a snort of laughter at Richardson's blatant display of showmanship. She placed a hand on the once more befuddled Arizona's shoulder and gave her a thumbs up when she turned to face her.

"I'm going to be putting you on escort runs where if something decides its stupid enough to poke its head out, then it deserves to get a faceful of fourteen inch shells. You have strengths. I am going to use those strengths. Hiei!" He barked at the only fast battleship present. "I remember you being pretty damn slow. And your AA wasn't much better. What did I do when I absolutely had to put you into the line of fire?"

"Sir! You covered me in so many escorts that I could barely move! You did the same for Lieutenant Commander Mutsu!" The early days were... hectic at best. And Hiei recalled Richardson having pulled in a lot of favors to get those escorts. Some of those favors were still up in the air, waiting to be called in.

"But sir... You don't-" Arizona found herself cut off buy Jintsuu of all people. She hadn't known the girl long, but cutting someone off mid sentence seemed quite brash for the shy girl.

"Even if he cannot cover you in escorts and even if orders prevent him from openly deploying you, the Admiral will not let you languish. He did not allow us to and he will not begin now." There was an intensity in her amber eyes that gave all present pause. Even in sickness, she would not allow her voice to go unheard in this moment.

"Will you be alright, Lieutenant Arizona?" Richardson finally asked.

"I-I yes sir! Thank you, sir!" The betrayal and anger still swelled within her soul. But at least she knew that there were some who had not given up on her. They would not allow her to rot until her duty had been completed. She gave another salute, albeit slightly quavering. Arizona ignored this.

"You're terrible, you know that?" Mutsu's tone was rather displeased, but the small smile she wore shaved away some of its edge.

"I am fully aware of how wretched I am, yes. Now if there is nothing else, there's a transport headed for Yokosuka that I need to be on." Had the room not been so emotionally charged earlier, there might have been a considerable uproar at his statement.

"You're coming here? I didn't know anything about this. Has something happened?" The Nagato-class battleship looked both cross and curious at the same time.

"Someone likes to throw command meetings and demand us be there in person 'for security' he so claims. I might also owe someone a favor or two and she's calling it in whether she knows it or not. And Jane says that if I don't, she's going to hate me and try to date the most horrible people possible when she's older just to spite me." He began shuffling around, occasionally going off screen and popping back in looking slightly less disheveled with each pass.

"Oh my... Is she even old enough to understand that kind of threat?" Mutsu raised an eyebrow in slight disbelief.

"Not chancing it." Richardson reached over to what was likely the power button on his side of the conference. "Mutsu. Take care of everyone. I'll drop by and say hello if you're not too busy. Hiei. Arizona. Watch each other's backs. It's dangerous out there and I'm putting my faith in you to come home safe. Jintsuu. You get some rest. I'll be seeing you in a few hours."

"Eh?" It would seem that Jintsuu was not expecting to become the focus of the conversation.

"One of my girls is sick. You think I'm not going to try to find a way to haul ass and take care of her?"

The line went dead and all three battleships turned to face the ill cruiser.

"My my my my~"


	37. Chapter 29: Onwards! To Waffles!

**Chapter 29: Onwards! To Waffles!**

 _Eleven Months ago_

Fleet Carrier Kaga stared down the yawning assemblage of sleepy light carriers. She'd asked- she'd begged her Admiral for reinforcements. Even fleet carrier Kaga, pride of the first CarDiv couldn't protect a nation by herself.

Yet… this was all he could offer her. Three girls who couldn't even get up early without yawning and complaining. Three girls who—even put together—barely carried more planes than she did.

Kaga glared at them, cowing the three carrier-girls into a passable approximation of parade-rest as she folded her hands behind her back. For a moment, the fleet carrier didn't speak. The sound of early-morning drizzle flashing to steam against her skin seemed to echo across the sleepy harbor.

"Now," Kaga, pulling her skirt tight and staring down the sleepiest-looking light carrier, "Let's get down to business."

"Hai, Kaga-sama," chorused the three girls, bowing at the waist to the battle-hardened fleet carrier.

"Zuihou," Kaga folded her hands across her polished steel muneate as she stared down the sleepiest-looking girl, "Step forward."

Zuihou bowed, "Zuihou heading out, I'll show-"

"Stop." Kaga's voice never wavered from her calm, professional timbre. But her brows knit into a tight palisade as she fixed her gaze on the light carrier.

"K-Kaga-sama?" Zuihou clenched at her bow, her spine going ramrod straight as she braced for an oncoming officer-tirade.

Kaga didn't say a word. She just nodded to where the other two carriers were sitting. Her unblinking gaze never wavered from the little carrier girl as she slouched her way back to the line.

"My Admiral tells me you're carriers," said Kaga, her hands folding behind her back. "Carriers of the Imperial Japanese Navy. Is this true?"

The three girls bowed. "Hai, Kaga-sama."

"They why don't you act like it," said Kaga, her stoic voice dripping with the kind of barely-contained fury only a stone-faced carrier could truly display. She stared down her charges, almost daring them to speak up. "Hm?"

"Uh… Kaga-Sama," said Shouhou. The half-clothed carrier clutched at her belt, nervously flexing and un-flexing the muscles in her slender neck, "I… I don't know what you mean."

Kaga glanced down the line, one brow creeping up as she waited for a response. "Anyone care to guess?"

The girls were silent.

"Aviation Archery is not a sport," said Kaga, stepping to the case where her own bow was stored. "It is a great and terrible honor." She plucked the bow from its case, her eyes carefully examining down the traditional bamboo bow and its drum-tight string. "There is no room for show or pageantry."

Zuihou dipped her head, scuffing her shoe against the ground.

"Our home… our nation sits on the very razor's edge," said Kaga. A slender bamboo arrow shaft slid from her quiver with a subtle _wishh_ of wood-on-wood. Kaga took a moment to inspect the eagle-feather fletching before continuing. "We forgot that once… during the first war we grew arrogant, and the Americans punished us for our mistakes. The Abyssals will not be so kind if we make them again."

Kaga nocked her bow, holding it out in front of her in the first movement of an aviation-archery strike. "You must be tranquil in battle."

She raised the bow above her head, pulling the string to half-draw. "Your concentration must never falter."

She lowered the bow in a smooth motion, pulling it to its full draw with a creak of stressed bamboo. "You must never fail to exert your full effort."

She took a breath, her eyes locked onto her target as she felt her pulse slow to a crawl. _bumBum… bumBum…bum-_ She let the arrow fly, her shaft exploding into a miniature D4Y as it cleared her bow. The tiny dive bomber flew true, pulling into a shallow climb before diving down at its target, planting its dimiutive bomb dead-center of the bullseye.

Kaga allowed herself the tiniest ghost of a smile as she rested her fists on her hips. "And you must _never_ fail. For every mistake we make our nation will pay for in blood."

* * *

 _The Present Day..._

Light cruiser Tenryuu had to stifle a smile as she slid open the door to the American Destroyers' temporary quarters. Her own ki-division. Her own _division_ all slept in the same room with at least two plushies apiece. Watching her girls cuddle up in their sleep was enough to warm even the heart of a hardened badass like her.

But then the Americans just had to push it one step further. They'd taken all the mattresses from their bunks and piled them in a heap in the middle of the floor. Atop the small mountain of mattresses and blankets, three destroyers and one destroyer escort lay in a disorganized dog pile. It looked like someone had just poured a cup full of loli ragdolls out onto the floor. If Tenryuu wasn't such a stone-cold badass, she might have giggled profusely at the adorable cuddle puddle.

But she wasn't, so she didn't.

"Hey, taffies," she said, dropping into a crouch near Hoel's head. At least she was pretty sure it was Hoel's head. The four girls were so throughly intertwined it was hard to tell where one started and one ended.

"Mrmmpgh," came the mumbled response.

Tenryuu rolled her eyes. At lest _her_ kids were early risers! It was barely before seven!

"Guh," The smallest girl—Sammuel B Roberts, if memory served—crawled out from the very bottom of the cuddle puddle. "Mornin," she mumbled, stifling a yawn with the baggy sleeve of her oversized Marine jacket.

Johnston mumbled something, slowly blinking away the last grasps of sleep as she stared at Tenryuu. Well, at certain areas of Tenryuu. "Ayyy…." she grunted. The destroyer shook her head, her rumpled feathers snapping back into place as she yawned. "Geddup!" she kicked at… someone else in the puddle of destroyers.

"'m up!" barked Hoel, rolling onto her back and scowling at the ceiling.

Heermann just yawned, covering her mouth with one hand as she bounced to her feet. "Wha time iz it"

"Six… fifty," said Tenryuu. She didn't smile at the cluster of sleepy destroyers lazily forming ranks in the middle of their bedroom. She _smirked_. "Kids and I have to head out early," she said, "Let's get you some breakfast, hmm?"

All four girls instantly smiled, whatever grasp sleep held on them vanishing in a flash at the thought of food. Yup. They were Americans alright…

"Uh, Miss Tenryuu?" Sammy tugged at the hem of the light cruiser's short skirt.

"Fu?"

"If you're on a mission," said the little destroyer escort.

"Who's gonna look after us?" added Hoel.

"I like it when you look after us," said Johnston, throwing her arms around Tenryuu's waist and burying her face in the light cruiser's substantial bust. "You're so cool," is what she tried to say, but it was muffled almost beyond comprehension.

Tenryuu laughed, peeling the feathered destroyer off herself and tugging at her tie. She had to make sure she had just the right amount of devil-may-care rackishness to her outfit after all! "I am, aren't I?"

The four girls nodded in response.

"Well don't you worry, I'll be back in a day or two," said Tenryuu. "Until then, Naka-Chan'll look after you."

"Okay," said Heermann.

"I like her too," said Johnston.

Hoel nodded.

"I think," said Tenryuu, "Azikuzi and her sister wanted to play with you too. They're AA destroyers like you!"

The taffies smiled, trotting after Tenryuu into the destroyer dorm hallway. The four girls of DesDiv6 were waiting for them there. Sammy tossed Akatsuki a wave, while Heermann and Hibiki wordlessly drifted together.

"C'mon," said Tenryuu, whistling to get her kinder- her _division_ in formation. "Line astern! Ahead two thirds! Onwards!"

"To Breakfast!" cheered the girls of DesDiv Six.

"FOOOOD!" boomed Johnston, her hands flailing in the air with unrestrained glee.

—|—|—

Jersey wandered over to the showers, stifling a yawn as her bare feet padded against the slick tile. She was already feeling better, the tenderness in her skin was gone, and judging by the tickling she felt on her butt, her hair'd grown back too. Oh, and she wasn't missing half her face any more either, which was a definite plus.

The battleship quickly stripped out of her swimsuit with a grateful sigh. It was the little things, like being able to remove ones own underwear with out the help of a destroyer escort, that you don't really appreciate until you've been burnt to a crisp by White Phosphorus.

She yawned again, fumbling the shower knob over to its warmest fresh-water setting. According to her chronometer, it was… well, it was about ten-thirty. Not early enough for her to be excessively grouchy, but definitely earlier than she'd like to have been up.

She drummed her hands on her belly, tapping out a passable impression of the bassline from Deep Purple's "Smoke on the water" as she washed the salty bathwater off her fresh—though annoyingly pale. She'd have to get some sunbathing in to get her tan back—skin.

Jersey was a solid quarter of the way towards falling asleep in the shower when her belly issued a thunderous rumble. A rumble that sounded… surprisingly like the furious tirades of her chief engineer all but ordering her to _get some fucking fuel in her tanks._

The battleship knew better than to argue with her engineer. No one, up to and possibly including the Almighty Himself held power of the Sovereign Nation of Engineering. It didn't hurt that Jersey was in a breakfast mood anyway.

She hummed to herself as she towelled off. The process went surprisingly fast. By the time she'd wandered over to the lockers, her skin—and even her waist-length hair—was perfectly dry. She shrugged, it was too useful to question.

The locker on the very end, right next to the showers, had a piece of tape with her name on it. Jersey recognized Kongou's flowery handwriting in an instant, although the "Feel better! Love Kongou!" _did_ aid her recognition skills. Jersey threw open the door, idly wondering what outfit Kongou'd picked out for her.

As soon as she saw it, the battleship froze. It was _her_ outfit. Her "BB-62" baseball cap, her T-shirt with "NEW JERSEY" stencilled down the side in gold, her running shorts, her down vest, even her scarf. All her clothes were neatly folded, smelling like they'd come out of the dryer mere seconds ago. Jersey pressed her scarf to her face and smiled. The fabric _felt_ like it was fresh out of the dryer too.

But more than that, it was _hers._ Jersey wasn't sure how, but she _knew_ this was the same outfit she'd worn when she was first summoned. The same outfit she'd fought in. It was good to be back in her own clothes again!

Jersey hurriedly dressed, her smile growing wider every time she slid a new piece of dryer-warm clothing on. It wasn't _quite_ as good as cuddling a pack of destroyers, but it was close. She didn't allow herself too much time though, her belly was still grumbling under its breath like a petty officer under an incompetent butter-bar. She didn't even bother to put her hair in its usual braid. If Admiral Goto let Nagato walk around in _that_ , he wasn't going to mind a little windblown hair.

She bumped the locker closed with a swing of her hip, already planning the best possible route to the dining hall. With her impressive sensor suite, she could _sense_ the presence of scrambled eggs… pancakes… bacon… her mouth was watering at the very sight. No, not sight, thought? Smell? Being a girl was hard.

The battleship bolted out the washroom door, her shoes biting into the concrete as she skidded around the corner-And very nearly plowed over Kongou.

"SHIT!" snapped Jersey, diving to the side at the last second and landing flat on her stomach in the neatly-trimmed grass. The battleship landed with a loud _thud_ , and she carved a neat chunk out of the dirt as her fifty-eight-thousand ton body skidded to a stop. "Ow."

Kongou giggled, her hands on her hips as she smiled down at her fellow fast battleship. She almost looked like she was contemplating joining Jersey in the dirt.

"Uh… sorry," said Jersey, brushing a few loose scraps of dirt off her knees as she stood.

Kongou beamed, "No problem, Dess!" She licked her finger and leaned in to rub a errant smudge off Jersey's nose.

"Muurmf!" The American battleship tried to pull her head back, but her Japanese counterpart was to fast for her.

"There, all better!" smiled Kongou, literally bouncing on her heels with a smile that threatened to succeeder from her face at any second.

Jersey scowled as best she could while still smiling in spite of herself. "I'm gonna get some breakfast-" Her belly roared in agreement, "-you wanna come with?"

"Of course!" said Kongou, somehow making the simple two-word utterance in to a spectacle worthy of Broadway as she threw her fist into the air. "Follow me!" With a flurry of streaming brown hair and equally-streaming white fabric, the Japanese battleship wheeled around on her heel, bolting down the walkway with a sprinting skip. "He he, keep up if you can, Dess!"

Jersey rolled her eyes, breaking into a trot to keep up, "You know I'm six knots faster, right?"

Kongou just giggled in response as she… bounced along.

Jersey blinked. Nope, Kongou was _definitely_ bouncing. Her arms were thrown back, her face smiling into the breeze as the one floppy tuft of hair on her head waved her forward with each rabbit-like bounce. It didn't help that whatever she wore under those robes clearly didn't offer enough support. Before Jersey could wrap her head around the concept of a fast battleship skipping along like a schoolgirl, the two arrived at the base mess hall.

Where Jersey was confronted by an even more perplexing sight. Food! And none of those silly moon-moon rice dishes. Real food! Huge tubs of scrambled eggs, mountains of pancakes, rows of sizzling bacon, pitchers of syrup, warm toast and sausage links! "W-wha…" Jersey felt her eyes start to water in joy.

"Traditional American Breakfast, dess!" Kongou smiled, helping herself to dozen poached eggs.

Jersey gawked as she mutely followed along. She didn't even fully process what she was putting on her plate. She just knew that every time her hand ventured into the mystical realm of the buffet line, it came back bearing some Mouthwatering New Thing.

"We wanted to make you feel at home," said Kongou, her little tuft saluting in response as she scooped sausage links onto her plate. "It won't last," she added, her giggling smile fading for just a moment, "So eat up, dess!"

Jersey didn't need to be asked twice. She was too hungry to get an accurate count, but she knew she'd eaten at least nine poached eggs by the time she and Kongou found a place to sit. "Oh, fuck me," said Jersey, drenching her pancakes in syrup, "Fuck ME this is good."

Kongou giggled, cutting a bite off of her sausage and sweetly popping it in her mouth.

Jersey took no such precautions. The fast battleship was wolfing down faster than an Air Force appropriations committee. her stacks of pancakes simply disappearing.

"Teitoku and Yankeetoku, want to see you when you're done," said Kongou. The Japanese girl actually let out a dreamy sigh on the first word, stringing out the syllables with gooey giggles until it sounded like "Tae-To-coooooouu."

"Shit," Jersey felt her heart skip a beat. Her Admiral was waiting on her! Shit shit shit! She wasn't a hopeless romantic like Kongou… but still… it was her _Admiral!_ She couldn't make him wait for her! What if he found-

"Relax, Jersey!" Kongou giggled, "They're not expecting you until noon."

"Oh," Jersey slouched back in her chair reaching for- For a _carafe_ of coffee. She must've grabbed it during the mad dash to fill up her plate. She shrugged, twisting the top off and gulping down a solid third of the delicious black fluid. She set the carafe down with a smile, her eyes closing in- wait. "Kongou?"

"Dess?"

"This is decaf, isn't it?"

"Dess!"

Jersey glared at the ceiling. There were no words that could properly express her disappointment.


	38. Chapter 30: Kongou, Goshdangit

**Chapter 30: Kongou, Goshdangit...**

Being full was an altogether strange experience for the fast battleship New Jersey. It wasn't that she was a glutton. She'd eaten her fill before, even if she hadn't quite stuffed herself to bursting like she did during her breakfast with Kongou. But… the very experience of digesting felt bizarre. She could feel hundreds of eggs, mountains of pancakes and at least two pigs worth of bacon sitting contentedly in her belly—even if her waistline hadn't grown an inch.

But she could _also_ feel her faeries scuttling around her hull. She felt minuscule sailors topping off her tanks with fuel oil. She felt her magazines fill up as diminutive gunners mates' hoisted armory-fresh shells though anti-flash bulkheads. And weirdest of all, she could feel her faerie cooks loading canned fruits and meats by the ton. She hadn't eaten _that_ much… had she?

Before she had too much time to contemplate, Kongou confronted her with an even stranger experience.

"We're going~" giggled the bouncing fast battleship, her dreamy smile growing warmer and wider with each skipping step. "To see~" She giggled. And then she _exploded_ into a sprint, her feet slamming against the concrete as she ran. Her arms were thrown out behind her, her billowing sleeves snapping taut from her headwind as she plowed though the naval base like a destroyer on crack.

"TEI!" Kongou strung the word out into a yearning deceleration of love. Her bouncy voice boomed with all the power of her fourteen inch rifles.

Jersey blinked. She was faster than Kongou. Hell, she was almost faster than her with only four boilers hot. She could afford to take one last bite of her toast before taking off after Kongou.

"TO!"

Jersey brushed a few errant crumbs off her shirt. If her Admiral was going to stare at her chest, he wouldn't do it because she'd left a mess! Jersey blinked. She had _no_ idea where that thought came from. Oh well, more pressing matters…

She dug her feet into the concrete, exploding into a powerful trot. She wasn't quite sprinting, not yet. But the thirty-five knot American was quickly gaining on her twenty-nine knot counterpart. She was mere feet behind when Kongou skidded to a stop in font of the Admiral's office.

"KU!" Kongou flung open the door to Goto's office, her face glowing in a smile it forced her eyes closed. "BURNING LOVE!" she bellowed and… and…

Jersey blinked. She wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it herself… Kongou lept up into a _ball_ and pounced into the office, her arms flung wide in some kind of flying-tackle hug.

Admiral Goto must've seen this before. His face didn't quiver from professional stone-faced calm. Without even a hint of panicked haste, he set his pen down on his desk and casually rolled his chair a foot to the right.

The Kongou-class spinning-hug-ball sailed cleanly past him. "Teitoku~" Kongou smiled, curling herself around… around a light cruiser who was resingedly accepting the kisses Kongou lavished on her.

"Teitoku, chu~ chu~ cu- oh!" Kongou blinked, looking at the girl she'd wrapped herself around. "Ooyodo?"

The cruiser let out a sigh, "I am, Ooyodo, yes." She glanced up at Kongou with a bemused look plastered over her face. "We've been over this."

Kongou just smiled as she unfolded herself from her hug.

Jersey would've laughed if it wasn't so patently absurd.

 _"I guess you win the bet."_ The chuckling, but still instantly-recognizable sound of Admiral Williams—of _Jersey's_ Admiral—issued from a flat-screen television mounted in one corner of the room.

Jersey snapped to faster than she'd ever done in her life. "Sir."

Williams smiled, returning the salute with one of his own, _"Good morning, Jersey. How're you feeling?"_

Jersey beamed, her chest puffing up with pride. "Good…" she stopped, mentally calculating the time difference, "Evening, sir. I'm feeling better. One-hundred percent combat ready."

"What about White Plains?" asked Goto, his hands thrust lazily into his pockets as his eyes bounced from Kongou to Jersey and back again. "I've looked at the report from her faries, but…" he carefully handed Jersey a manila folder the size of a postage stamp.

"Oh," Jersey carefully opened the folder with her fingernail. Inside were several pages of typed notes, tiny annotated pictures, and even more typed pages. Except the only word was "hey" written over and over again. "Yeah, I can see how that'd cause a problem." She carefully closed the folder again and handed it back to Goto.

"White took a hell of a beating getting out here," said Jersey, "Her boilers were shot, and she needed an engine rebuild, and there was some minor hull damage around her shafts. But, uh… she's feeling a lot better now, she's mostly just sleepy."

 _"So fast?"_ Said Williams, _"The SDF's carriers to take weeks to repair."_

"That's because Jap DC suuuuuuucks," said Jersey, elongating the last word by several seconds to make sure the full weight of her unmitigated disdain was felt by all. Including… hew new Japanese friend. And the Japanese Admiral. Craaaaaaap.

Jersey heard herself gulp. "I mean, uh… not _you_ Japs, them Japs," she waved in the general direction of the past. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?" said the battleship with a sigh. Damn decaf.

"Dess!" said Kongou with a beaming smile.

"She's right though," said Goto, rubbing at his temples with a sigh. "Japan made many mistakes during the war." He pursed his lips, his gaze going hazy as _something_ started to form in his head. He was pulling a plan together, Jersey could _smell_ it. "Jersey?"

"Sir?"

"How long until White Plains' is seaworthy?"

"Uh… if you give her a mission, she's not going to say no," said Jersey with a hint of a proud smile. "But you _really_ shouldn't put her into combat. Not when she's still so sleepy. Why?"

"She's an Anti-submarine-warfare carrier, yes?"

Jersey nodded.

"A discipline the Imperial Japanese Navy…" he smiled, "Sucked at. Could I borrow her for a while, have her teach our girls until she heals up?"

"Yeah, of course," said Jersey, rolling a kink out of her neck as she spoke. "I think she'd love to heelll-" she the bemused portrait of her Admiral slid into her view-"llllp. Help. And you weren't asking me, you were asking my Admiral, weren't you?"

Both men, plus Kongou, offered a simple nod.

"I'm…" Jersey scowled. Goddamn Decaf. So now she knew what the sub skippers felt when all they had were those crappy-ass Mark fourteens. "I'm gonna stop talking now."

Kongou flashed an even wider smile.

Williams let out a tiny chuckle. _"That may be for the best, Commander. But I agree with you. Let's put her skills to good use."_

"In the mean time," said Goto, "We're still trying to figure out what happened to you girls off Alaska. I've dispatched Iku on a reconnaissance mission, but she won't even be in position for another two days."

 _"You girls will be part of the counter-attack force,"_ said Williams, _"Which means you'll need to sit tight until we can get a strike planned."_

"We've assigned you all temporary quarters," said Goto. "We should have a plan for you by week's end. Until then, you're free to enjoy some well-earned shore-leave."

"Thank you, sirs," said Jersey, snapping her hand to her brow in salute.

 _"As you were, Jersey. Williams out."_


	39. Chapter 31: Taffisitting

**Chapter 31: Taffisitting**

Naka-Chan, Idol of the fleet let out a resigned sigh. Most fleet girls viewed computers as little more than frustrating boxes of magic. Naka used to think that way as well, but she'd seen first-hand how radar had changed the course of war at sea. She was fascinated by the new technology, and the new potentials that it brought her. At first, she'd borrowed a yeoman's laptop, recording her first few songs on a webcam and editing them with plenty of help.

And then, she'd stumbled upon the magic of PC gaming, and she was hooked. Between her military stipend and the royalties from her songs, Naka had quietly been accumulating a modest sum. A sum she'd spend on building a truly monstrous gaming rig.

Two top-of-the-line Titan X graphics cards, a liquid-cooled i7 processor, thirty-two gigabytes of rapid-access memory, all sitting in a custom-built machined-steel case with multi-colored LED lighting. Naka'd spent almost five thousand dollars on her machine—not including the games she'd bought for it. She was reasonably sure it was the most powerful gaming computer in all of Yokosuka. If not all of Japan.

And the taffies… were using it… to play _pong._ Not any of the thousands of updated releases, either. The original monocrome atari game.

"This is _amazing!_ " Johnston stared at the screen and almost _vibrated_ out of her seat as her paddle sent the cubic pixel "ball" flying past Hoel's paddle.

"Naka!" Said Hoel, "Naka Naka Naka! Lookit!" the girl didn't seem the least bit upset that she was loosing nine-to-two. Her smile threatened to leap off her face as she waved the USB controller at Naka's face.

"I move the thing-" hoel flicked an analog stick with her thumb. "AND THE THING MOVES!" She fell over in excitement as her paddle darted across the screen. "THIS IS AMAZING!"

"I LOVE THE FUTURE!" screamed Johnston with all the volume her little lungs could muster.

"NAKA!" Hoel stared at Naka with utter amazement writ large on her smiling face, "NakaNakaNaka! Have you _ever_ seen something so amazing!"

Naka sighed. Her head fell against her hand in the resigned facepalm she'd gotten so good at after just a few hours watching the taffies. Her minifringe was just a few feet away… she should still have a few fifths left…

"Hai," she said, slipping back into her cutsey sweet-faced smile. She was looking after these girls, and Naka-Chan would never back down from her duty! "It's _my_ system you know."

Hoel opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again with a shrug.

"I LOVE THE FUTURE!" bellowed Johnston. She planted one shoe on her prostrate sister's chest and mimed driving a flag into the other destroyer. "I LOVE THE FUTURE BECAUSE I BEAT HOEL AT-" she turned to Naka, her voice suddenly very calm and… not _quiet_ , but less thunderously loud, "what's this?"

"Pong."

"I BEAT HOEL AT PONG!" Johnston thrust her hand into the air, her feathers quivering from the wake.

"Hey, Naka?" Heermann wandered in with a glass full of milk in one hand an a pile of DVDs in the other. "Can we watch spongebob?"

Naka smiled. She had yet to meet a destroyer who didn't enjoy spongebob. Normally, it was a safe bet to keep the girls entertained for hours on end while she gamed or streamed. But… there was very little about the taffies that was normal. Naka could _sense_ the wind changing. She would regret it if she said yes.. she just knew it..

"Pleeeeeeease?" Johnston, Hoel, and Heermann clustered around Naka. They stared up at her with the one weapon more potent than an Oxygen Torpedo. The pleading-destroyer-eyes.

Naka blinked. "Fine," she said, hearding the destroyers towards her couch, "But be nice." This was _so_ going to bite her in the ass.

* * *

Jersey blinked. The briefing with her Admiral had concluded mere minutes—no, mere _seconds_ —ago. Yet somehow she was already half way out of the administration building with a giggling, bouncing Japanese fast battleship beaming right in her face. Somehow, the decaf was to blame.

And then it got weirder. "You're sleeping with us, Dess!" Kongou smiled even wider as she bounced down the hall. Yes, _bounced._ Like some kind of hyperactive bunny rabbit.

Jersey gulped. It wasn't that the Japanese girl _wasn't_ attractive. And that airy, unsupportive little miko outfit certainly wasn't hurting… things. But Jersey- Jersey _really_ wasn't going to go down that line of thinking! "Uh… Kongou?"

"Oh," Kongou let out a playful giggle, "Not like that, Dess. Kongou's bed is reserved for Tei~to~ku!" She flashed the kind of toying smile that made Jersey _certain_ there was some kind of plan happening in the shadows to _get_ him in that bed.

"Okay…" Jersey swerved around a passing sailor, accidentally smacking him in the face with the end of her braid. "You lost me."

Kongou beamed. "Hiei and Haruna are down at Sasebo," she said, bouncing happily onto the concrete sidewalk, "They don't want their room going to waste, dess!"

"Wait," Jersey broke out into a trot to keep up with the hyper energetic Japanese battleship, "You mean you're- they're lending me their room?"

Kongou smiled, the lone tuft of hair on her head bobbing in the affirmative.

"You…" Jersey felt her cheeks blush, "You didn't have do all that for me."

"It's no problem, dess!" Kongou giggled, tugging Jersey by the wrist as she bounced towards what must be the battleship dormitory. "Besides, it's the Christmas Spirit, Dess!"

Jersey blinked. "It's December Second."

"Christ~mas!" Said Kongou with another of her bouncy giggles.

For a brief moment, Jersey found herself contemplating what Kongou'd look like in a skimpy santa dress. Not fantasizing, mind you. She was no lewdboat like Johnston. She was just… contemplating. She _was_ built as a flagship after all. It was in her nature to plan for the future. In any case, Jersey's ruminations were cut short when her forehead collided with a rouge door frame with a loud metal-on-metal _clank._

"Fuck!" Jersey slapped her hand to her brow, giving the dented door frame a scathing look. "The hell?"

Kongou giggled. "Be careful, American, Dess!"

"What's being 'merican got to do with it?" scowled Jersey, rubbing her brow as she carefully ducked under the damaged lintel.

"You grow big and tall," said Kongou, "Not like us. Japanese girls are kawaii and compact!"

"You're British," deadpanned Jersey.

"Dess!"

Jersey sighed, letting her hands fall to her hips. Just trying to comprehend Kongou was breaking her sense of… everything, really. She felt reality slipping though her fingers like water though a net. This must be what being an Admiral is like…

"C'mon, follow me!" cheered Kongou, waving one billowing sleeve as she skipped down the carpeted hall. She passed one door that had "Kongou & Kirishima" lovingly hand-written on it with lots of little hearts and stopped at another. Another door where "USS New Jersey" was written in English block letters that alternated between red, white, and blue.

Jersey blushed. "You girls didn't have to-"

Kongou silenced her with a wave. "Kirishima-chan, she's here!"

The door swung open and the youngest of the Kongou stepped out with a restrained smile on her face. Restrained for a Kongou, which meant it was just one step dimmer than staring directly into the sun. "Jersey-san," the battleship dipped her head in a demure little bow as she stepped aside, "I hope you like what we've done."

"You know, you didn't have to- woah!" Jersey suddenly felt herself being bodily _shoved_ into the room. Kongou was pushing from behind, and Kirishima grabbed the American's arms and towed her into-

Into what was quite possibly the _most_ American room Jersey had ever seen. One entire wall was covered by a hanging 48 star flag, and framed pictures of bald eagles and jet fighters adorned the others. Even her bedspread was a a flag, and the red and blue pillows scattered around the room were each emblazoned with a single embroidered star.

"Holy hannah," breathed Jersey, shuffling deeper into the room. The soft carpet felt amazing even though her shoes… she could only imagine what it would be like to walk around barefoot. "All this…"

"For you," said Kongou, bouncing with uncontrollable glee.

"Do you like it?" said Kirishima.

Jersey stared out the window, determined not to let the Japanese girls see her cry. "You… you really didn't have to."

"We wanted do," said Kirishima, pulling up abreast of Jersey and handing her a tissue. "It's the Christmas spirit."

Jersey laughed, dabbing at the wetness that was most assuredly _not_ forming around her eyes. "It's… December fucking second."

"Christ~mas~" giggled both Kongou-class battleships in harmony.

Jersey shook her head. What was it with these Japanese boats and pronouncing tildes… that shouldn't even be possible. And come to think of it… how did she _know_ they were pronouncing tildes? Oh well, she'd deal with that another time.

"Hey, uh…" Jersey turned to face both sisters, her hands sliding into her pockets as she settled her stern down on the windowsill. "You wouldn't happen to know a good model shop in the area, would you?"

Kongou smiled. "Are you looking for Pre~sents?" she said, putting such bouncy inflection on the last word that it _sounded_ like Christmas. "Presents for your teitoku?"

"What?" said Jersey, the muscles in her neck going taut for the briefest of instants. "No, nothing like that… I just got a few friends back home. Want to bring them something."

"I'll help!" Kirishima quite literally leaped in front of Kongou, heading off her older sister's words before they could even leave her mouth. "I would like to help Jersey-san."

Kongou glanced at the two battleships and shrugged. "Okay!" she flashed a thumbs up so enthusiastic Jersey swore she heard the girl's billowing sleeves crack like whips. She spun on her heel without another word, giggling to herself as she half-walked half-bounced away to whatever was next on her warped itinerary.

Kirishima smiled as her sister bounced away. "She's so nice, isn't she?"

Jersey nodded in agreement. "You could say that again."

"So… you wanted models?"

"Mm," Jersey nodded, fussing with her scarf to make sure it sat just so.

"I know just the place!" said Kirishima, her glasses glinting in the midday sun filtering though the half-open window. Her smile wasn't nearly as luminescent as Kongou's, but the girl was still clearly happy. "Um, Jersey-san?"

"Jersey," corrected the American. "I get enough of that -san-chan-sempai bullshit from the destroyers."

Kirishima nodded, making a small note in a notebook that was suddenly in her hands. "Jersey. I was wondering…" the girl stopped, her creamy complexion going red.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering… how much do you know about Washington-sama?"


	40. Chapter 32: Mic-Check!

**Chapter 32: Mic-Check**

Kirishima's questions started off innocently enough. The blushing battleship would ask a question, normally about Washington's fire control system. Then the littlest Kongou sister would hold her pen at the ready, her eyes wide behind her glasses as she prepared to scribble down every word the American said.

For her part, Jersey was more than happy to educate Kirishima on the infinite superiority of the American Radar Master Race. It wasn't that she was proud, the Japanese navy had it's strong points of course. But the United States Navy was unquestionably the best in the world when it came to fire control. And radar. And damage control. And… really anything relating logistics in any way shape or form. The Japs _did_ have decent torpedoes though… she'd give them that.

"Jersey-san?" Kirishima tilted her head, the eraser end of her pencil poking a divot into her creamy smooth cheek.

"Eh?" Jersey's nose crinkled in mild annoyance. The "-san,-sama-chan-ching-chong" was starting to get on her nerves. She didn't speak moon-moon, damnit!

"Do…" Kirishima blinked, her cheeks going a shade redder as the two battleships walked down a crowded Japanese sidewalk. "Do you need me to repeat the question?"

Jersey frowned. She honestly hadn't noticed Kirishima'd asked something. Between her ruminations on American Superiority, contemplating gifts for her friends, and basking in the astonished stares passersby shot her way—it was like they hadn't seen a six-four woman with legs for _days_ before!—the battleship'd been lost in her own thoughts. "Yeah, sorry. Hit me."

Kirishima smiled, her whole body vibrating as a giddy bounce shot down her spine. "What kind of sweets does Washington-Sama like?"

Jersey made a face, exchanging a wry smile with the tiny navigator fairy riding on her shoulder. "Why?"

"So that I can make something suitable for the Christmas dinner," said the Japanese battleship. She didn't even miss a beat.

Jersey smirked. "You put this much effort into all of your guests?"

"Yes!" Kirishma flipped her notebook back in a flurry of rustling paper and glittering glasses. "When Kongou heard you'd be joining us, she had me ask around." She smiled, handing the notebook over to Jersey.

"How did you…" Jersey trailed off as she read down the list. Beautiful oriental runes—that she could somehow read—listed a more-or-less complete inventory of her favorites. Pancakes, poached eggs, burgers dripping in their own fat… The battleship felt her belly rumble just reading about it.

"A Yeoman Gale from Everett," explained Kirishima. "Or, she did most of it. Doctor Crowning recommended the chicken-fired steak."

Jersey made a mental note to buy Crowning something nice for that. "That's a lot of effort to go though for just a guest, you know."

Kirishima's nostrils flared, and her chest—her rather impressive chest, if Jersey was being honest—puffed up in indignation. "We're British!"

"Kongou's British."

"Fine, Kongou's British," Kirishima shrugged, "But we're proud to follow in her wake!"

Jersey blinked. "It worries me how much sense that makes."

The Japanese battleship smiled and hunched over notebook. Her pen quivered at the ready as she stared over the spiral binding at the much bigger American battlewagon. "So, what kind of sweets does Washington-Sama like?"

"Kirishima?"

"Hmm?"

"I've…" Jersey shook her head, rubbing at her temples with one hand as the other fell to her hip. "I've know Wash was back _literally_ as long as you have." She ducked under a low-hanging street sign, "I'm not even really sure why I know she likes being called Wash."

"Hmm." Kirishima let out a tiny noise that might _almost_ have been a pout.

"Sorry, kiddo," said Jersey. "You're gonna have to court her the old fashioned way."

Kirishima blushed a glowing crimson. "Court her- I- I have no such intentions!"

Jersey smirked as she folded her arms. "Uh huh… and you just _happen_ to be interested in her preference in sweets, eh?"

"I do," said Kirishima, a glint forming in her smile as she pushed her glasses up her slender nose. It was a predator's smile, the kind of outwardly sweet gesture that could only be hiding hardened steel. Jersey felt her heart rate double as she reflexively went to general quarters. "And you just _happen_ to be buying gifts for the man who summoned you?"

Jersey blinked. She was _good._ "This conversation never happened."

"Agreed," said Kirishima with a relived smile.

For a few minutes, the two battleships walked in silence. It was a very unusual experience for Jersey. The taffies never collectively shut up for more then ten seconds, and even when their mouths weren't making noise their feet were. It was nice to have a moment to just… enjoy _being._

Jersey hadn't had a chance to be a person since she… incarnated? Returned? Whatever the word. A slow walk though the city streets felt good. Amazing. Better than it had any right to feel. She loved the feel of crisp December air against her bare legs, the smell of raw humanity in the air…

Okay, it wasn't the _nicest_ smell in the world. But it was a damn sight better than powder, fear, and burning fuel oil. It was _life!_ Also, food. Jersey definitely smelled food. She'd have to check that out later. But first…

"Uh… Kirishima?" Jersey hung her head.

"Yes?"

"That's a train, isn't it?" the battleship scowled as she sized up what was obviously a subway.

Kirishima nodded, flashing a slender slip of plastic to the white-gloved attendant.

"Kirishima, I weigh fifty-eight-thousand tons!" Jersey waved her hands about in an inarticulate display of largeness.

"But you haven't fallen though the floor," said Kirishima, nodding to Jersey as she handed the attendant her card once more.

"Okay, point. Still…" Jersey tucked though the turnstile, making _very_ sure she didn't bash her head on anything this time around. "I maxed out a ten-ton truck my first day back."

"Exactly," said Kirishima. "Your first day back. You were confused, you were still getting your human-legs under you." The battleship's sleeves flowed back behind her in an unbroken wake as she walked down the steps to the waiting train. There was a hint of her sister's bubbly enthusiasm, but nothing more.

"You've been back nearly two months now. By my calculations…" Kirishima made a show of studding her notebook, "This should work."

"Should?"

"Will," corrected Kirishima, stepping though the doorway into a otherwise-empty subway car. "I'm certain of it. I've taken this train with my sisters many times."

"Okay then." Jersey sized up the subway car. Judging by the signing—or what little of the cryptic moon-moon-runes she could actually read—it was reserved for Kanmusu only. Made sense… two ships weigh a hell of a lot even _before_ stuffing the car with bodies. More importantly, the battleship sized up the entryway. She'd been betrayed by treacherously-low Japanese doorframes one this day. She would not fall victim to them again.

The American carefully ducked under the door, one hand on her hat to make sure it didn't catch on anything. "Ah hah!" She smiled in triumph as she took her seat.

Kirishima smiled, jotting down another frantic line as the train slowly picked up speed.

"Hey… 'shima?" Jersey yawned as she sprawled out along a row of seats.

The Japanese girl looked up from her writing with an enigmatic half-smile.

"How long's the ride?"

Kirishima answered without even the slightest hitch. "Fifty-five minutes."

"'Kay," grunted Jersey, tugging her hat low over her face as she prepared to embrace her third favorite thing about being human: Naps.


	41. Chapter 33: Where White Is Adorable

**Chapter 33:** **Where White Is Adorable.**

Escort Carrier White Plains smiled into the midday sun as she stood at the end of the practice pier. Except she didn't so much 'smile' as she 'grinned like an idiot'. Nor did she 'stand' as such. The escort carrier's action could be better described as 'vibrated in place like a hummingbird who'd just drank a Jersey-sized helping of Navy Coffee.' She was absolutely over the moon—a metaphor she'd recently found out to be less fantastical than she'd thought.

She was _Helping!_ Her, a little jeep carrier! It was like Christmas in… well, in December. But… in the "now" part of December. Not the "then" part where it usually happened… Whatever, too complicated, she was being _Helpful!_ The little carrier knew she couldn't possibly get any happier!

And then she turned around.

A very short, noticeably older Japanese Carrier sat smiling at the other end of the pier. Her scarlet… shirt-thingy was perfectly folded, and her hands rested _just so_ on the pleats of her skirt. She was so elegant, so kind… And with an island like that, there was only _one_ carrier she could be!

"H-houshou?" stammered White. She wasn't just helping. She was helping _the mother of carriers!_ She couldn't be happier if she was teaching Enterprise herself! Well… okay, maybe Enterprise. But… but E was a super-carrier!

The Japanese carrier smiled, bowing from the waist in a gesture that somehow felt more warm and kind than formal and stilted. "It's a pleasure to meet you, White-sensei."

"Wha-wha…" White almost let her wagon roll off the end of the pier as she stammered in surprise. Fubuki'd given her a crash course on what some of the Japanese… ending thingies meant. To be called "sensei"? By _Houshou_! This was just… the BEST!

"Why am I here?" said the light carrier, offering a sweet smile as she gracefully caught the handle of White's wagon before it rolled to far.

White nodded.

"I'm afraid our light carriers are very precious to us," said Houshou. She brushed a loose strand of her raven-black hair out of her eyes. "Most are out on patrol at the moment."

"Oh," White gave a sad nod. She'd kinda hoped she'd have more of a class to teach…

"Don't worry, little one," Houshou smiled, ruffling the escort carrier's with a sweet smile. "I'll ensure to pass on all of your knowledge."

Before White could answer, another carrier came bounding down the pier. "Heya, White!" Ryuujou beamed as she half-ran half-skipped down pier. Her scroll fluttered out behind her as she skidded to a stop.

"Oh.. Houshou-sama." The cheerful light carrier instantly stiffened ramrod straight. She bowed until the brim of her fancy metal hat almost touched Houshou's head. "I apologize for my intrusion."

Houshou smiled in return. "You needn't. I was merely chatting with White-sensei."

Ryuujou gasped. Her jaw hung open for a full five seconds before she realized where she was and abruptly shut it once more. "White… sensei?"

White couldn't smile wider if she tried. "I'm a sensei!" she said, her chest puffing in pride.

Ryuujou's smile suddenly went tense, but White was too happy to really notice. That was two carriers already! This day was getting off to an awesome start!

"I am here," said _fleet carrier_ Kaga. The much bigger girl's face was an unreadable mask of stoic… stoicness as she walked over to join the group of smaller carriers. "White-sensei, Houshou-sama," she said, politely bowing to each carrier in turn, "Ryuujou-chan."

Houshou returned the bow with an equally polite one of her own. Ryuujou's bow wasn't nearly as polite.

White waved so hard she was sure her fingers started to blur together, "HIIIII KAGA!" she said with a giggle. She might love Jersey like the battleship was her own mother, but Jersey's abs just weren't as snugly as Kaga's warmth. The Japanese fleet carrier was like an electric blanket you could cuddle!

Kaga twitched, her eyes blinking like signal lights for a split second before she regained her regal composure.

"Okay," White spun around to face the water once more. "For this lesson, Sammy's gonna play the part of a friendly surface escort-"

The Destroyer Escort waved from her section of the bay.

"-and I-168's playing the role of a baddie submarine."

"Hmm?" the submarine glanced up from the magic rectangle she was fiddling with. "My name's I-mu-ya, ya know?"

"Right, Imuya," said White, scuffing her shoe against the pier as she corrected herself. She _hated_ getting peoples names wrong! It was even worse than when Midway changed her name to Saint Lo. "Sorry!"

Imuya waved it off with an easygoing smile.

"Alright, so…" White turned back to face her class. "Everyone get a few strike aircraft up, please!"

Ryuujou started doing that… magic scroll thing she did while Houshou and Kaga drew their arrows with ritualistic calm.

While her students prepped, White rustled around in her wagon for an Avenger. The torpedo bomber was a chunky airplane to begin with, and with its bays full of practice depth-charges, it was an even heavier piece of iron.

White grunted as she hefted the plane in her hand, making sure she was holding it in juuuust the right place—Thumb and index finger right behind the wing root. She drew her arm back, holding the Avenger right next to her ear as the teeny-tiny Wright R-2600 hummed to life.

Once she was happy the plane's buzzing little engine was running at max RPMs, she chucked it into the air with as much force as she could manage. The follow though sent her spinning around on her heel, and she shot a giddy smile to her class as she spun past them.

"Weeeeee," she giggled, coming to a stop with more or less the same facing as she'd started out with. Behind her, she heard the bouncy sound of bamboo hitting the pier surface.

"Kaga-san," said the instantly-recognizable accent of Ryuujou stifling a giggle, "You dropped your arrow."

"I'm aware," said Kaga. White didn't think it was possible to fume stoically, but the cuddly fleet carrier somehow managed to pull it off. Maybe she wasn't quite as cuddly as she seemed…

"Okay," White spun around to face her class, her skirt flaring with girlish energy as she spun a few degrees too far, then slowly corrected herself. "I'mma teach you how to do Anti-Submarine Warfare. But first…" White held up a hand for dramatic effect, "what's the _goal_ of ASW?"

Ryuujou beamed, "To kill the enemy submarine!"

White shook her head, instantly deflating the already under-inflated light carrier. "Uh-uh. Your job is to keep the sub from doing what it wants to."

"By… killing it," Ryuujou mumbled.

White shrugged, "Killing it, or just forcing it to stay on the bottom. You just have to be _patient._ "

Houshou nodded. Her hands were resting on her lap, but White _knew_ the old carrier was taking detailed notes—or at least one of her faeries was. She had that _look_.

"During the war," said White, her hands planted firmly in her pockets as she paced up and down the pier. It might've looked a tiny bit intimidating if she wasn't four feet tall. And barely keeping herself from skipping. "You guys _almost_ sunk a lot of our boats."

Kaga somehow managed to smirk triumphantly without moving a single muscle.

"Key word being _almost_."

The smirk died.

"You give up _way_ to early," said White. "Unless you've got a convoy to stay with or something, don't go away until you're _sure_ the sub's dead."

"But what if we _did_ get it?" asked Ryuujou, her cheeks hovering somewhere between a pout at being corrected and a smirk at seeing _Kaga_ corrected.

"Then you hang around for a few hours to make sure," White smiled, holding her hands in the air as if presenting an invisible book on anti-submarine tactics to the bigger carrier.

"And stare into an empty ocean?" said Houshou in a tone both respectful and incredulous.

"Shouldn't we look for something else to do?" asked Ryuujou.

White shook her head. "You have to be really patient when hunting subs," she said. "You must have constant-" White paused for dramatic effect.

Kaga glanced from the little carrier to some point on the far horizon and back again.

Ryuujou clenched her hands together, eagerly awaiting the carrier's next bit of Kaga-smacking wisdom.

Houshou coughed.

"Vigilance!" said White with a giggle.

"White, I assure you-" Kaga stopped suddenly as _someone_ touched her back. Someone… very wet.

Imuya giggled, her torpedo slung over her shoulder as she stood behind the three carriers.

"Vigilance!"

Kaga scowled.


	42. Chapter 34: Convos with Crowning

**Chapter 34: Convos With Crowning**

Crowning hunched over the well-worn copy of _Jane's Fighting Kanmusu, 2014-2015_ Admiral Williams had lent him, his nose buried deep in the battleship section. The amount of information recorded in the unassuming black tome was simply staggering. Every detail an Admiral could ever want to know about his girls was listed, from their top speed and range to their haircolor, bustline, and favorite snack. As an added bonus, all the really important bits were came pre-highlighted thanks to the book's previous owner. There was even the odd note scrawled in the margins.

The professor smiled as he flipped over to Jersey's entry. The book had been published months before Jersey—or any of her smaller, cuter friends for that matter—had returned. And yet, somehow, the gremlins over at Jane's had made startlingly accurate predictions.

Her towering, borderline-amazonian height, her distinctive thick-thighed build, her long, strawberry blond hair, the way her face hovered between cutely adorable and stunningly gorgeous, even her rather modest bust—comparatively, of course. Crowning couldn't bring himself to admit anyone built like Jersey was flat-chested— they'd predicted nearly every single detail with absolute precision.

Except… except for her wardrobe. Printed across the page from a full set of plan drawings was a _very_ well-done painting of USS _New Jersey_ … in a calf-length silk evening gown. A gown cut so high up her side it was painfully obvious the battleship wasn't wearing _any_ underwear beyond her garter-belted thigh-highs, and cut so _low_ in the front it was incredibly obvious _this_ Jersey didn't believe in the concept of bras. One might even say 'painfully obvious' if the painting wasn't so damn pleasing.

Crowning couldn't decide if he wanted to show his battleship friend this painting as soon as she got back, or if he wanted to make sure it _never_ crossed her eyes. As fetching as she might look filling out that dress, he wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't break him for even suggesting it.

But… he had a job to do. As pleasing as picturing Jersey in a slinky, tight-fighting evening dress might be, he had to put work before pleasure. And figure out why the flow of ship girls had suddenly ceased to a trickle. Every Naval Base in the country had been throwing rock concerts like they were going out of style. But other than Arizona over at Sasebo, and Alaska and O'Bannon down in Texas, not one girl bigger than a destroyer escort had showed up, and even _those_ were few and far between.

Crowning let out a long sigh. He'd spent the past two hours pouring over the reference book for any thread distinguishing the girls who had showed up. His legs were going numb, his back was starting to complain… he needed a stretch, if not a quick walk to clear his mind. The Professor yawned, stretching his arms to the ceiling as he worked a kink out of his back.

Only for his head to slam into something suspiciously soft and warm. While Crowning was not an expert on the subject, he knew full well what a girl's chest feels like. And given the apparent size and height of the chest currently cradling the back of his head—and the stealth with which the girl attached to said chest had entered the room—there was only one possible owner.

"Wash?" said the Professor.

"Yes?" said the battleship in her usual sweetly detached tone.

"How long have you been reading over my shoulder?"

"Um," the battleship paused, probably checking her watch or consulting her ship's chronometer. There wasn't even a hint of remorse in her voice, "About thirty minutes."

"Thirty Minutes." Crowning let out a sigh.

"I knocked," said Wash with a tiny hint of a concerned squeak. "You said I could come in."

Crowning shook his head. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten engrossed in reading and responded on sheer autopilot. Normally his guest would say something to snap him out of a literary stupor. But his normal guests wasn't an incarnation of the spirit of a WWII Battleship. That was also apparently an inadvertent ninja. But, he was getting nowhere with his shipgirl research… maybe a chat with her would clear his head.

"I guess I did, huh?" he said, scooting forwards just enough so he could talk to the battleship without burying his head in her substantial bosom.

Wash smiled that sweet half-smile she'd perfected and slid to the side to make room for a proper conversation. After a gesture from the professor, she sat down on the corner of his desk. Her dazzle patterned skirt—Measure 32, Crowning was quite proud of himself for recognizing the pattern—piled up over her tight black running shorts as she settled herself into position.

"How can I help you, Wash?"

"I'm… I'm lost," said the battleship, her lips actually quivering slightly as she tried to cobble together her next sentence.

Crowning was suddenly giving her his full attention. He'd _never_ seen a battleship so distressed. Much less the calm, regal Wash.

"I need… girl advice," continued Wash, "And since you're dating my cousin, I think you're the most qualified to give it to me."

Crowning blinked. Cousin? That didn't make a lick of sense. Wash was a battleship, she didn't have- The professor gulped. Wash was a battleship! Which meant her 'cousin' would be-

"Jersey?" half-spoke half-coughed Crowning. "No… no no, she's…" he waved down Wash's accusations, "she's just a friend. We're not dating, I assure you."

"Really?" said Wash. Her voice was solidly in the camp of 'sweetly confused' without a hint of accusation. Which was fine by him, he got enough teasing from Gale.

"Really," stated Crowning. "But I think I might be able to help anyways."

Wash cocked one of her fashion-magazine perfect eyebrows.

"I'm an English Scholar," said Crowning, "You would not believe how many poems have been written about The Girl."

Wash thought for a second, then nodded in agreement. "It's about Yeoman Gale."

"What about her?," Crowning leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling in in thought. He could practically taste the twenty he had riding on the two.

"She doesn't like me," said Wash, "I… think. I can tell she's not happy when she's around me."

Crowning scowled. So much for that bet being in the bag. At least he was all but certain of the cause. "Have you tried _talking_ to her about it?"

Wash's opened her mouth, then closed it part way. Her lips forming a tiny "o" as she processed what he'd said. "I… haven't," she said with a depressed sigh. "Thanks, Doc."

Crowning was about to respond when the girl bolted to her feet.

"I know where to find her," she said with a beaming smile. Without another word, the battleship bolted for the door, her skirt flaring out around her swooshing hips as she somehow managed to sprint elegantly. "Thank you!" she said as she swung around the doorframe, her footsteps pounding against the floor as she ran off to who-knows-where.

Crowning blinked. To think, he'd almost considered Wash sane.

* * *

Just getting to the model shop was an experience in itself. Jersey'd never _seen_ so many people crammed so tightly together. And she was a _battleship._ Her crews slept in bunks packed like… she wanted to say 'like sardines' but after that experience, she was starting to think 'like Japanese people' was a better metaphor.

It didn't help that an unreasonable number of said Japanese people were either dressed in some ridiculous outfit—Kirishima called it 'cosplay' as if that simple word explained all this fuck-oddness—or staring at her. Or some combination of both.

Frankly, Jersey didn't think her outfit was _that_ out of the ordinary. It _did_ do a rather good job of showing off her long, toned legs. Legs that even the battleship would happily admit were the very definition of 'amazing.' And no, she wasn't being vain. She was showing healthy admiration of- and thankfulness-for the engines at General Electric who'd designed her monstrous turbines.

 _They_ made her the most powerful battleship ever assembled by human hands, she was just… showing off what they'd been so kind as to give her.

Not that it explained all the stares she was getting. People were crowding around her on all sides, blocking all view of those marvelous legs. The only part of her sticking up above the crowd was her head and shoulders, and there wasn't anything of note there. Even her strawberry blond hair wasn't out of place next to 'cosplayer' with neon-pink wigs!

But any lingering frustration vanished as soon as Kirishima lead the younger, taller battleship into humble-looking store with a simple sign in unreadable moon-moon gobbledygook.

Jersey'd never entered a hobby shop herself. A few of her sailors had, but their experiences were such a tiny sliver of her soul that it barely even rated as a half remembered dream. But as she stepped into the building, she felt a wash of familiar smash against her bow.

Every wall was covered in row after row after row of boxes, each proudly displaying a painted image of the kit inside. There were tanks here, trains there, figures over there… and Ships! A seemingly endless sea of model ships were piled six high on the shelves. Jersey smiled as she spotted a kit of none other than _Enterprise_ herself on proud display.

Right next to it was kit of Kongou—with new boxart to reflect the bouncy battleship's new female persona—and… And a kit of Mighty Mo with hand-written sign declaring her to be "Of the New Jersey Type."

But more than the kits, it was the _people_ that made Jersey feel at home. There had to be at least thirty of them crammed into what little space model kits weren't occupying. She guessed around half were sailors, and all of them were happily arguing the merits of this glue over that, this cruiser over that, this destroyer over that…

"Wow," breathed Jersey, carefully ducking under a flight of Zeros hanging from the ceiling. She felt like a kid on Christmas morning! Box after box called to her, singing their plastic siren songs to the impressionable battleship.

 _"buyyyy ussss,"_ they crooned, _"buyyy ussssss, we're on saleeeeee"_

"I need this," said Jersey, grabbing a 1/48th scale Tomcat model and balancing it atop her breast. "And this," she grabbed a handful of utterly-adorable egg-shaped baby Tomcats. "Oh, and-" Jersey stopped as she came across a model tank.

It looked like _exactly_ the kind of tank the Taffies would design after a night gorging themselves on candy. She counted _at least_ eleven barrels, most of which were bigger than the crew. "Kirishima?"

"Hmm?"

Jersey spun around, balancing the tank preciously atop her already large stack. "Is this…?"

"Oh, that's a Baneblade," said the Japanese girl with a smile, "No, it's not a real tank."

Jersey scowled. "Damnit, I thought for a second the Ruskies really went off the deep end."

"Ah, Kirishima-san," a middle-aged Japanese man walked over to the two women, his round face glowing with a luminescent smile. Judging by the unreadable moon-moon on his black polo, he was apparently some kind of employee. "It's good to see you again. Ashigara-san's already set up in the back if you'd like to join."

Kirishima smiled, bowing from the waist before the spoke. "Thank you, Miwaza-san, but I'm just here to browse today." She motioned to where Jersey was happily each 1/700th ship kit she came across. "This is my friend, Jersey-san."

"Hey, uh…" Jersey stopped, furiously shuffling the kits piled up on her chest to free up at least one hand. "Nice to meet you," she said, offering a hand to the Japanese man.

"It's a very great honor to meet you," he said, effortlessly shifting into near-perfect English as he gave Jersey a firm handshake. "I can't tell you how thankfull we are for that convoy of yours."

Jersey's blush shifted into infrared as Kirishima took over. "Miwaza-san is a very dear friend of mine," she said, "he owns this establishment."

"Have for twenty years," said Miwaza, grinning from ear to ear at the two battleships. "Which is why I can offer you half off anything in the store."

Jersey almost dropped her haul. "Wait, really?"

Miwaza nodded. "After what you pulled? It's the least I can do."

"I- I really can't-"

"Take it," said Miwaza, "Those are Games Workshop models."

Kirishima stifled a giggle.

"Well… hell, okay," said Jersey, "there is one thing though…"

"Oh?" Miwaza chewed on the corner of his lip, visible rifling though the racks of inventory cards in his head as he prepared to answer any question the battleship might have.

"Do you know where I can find a model of…" Jersey shrugged as best she could with an arm full of kids, "well, of me?"

"If you want of one _this_ " Miwaza waved his hands over Jersey's towering figure, "I'm afraid you're out of luck. But…" his voice trailed off as he wandered off, disappearing behind a stack of boxes.

Jersey blinked.

"He does that," said Kirishima. "Just wait."

Sure enough, Miwaza returned a few minutes later with his own stack of boxes. "Alrighty…" he set the smaller ones down on the glass counter, standing the biggest two up on their sides. "I got a few in three-fiftieth, but they're your '83 refit. I figure you don't want that."

Jersey shook her head.

"Figures," said Miwaza, waving to the pile of smaller kits, "I've got the WWII refit in one-seven-hundredth. "Or…" he waved to a baggy of tan resin parts, "If you're dead-set on the big version, you can swap these for your bridge and secondaries."

Jersey's face was glowing as she looked over the pile of models before her. "Can I do both?"

"Of course you can," said Miwaza with a hearty laugh. "But only if you'll take a picture with me." He waved to a board tacked up on one wall. Photos of a smiling Miwaza next to at least a dozen kanmusu were held up by thumb-tacks and tape

"Oh… no problem!" said Jersey, happily dumping her haul of models off to be rung up. "I love this place!"


	43. A Certain Lady Part 7

**A Certain Lady Part 7**

 **By Old Iron**

The two battleships had been out to sea for a few days and thus far much of the trip back to Sasebo had been in silence. Not for lack of trying on Hiei's part however. Unfortunately for her, Arizona was in no mood for conversation. All she had managed was to pull were the occasional "Yes, Lieutenant" or "No, Lieutenant" out of the stoic American. And even she could tell that her attempts were not entirely welcome.

"It's too bad Jintsuu couldn't come with us." A misty cloud trailed behind Hiei as she bemoaned the absence of the light cruiser. Behind her trailed a lazy wake as she plodded along the course that would take her and Arizona back to Sasebo. Her sleeves and skirt fluttered about with only a sliver more energy in the light and frigid ocean breeze. The cold didn't bother her in the slightest, but it was still the kind of weather that made her want to break out the kotatsu and sleep the day away. She did regret not bringing mittens or a scarf of some sort however.

Not really needed in the slightest, but she still thought it was comfortable.

"The Yeoman has not been deemed fit for duty." Arizona stated bluntly, finally offering up a reply more than two words long. In contrast to Hiei's lighter garments, her far heavier ones barely budged.

"Yeah... I've never been sick before, but it's kind of amazing how humans can just bounce back after a few days of that." She chuckled and laced her fingers behind her head. A part of her was glad to have finally managed to put even the slightest crack into her companion's demeanor, even if it turned out to be short lived down the line. "Of course, she's probably not complaining."

"We are not human, Lieutenant. We are warships." She took a deep breath to steady herself. She hadn't intended to speak so harshly, but her nerves felt like they were fraying further with each passing moment. "And the Yeoman should focus more on recovering so she can do her duty." Being doted on by her commanding officer was not what a soldier should do. When ill, you should recover. When well, you should train. And always be prepared for battle and to serve.

"She's trying. With everything she can." Hiei put on a little more speed to put some distance between herself and Arizona.

The redhead would have inquired about the brunette's actions, but the latter pulled an about-face and began treading in reverse. It was a bizarre sight to say the least. She could see Hiei's hull sailing forward at something slightly above a lazy gait at the same time she was witnessing the woman of the same name skating along the water backwards. It made her head hurt the more she tried to comprehend it. Even after having sailed alongside her and Jintsuu, efforts to make sense of it simply went nowhere.

"And a headpat or two isn't so bad. A good crew takes care of their ship. And a good admiral takes care of their fleet. Admiral Richardson is just taking care of Jintsuu the best way he knows how." There was an underlying hardness to Hiei's voice. As if daring the American to refute her words.

"A good ship takes care of her crew, her charges, and her command." Arizona's gloves hands tightened into fists with such strength that one would be hard pressed to tell the difference between the sound of groaning fabric and warping steel. "She should always be ready. Always willing and able to do her duty."

"Is that why you've barely slept a wink since you arrived? You look like a raccoon." Though her voice was humorous and the gesture of making goggles with her fingers was plainly childish, she meant her question with all seriousness. Arizona had slept only the bare minimum possible to the best of her knowledge. Even then it was more of a power nap.

"I cannot afford to stand idle while there is a war on, Lieutenant. You must know the gravity of our situation." Arizona brought a gloved hand to her chest and clenched it about the fabric of her khaki uniform. Her voice had an urgency to it. An urgency full of anxiety. And it threatened to spiral far beyond the control of the stoic and professional demeanor she aimed to carry herself with at all times. She was already nearing the breaking point. "You must certainly know it far more than I do! Won't you take this seriously?!"

There was a cold silence as Hiei's mood darkened.

"What do you hope to accomplish Lieutenant Arizona?"

Hiei's steely gaze and cutting words were so far removed from the demeanor Arizona had seen thus far that it struck her momentarily speechless. And never had she heard the fast battleship refer to anyone save for the admiral by anything other than a nickname or their given name. Her grey eyes narrowed as a frigid fury built up behind them.

"My duty, ma'am. I will defeat any and all foes that I face without fail. And I will not stop until I am sunk or there is nothing left to sink." Her breath was hot and her scars itched. But she paid them no heed.

"Is that so..." The brunette crossed her arms and closed her eyes before speaking again. "I think the Emperor might have liked you. Some of the hardliners in command too." She opened her eyes to glare at the American.

"I was beloved by my crew and even the Imperial family personally. I served them with pride and distinction. It was an honor to know that the Emperor himself chose me as his personal vessel. I think I have a good idea of what he and his officials would have liked to see." She drew in a deep breath. "Your absolute determination to do your duty regardless of cost is one of them."

"A good, proper ship would do the same. No matter their allegiance." Arizona's voice was near to a snarl. "No matter what navy, they shou-"

"You're a hypocrite."

"Wh-What?"

"Those in command of the Imperial Japanese Navy would have wanted you to go down fighting to the last. Guns ablaze taking as many enemies down with you as you could. Every sailor fighting to the death against impossible odds. If you cannot win, make sure the enemy pays dearly for their victory. If you must die, then make certain the enemy dies with you regardless of the cost." Hiei's voice was condemning and angry, yet never rising to a shout. She spoke with an intensity that few had ever heard. And certainly not Arizona. "It is nothing like the grand last stand people like to imagine. That kind of death is... It is painful like nothing you can believe.

Is that what you want, Battleship Arizona? To die again while doing your duty? To sink knowing that you had done everything you could and that it was okay for you to go?"

Arizona wanted to lash out. To turn every gun she had on her ally and demand her silence. But she did not. She remained silent and absolutely furious, unable to formulate a response to Hiei's vicious and hurtful words. They cut deeply into her without any sort of mercy and with the full intent of doing so. When she finally found her voice, it was weak and lacking in any manner of calm.

"How... How dare you... I would never, even at my worst..." She shouted her pathetic rebuttal. "Are you saying to die for your country and for your duty is pointless!?"

"No. I am saying your death will be pointless." Hiei's voice was imperious and brooked no argument. Even if Arizona had been capable of forming words at that moment, they would have not been permitted. "They're dead, Arizona. Nothing you can do will ever change that. Not even dying again."

"You killed them! You killed them while I lay there sleeping. I sat there and did nothing as they died all around me. I failed them all! Every. Single. One!" Finally she broke, her stoicism shattered as she cried out. Her expression twisted into one of anguish and "I can still hear them dying. I can hear the roar of those planes as they fly overhead!"

"I know. I was there. I was part of the Kidou Butai during the attack on Pearl Harbor. I watched those planes take off and come back after killing you, your crew, and many many more." When Arizona's eyes widened in shock, Hiei did not so much as blink.

The Japanese battleship turned around to face forward once more after having decided she had waited long enough for Arizona to fail in responding. "We have a lot to atone for. Some more than others. If you really want to make up for letting your crew die, then try living. ...Your survivors would hate to see you as you are. They love you far too much for you to treat your second chance like this." She bit her lip after letting loose that last barb. How her sister managed this as well as she did, she could not even begin to comprehend.

Arizona remained silent as she fell in line behind Hiei, doing her best to ignore the tears dripping down onto her uniform.

— | — | —

Hiei was beginning to cross the border from worried to highly distressed.

After their altercation some days ago, Arizona had not said a single word to her unless it involved their current assignment or some sort of update to their orders. Only Richardson had managed something more and Hiei was highly suspicious that it was only due to the fact he was her admiral and that there was only so much you could convey over a radio.

Aside from that Arizona had been utterly and completely silent.

It had made the excruciatingly long path back home feel even longer. The long course had been as far from open waters as possible owing to their unfortunate lack of escorts available at the time. And even if they'd had Jintsuu with them, it would still have required such a course. Add in Arizona's abysmal cruise speed and things were none too pleasant.

The only reason they'd made as good time as they had on the way to Yokosuka was because they had all hauled quite hard over more dangerous territory to support the convoy. Without that requirement hanging over their heads, things were just painfully slow.

Further adding to the far from pleasant atmosphere was the American's demeanor.

Arizona had grown increasingly sullen and withdrawn with every passing hour since they had last spoken. Though it had been more her telling the dreadnought to get her act together in a string of very brute force statements than any sort of real talk. Hiei would never regret what she had said. No matter how cutting, how cruel, or how wounding those words had been to Arizona, they needed to be said. She believed this wholeheartedly. Had she not, she was confident someone else would have eventually.

But eventually may have come too late. And sometimes even the slightest delay can turn out to be fatal.

An exclamation sounding quite like Kongou sounded out and declared that she had a new message. She withdrew her smartphone from a well hidden pocket on her garment and tapped the screen to wake it up. The smiling face of Kongou popped into view and it warmed her heart to see it. She'd really wanted more of a chance in Yokosuka to see the sister she so adored, but things hadn't worked out much to her disappointment. A small giggle escaped her lips before she could access the message. At that moment, her cheer slipped away.

A transmission was coming in on the emergency band.

The Abyssal fleet was attacking.

"Abys..! Ca.. out of n...re! ...ses getting po...d! Mayd.y! M..day! Requesting as. immediately! Repe-!"

The transmission was broken off violently as Hiei sword she heard the sound of an explosion not a moment before.

She whirled about to see Arizona with perhaps one of the more terrifying expressions she had seen on the woman's face. It spoke of a promise of utter, abject violence. When mingled with her stoic nature and constantly falling mood, it became something almost wrong in its creation.

"Were you able to obtain their location?" Arizona's tone was flat and absolutely professional. Her body was tensing and it seemed like her left arm was just shy of vibrating even through the heavy clothes she wore.

"Kyodomari Port. It'll take us two hours to get there at flank." Hiei was already turning about to set herself on the fastest possible course to the afflicted location. Truthfully she could make it there sooner, however Arizona's flank was at best nine knots slower than her own. She began dialing in to Sasebo as Arizona pulled alongside her. If command wasn't already aware of the situation and sending a response, they were certainly drawing up battle plans.

Arizona tuned her own radio in to Hiei's frequency as they both began hauling towards Kyodomari. They'd been fortunate to already be underway towards an escort mission and not need to deploy from the dock, but it would only shave a few minutes at best off of their arrival time. That fishing boat could find another escort or sit tight for a while.

"Hiei? If you're just making a social call, I swear to God..." Richardson's ire laden voice filled both womens' radio rooms.

"Negative sir. We're responding t-"

"Kyodomari?" He paused long enough for the fast battleship to provide a grunt of confirmation. "Good. Saves time. If Arizona isn't already tuned in, get her ass on the line or talk for her."

"Reporting in, sir." Had she more to offer to the briefing, she didn't have a chance to voice it as Richardson began speaking again.

"Bad news first. Reports are coming in of no fewer than four Abyssal ships bombarding the port. I guess they decided it was lightly defended enough to pull something this ballsy. Or they just don't give two shits and drew lots. Whatever the reason, we've got a really bad situation and we've been caught with our pants so far down that the red-light district is using them for a flag." He drew breath and continued before the hilarity of his statement could be realized.

"Kyodomari has a minimal USN or JMSDF presence right now. We're talking a few mundane patrols at best. Absolutely zero shipgirl presence because they've got their hands full almost everywhere else. You two are not only the closest to the site, but also the ones who can get there the fastest." The fact that two battleships, one of whom was slower than most any other naval boat on the ocean, did not fill anyone with confidence. It merely spoke to how badly off they were when it came to raw numbers.

"Any reinforcements or knowledge of the enemy composition, sir?" Arizona's query was crisp and to the point.

"If you're lucky, we can have a few destroyer girls join you mid-fight. Maybe a cruiser. But assume you two are the only allied guns that will even have a chance to look at the enemy fleet." His voice took on an unusual lilt that neither Hiei nor Arizona could place. "Composition is... confirmed to be three battlewagons and one cruiser. We can't confirm their exact armament yet, but we'll get you that information as we get it."

"Anything else sir? Or are we free to engage as we see fit?" Hiei seemed to be brimming with energy as she spoke. "I will make certain that we do our absolute best, you can leave it to us!"

"Do what you have to do to save those people and sink those monsters. But if either of you sink, I swear by all that ever is, was, and ever shall be, that I will raise you up just to beat the stupid out of your moronic heads. Am I understood Hiei? Arizona?"

"Perfectly, sir!" Hiei even saluted as she spoke, a silly grin quickly taking the place of her momentarily dutiful expression.

"Ah, yes, sir. Absolutely, sir." Arizona's reply was awkward, but sincere. She still could not quite wrap her head around how this fleet functioned. And certainly not helping was all she had gone through during the past few days. Or the hour to come...

"Also," Richardson's voice cut in swiftly, "Arizona, this is your first combat mission. Ever. I want you to follow Hiei's command absolutely. She's in charge here. Bar none, there is no ship under my command that has more combat experience than she does. Got it? Good."

"Understood, sir. I will not fail you, sir."

"No. No you will not. Good luck, Godspeed, and come home safe. Both of you." Both girls could feel the salute on the other end of the radio and responded in kind before the line cut out.

"Lieutenant Arizona," Hiei's rarely heard professional tone drew the American's eyes to her. "No matter what you may feel right now. No matter how you may feel about what I said to you or about myself in particular, we have a job to do. We have lives to save. Can I trust my back to you?"

Arizona turned to face Hiei fully, the only sound being that of the ocean parting before their bows.

"I ...do not know how I feel. But I will continue to do my duty." The redhead paused. She still felt anxiety, confusion, and a slew of emotions she could not even begin to comprehend stirring in her gut. Each drawing from any number of origins. "And I will not abandon you."

"Thank you." There was a pause before Hiei let out a breath and slumped forward. The tension seemed to loosen about her before she slapped her hands to her cheeks. "Haa... Okay! Arizona!"

"Y-Yes, ma'am?!"

"This is going to be your first sortie, so lets got over some basics with the time we have. You've got plenty of training under your belt. Now it's time for me to help you put some of it into practice. We have less than two hours, so listen up and have that fiery American spirit at attention!" While deathly serious in her words, Hiei's reassuring grin kept the mood from turning more grim than it already was.

— | — | —

"You look a little nervous."

"I... am."

"You look a little anxious."

"I am."

"You look a little stacked."

"I a-what?" Arizona turned to glare at the snickering Hiei whilst almost reflexively covering her front.

"Feel a little better?" Hiei grinned as she laced her fingers behind her head. "It's not good if you get so focused you can't react. That happened to me on my first mission. I was lucky I only had my rudder get hit. Shot clean off." She laughed lightly despite the deadly situation she was describing.

"A... little, yes." She scanned the horizon as she continued. "Is that why you act like you do? Joking and carrying on like an enlisted drunkard?"

"Hey! I'm not that bad. Unless I've had too much sake. Or that stuff the admiral likes." There was a cough and she continued. "To borrow from Kongou-oneesama, there's a time and a place for everything. And sometimes you just need a good laugh to break the mood. And sometimes it's really hard to perform under stress. Admiral Richardson really pounded me on that one. Sometimes I'd get so worked up I wouldn't be able to think straight and just make a mess all over the place. Five minutes."

"...Is that why you responded like you did?" Her 14 inch rifles finished their rotations, each of her four turrets aimed downrange at a target well beyond what the human eye could see. The triple mounts' angles twitched every so often as her fire directors compensated as best they could. "When I lost my temper? Firing solution obtained."

"Hmm... A little bit. They're just doing whatever they want. Circling around and shooting everything they can." The report from her floatplane, an Aichi E13A piloted by a rather stern looking fairy, hadn't reported anything new in regards to their targets' actions other than the occasional change in course.

"Then why?" A gust of wind nearly took Arizona's cover off, but she was quick to recover it.

"Because you reminded me too much of someone who wanted to throw their life away even if they knew it wouldn't change anything. If you die. You die. And sometimes you can't avoid it no matter what. But I don't want you to be someone who looks for it around every corner." Hiei licked her finger and raised it into the air with a determined expression. "I don't think that shows a good spirit."

"I see..."

"And you were kinda pissing me off." The fast battleship laughed at Arizona's thunderstruck expression. "I'm just joking! Two minutes. You were pushing some of my buttons though. Is it buttons? I think it's buttons. The admiral says I'm really good at pressing his."

Arizona shook her head and placed a hand to her face. It would seem Hiei was very good at getting under someone's proverbial skin, for better or worse. It made keeping herself composed all the more difficult.

"I will remember that. I will also have to ask the admiral how you manage to pull that off as well." The ghost of a smirk flitted onto her face for the briefest of moments. "One minute. All stations ready."

"Hey! You smiled! You actually smiled!"

"It was just your imagination."

"No way! Ah! Thirty seconds. ...Wait for them to come into visual range." Hiei effortlessly slipped from her goofy self to a state of combat readiness. Her rifles ready and waiting.

They could not allow the Abyssals to flee. And the further away the engagement began, the more likely it would be for the monsters to slip away. Without a CAP or any kind of escort their only option was to get as close as possible before opening fire. It was extremely risky and banked heavily on their ability to approach quickly and undetected. Or at least as undetected as possible before the enemy decided they were done pounding a now defenceless target.

"Ten seconds." Arizona's grey eyes narrowed as the sun began to dip low, coating the sky in a bloody red hue. This was to be her first battle. She would not fail. Not now or ever again.

"Oh no..." Hiei's breathless exclamation cut into sunset as the trails of smoke began to creep into their vision. The Abyssals had bombarded the port from distance, placing the victimized locale even further away from their gaze. But if they could see smoke even from here... Her eyes narrowed dangerously, displaying a raw fury and a dedicated soldier.

Two hours was a long time. A long time in which an undeterred foe could do whatever they wanted to an unresisting victim. And even token resistance would falter eventually against this level of bombardment.

"Five seconds."

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

"Battleship Arizona-"

"Battleship Hiei-"

"-beginning combat!"

From the moment her rifles were installed to the very instant of her death, the second of the Pennsylvania-class battleships: USS Arizona, never once fired her guns for war. Her barrels were worn from practice and her magazines emptied through training. They remained peaceful and docile even as they hurled shells weighing nearly three quarters of a ton at hapless targets.

Now they were furious.

Filled with a rage not once unleashed in one hundred years.

There were countless guns far more powerful than hers on the seas this day. But none had been so restrained as hers.

On December 7th in the year 2015,

Battleship Arizona fired her guns in anger for the very first time.

Combined with Hiei's assault, a grand total of twenty rifles fired their deadly ordinance. Twenty armor piercing shells took to the air with a violent howl.

"Split!" Hiei's order was followed immediately and both warships cut away from each other. They could not outnumber their foes and only one could truly outmaneuver them. So their only recourse was to strike swiftly, strike ruthlessly, and never leave a corridor free of death.

As they began turning hard to their respective directions, Hiei to port and Arizona to starboard, a massive gout of fire and smoke erupted into the sky. Following moments behind was a thunderous roar.

Hiei's scout reported in over the radio. One target eliminated. Four hits for Hiei and five for Arizona. The killing blow had been Hiei's. A penetration to the magazine had split the Abyssal four-stacker in twain.

First blood was theirs.

The battlefield erupted into a cacophony of sound and light. The three remaining Abyssal battlewagons were quickly abandoning the mutilated corpse of their brethren to close the distance and return fire on their assailants. Rifles jutting out of blackened chitin maws erupted into fire as they began hurling their own vile ordinance into the sky. What anti-air they had began pecking at the clouds to drive away the now threat-bearing floatplane.

"Keep moving and don't let them walk you! Remember what we went over!"

Arizona grunted her reply over the radio as a multitude of shells from the larger five-turreted monster splashed close enough she could feel the water shudder under her keel. Far too close for her liking. Her main batteries fired over and over again, as fast as they could possibly be reloaded.

This was battle.

This was war.

A 13.5 inch shell rocketed over her number four turret, close enough that she could clearly see the details of the warped and blackened projectile. A second clipped the edge of her stern deck-plate. It bounced away with a clang and left only a dent in its wake. Closer and closer the splashes were becoming. And far more numerous.

"Lieutenant, they're-!" Arizona was cut off as another salvo landed not far ahead of her bow and from a much more dangerous angle.

"I know!" Hiei's reply was tinged with a measure of worry. They'd both figured the Abyssals would eventually focus their fire on the slower American, but not this soon. It was far too soon. She cut a hard turn, shadowing her rear turrets and plowed towards the closing battle lines. Her forward rifles shouting the moment they were able.

"Don't!"

"Ari-!"

"They'll tear you to shreds." Arizona swallowed her nerves and she turned to meet the Abyssal charge. Her armor was half again to twice as thick as Hiei's. Not just her belt, but every possible part of her hull was girded with thick American steel. She was a product of All or Nothing armor. And there was very little nothing about her. "Cover me."

This was what she was built for.

Not for high-speed.

Not for massive range.

It was to look her foe in the eye and match them blow for blow.

"Ari, if you even think..." Hiei's rebuke trailed off as she hurled another salvo at the closing ranks. She weaved about, neatly dodging the return fire from the two-turreted Abyssal battlewagon.

"I will not falter. I will not fail." Her number three turret scored a glancing blow in return for another. The enemy seeming to grin wickedly. "And I will not die." Another few thousand yards and her secondary batteries would be ready to cast their doom over the now raging seas. A melee in which she could rage in earnest, her primary and secondary armaments singing their song of wrath.

"You better not. Admiral's orders, you know." An armor piercer from her foremost battery struck the center turret of the lighter battlewagon closest to Arizona, priming and blowing the entire turret to kingdom come in a greasy explosion.

"And he hates it when that happens, doesn't he." Arizona did not speak again after her mild statement. Her stomach knotted itself ever further as the ranks closed. She could make out an etched and grimy marking on the bows of the two larger ships. If they proclaimed their names, it was in a tongue not meant for the sane to comprehend. And their fury was now fixed solely on her.

At fifteen-hundred yards she opened fire with her five inch guns, filling the space between herself and the Abyssals with high explosive shells.

Chitin and black metal flew while gruesome teeth cracked and splintered.

But it was not to be.

The distance had closed to the point where Abyssal secondaries could now open fire.

The melee had begun.

Explosions wracked the sea and sky as the three warships brutalized each other. Arizona's thick armor ensured that what did not simply ricochet or explode on contact was simply denied its purpose. But she was not unscathed. The enemy had weapons of their own to match hers. And they were hungry.

Hiei could only watch in a kind of horrified trance as she did her best to keep the third warship occupied whilst providing what cover she could to her ally.

This was not a battle she was familiar with. Yes, Mutsu was a dreadnought. As were many other battleships in the JMSDF fleets. But they did not fight like this. At least not to the same degree. This was a brawl of the most brutal kind.

Arizona's coat was shredded and her once pristine uniform torn to reveal bloody gashes and angry scar tissue, her superstructure pockmarked with craters and twisted machinery. While her crimson hair remained bound, her cover was simply gone. Neither Abyssal was in better shape than she. Her guns fired once more and tore one of the larger five-turreted Abyssal's stacks from its hull with a wretched howl.

The small of the two's 13.5 rifles barked again and landed a crippling blow to Arizona's number one turret near the gun port. The steel warped around the shell before it detonated and cracked the casemate open with a shuddering explosion that rocked Arizona to her core. As she fought to not cradle her now mutilated arm, her number two turret seemed to swing about of its own furious volition. It repaid the cost in kind with a vicious roar.

The top half of the battlecruiser's stern simply ceased to be as Arizona's turret number two enacted vengeance. The magazine attached to its stern-most turret was ignited and exploded violently enough to lift the Abyssal's bow clean from the sea.

Then the now four-turreted battleship raised its hand against Arizona in a manner most brutal.

A single shell from its number four turret struck Arizona in the gut. It struck already weakened armor and bore through her belt.

She did not have time to gasp in pain as the shell exploded.

A gaping hole erupted out of her back as her boilers were rent asunder.

"ARIZONA!" Hiei's horrified cry rang out even as she enacted the same blow against the battleship which had been keeping her attention split between her ally and her own safety. The difference being that her foe was blow to smithereens and Arizona still stood. It did not make the sight any less terrifying.

"You should have brought a bigger gun." Arizona coughed up blood as she stood upright despite her grievous wounds. Her body was a ruin, but she refused to back down. She was a Super-Dreadnought. And her guns still lived.

Her eyes seemed to glow as the golden flecks against grey lit up in the twilight.

"HIEI! OPEN FIRE!"

The sun vanished and the only light that remained was that of burning decks and the fire of howling cannons.

Steel, blood, oil, and all manner of debris spread about the battlefield as the deathblows were rendered moot or dodged altogether. Crippling strikes were exchanged as the battleground became smaller and smaller with each moment. Even Hiei now sported a considerable measure of battle damage as the melee ground to a standstill.

It was comparable to the moment when two combatantants grew so utterly exhausted that once heavy blows were reduced to nothing more than pathetic pawing.

At that moment two telltale bubble trails shot through the water from origins unknown.

Their course was clear and true with the Abyssal battleship stright in their crosshairs.

The Abyssal turned in an agonizingly slow attempt to dodge the pair, only each to veer off wildly in different directions. One arced around in a wide turn that made it appear as if it was going to try and find its original owner before simply puttering out and falling into the deep. The second turned in the opposite direction, heading towards the general direction of the crippled battlecruiser before simply blowing up partway there.

The Abyssals would have expressed some measure of bafflement at the utterly bizarre interruption had they any means to do so in the moment of confused silence that followed.

"Goddamnit"


	44. A Certain Lady Omake: Making Cake

**Editor's Note:** _By order of the almighty author, who for the hundredth_ fucking _time isn't me so stop PMing my account with your nitpicks: this is canon!_

 **A Certain Lady Omake**

 **By Harry Leferts**

Arizona watched as the small girl circled around her trying to look as imperious as possible. Part of her was highly amused at the Admiral's daughter, and the other part was just confused. 'I must admit that she's rather... cute, I suppose is the word.'

Tilting her head, Arizona looked down as the girl looked up with her eyes narrowed. For several moments Jane stared at her before she nodded. "Inspection complete! So, daddy says that you're supposed to be the one watching me?" Slowly, Arizona nodded only to blink as Jane tilted her head to match Arizona's. "You don't talk much, do you Miss Arizona?"

With a slight smile, Arizona reached down and placed her hand on Jane's head. "I just did not feel like there was anything to say."

For a moment, Jane blinked before she looked up at Arizona and straightened. "Right! So, Lieutenant! Are you ready for your mission?"

Slightly curious at what the small girl had planned, Arizona played along a bit and gave her a salute. "Very well, I am ready for my mission."

The next words out of Jane's mouth caused Arizona to furrow her eyebrows. "Good! Let's go bake a cake!" Jane then paused and turned back to the battleship. "Um... what kind of cake do you like?"

Not having expected the question, Arizona blinked as she tried to think of an answer. "I..." After a few seconds, she tapped her chin in thought. "I've never exactly thought of it..."

Her hand was then grabbed by Jane and she was dragged toward the kitchen. "That's okay, we'll just have to find a recipe that you'll like." It wasn't until later that she realized just how funny it was that she, a battleship, was getting dragged around by an energetic young girl.

Mutsu poked her head into the Admiral's kitchen and had to keep from giggling at the cute sight that met her. There was Jane explaining how to put icing on a cake to Arizona. Said battleship had a cute apron on that Mutsu wondered about where it had come from. 'My, my, my...~'

Having no idea about her audience, Arizona was bent as she watched Jane put on some icing. Of course, she also missed the mischievous smile on the little girl's face. Then Jane swiped some icing with her finger and tapped Arizona on the nose. "Got you!"

Cross eyes, Arizona looked at the smear of icing before she narrowed her eyes. Before Jane could do anything, Arizona took some icing and poked Jane in the cheek. "Got you."

For several moments the two just stood there staring at each other before Jane burst out into laughter and Arizona smiled with a light giggle. Shaking her head, Mutsu moved out of sight and grinned. 'Told the Admiral that this would be good for Ari...'

* * *

Jane tried to ignore Arizona as the battleship cleaned off her face with a warm wet cloth to get the icing off. Meanwhile, the little girl was examining their cake with a thoughtful nod. "Looks good! But now we need something to drink while we eat our cake..." Scrunching up her nose in a way that caused Arizona to fight back a coo, being as it would not be dignified for a ship of her standing to do so, Jane looked around before she turned to the much taller shipgirl. "Miss Arizona, do you like hot chocolate?"

Blinking at the seemingly random question, Arizona frowned a bit. "I don't... don't like it. Is that what you would like to have? Some hot chocolate?" At the nod, she began to reach for a can of powdered cocoa. "Then I suppose that would be fine."

A moment later though, Jane grabbed Arizona's wrist and shook her head. "Nope! Not that stuff, Miss Arizona, let's make some!" Then she pointed up at one of the cupboards. "There's a bag of chocolate bar squares there... could you get it for me? You're... um, taller then me..."

Softly smiling, Arizona easily took out the bag of chocolate bar squares and held up it. "Is this what you want?"

Nodding, Jane grinned back. "Yup! Oh! And we need brown sugar and cinnamon! Those are up there as well... I'll go get the milk and stuff."

Curious, Arizona turned around and grabbed the items in question and Jane placed some milk on the countertop along with a cutting board, butter knife, and a saucepan. Picking up the butter knife, Arizona frowned a bit. "A butter knife?"

With a huff, Jane crossed her arms across her chest. "Daddy doesn't want me using the sharp knives." Shaking her head, Jane turned back to the cutting board and opened one of the wrapped squares. "Now, first we cut these into tiny pieces..."

As she watched and listened to Jane's instructions, Arizona frowned a bit as she realized that Jane hadn't mentioned her mother nor had she even seen said woman around the base. 'I wonder where she is...' Joining in, the two made quick work of the chocolate squares and Arizona turned on the stove burner as Jane asked. "What do we do now?"

There was a large smile on Jane's face as she took the saucepan and filled it with milk. "Now we heat up the milk before we can add in the chocolate..." Once they began to add it, Jane stirred it for a little bit and then passed the spoon to Arizona. "Here, you try."

For several seconds, Arizona blinked before she looked at the saucepan and began to stir the now bubbling brown liquid while Jane added some brown sugar and cinnamon to it. Neither of the two noticed Mutsu hiding around the corner recording them...

— | — | —

Sitting at the table with a large slice of the cake her and Jane had made with a mug of hot chocolate, with whipped cream on top as according to Jane you had to have whipped cream, Arizona picked up her fork. With a glance at Jane who was bouncing in anticipation, Arizona slowly took a bite sized piece and put it into her mouth. For several moments she chewed it before she stopped and Jane leaned forward. "Well?"

It was a slightly surprised Arizona who turned back to her. "It's... good." Taking a sip of the hot chocolate, Arizona licked the whipped cream on her lips and nodded. "And so is the hot chocolate."

Her eyes wide, Jane did the same thing before she closed her eyes and threw her hands into the air. "Then I pronounce our mission, a success!"

Softly smiling, Arizona turned back to her cake and continued to enjoy it as Jane chattered all sorts of things to her. Though the battleship did wonder exactly why it seemed to taste better then the ones she got in the mess.


	45. Chapter 35: Jogging Gale

**Chapter 35: Jogging Gale**

Gale was still in her workout gear as she shuffled out into the crisp December air. Yoga pants and a snug-fitting sports bra weren't the warmest clothing options in the world, but her room—and the hot shower it contained within—weren't far away, and Washington winters were pretty mild. It didn't hurt that she looked _especially_ cute in the navy-blue and gold top, or at least as cute as a Yeoman in her twenties _could_ after a workout session.

It most _certainly_ didn't hurt that she was so sore she wasn't entirely certain she could lift her arms high enough to _remove_ said clothing. If nothing else, being around shipgirls—most prominently the utterly _gorgeous_ battleship Washington—had given her a new determination to hit the gym whenever she could. If there was a motivator better than the way Wash's hips swooshed every time she sashayed around, Gale couldn't imagine what it'd be.

Besides maybe Wash in a bikini. Or possibly naked, but Gale couldn't even picture such an elegant lady in the buff. And she _was_ trying.

"Yeoman?" The silky-smooth mercury-on-glass voice of none other than the _North Carolina_ class battleship Gale'd been fantasizing mere instants ago cut though the chilly winter day.

Gale gulped. She slowly pivoted on her heel, trying to imagine how the _hell_ she hadn't heard the battleship's approach. She was forty-five thousand tons. She had _no right_ to be as goddamn stealthy as she was. "Yes, Wash?" she said with a cringe, "How long have you been there?"

The battleship stood mere feet away from Gale, looking as elegantly perfect as ever. Her hair was done back in a simple braid that _still_ looked like magazine-cover perfect, and she had an enchanting half-smile on that queenly face of hers.

"Since you left the Gym," said Wash, one hand resting idly on the crook of that spectacular hip of hers, smiling like she didn't realize how perfectly that simple move framed her curves.

"Uh huh," said Gale, trying not to stare at the battleship's amazing… _everything._ Apparently there was a _reason_ the _North-Carolina_ class were 'the most beautiful thing you'd ever see.'

"I wanted to talk," said Wash, her hair shimmering like liquid gold in the scattered daylight. "It's not mission-critical, if you're busy-"

"No!" yelped Gale. She would've leaped for the battleship if her legs weren't so sore. "No, uh… no, now's good."

"Mmm" Wash nodded, a strand of that honey-brown hair flipping back in the breeze with moviestar-perfect timing. "You've been avoiding me."

Gale gulped. Her heart was running a million beats a minute, and it wasn't just because of her workout. "Uh… s-sorta?" she stammered, "I mean… you're kinda hard to notice sometimes."

Wash shrugged, her alluring gaze locked on the shorter, smaller human. Apparently she wasn't buying it. "Three times in the past week you've abruptly finished your meal with Doctor Crowning as soon as I entered the room." The battleship's queenly face glowed in the midday sun, her jewel-like eyes utterly inscrutable as she stared down the Yeoman.

Gale let out a sigh, her head lolling over against her sternum. "Okay… yeah. Maybe I have been avoiding you."

"Might I ask why?"

"Because you're a shipgirl," said Gale. "And… I didn't realize that until now."

Wash blinked. Then she blinked again. Gale _swore_ she heard crickets chirping somewhere in the distance. "I don't follow."

"Look," Gale motioned to her waistline. She wasn't out of shape by any stretch of the imagination, but next to the walking embodiment of feminine perfection that was USS _Washington_ …"I have to work out to look like this. Watch what I eat… stuff like that. And you sit there eating bacon by the ton."

"Short or long?" asked Wash, "Or metric?"

Now it was Gale's turn to blink. "Wh-what?"

"Short ton, long ton, or metric tonne," said Wash, counting off the choices on her fingers like they were the most obvious things in the world. "They're different units."

Gale blinked, her jaw hanging half-open as she suddenly understood why the Admiral's hair was solid gray. "I… what?"

"A long ton it-"

"Yeah, I know," said Gale, "I…" she shook her head, a smirk forming despite her best efforts. "You just threw me for a loop."

Wash tilted her head to the side, her finger tracing out a perfect half-circle, "You're not-"

"I know I'm not!" snapped Gale. "Ma'am. Uh… just… don't think about it."

Wash nodded.

"Look, point is… I was comparing myself to you," said Gale, "But I forgot you're _not_ … you're not like me." The yeoman huffed, her breath turning to a frosty plume in the chilly afternoon air. Maybe she should have at least _tried_ to get that sweater on. "I'm from Nevada. But you get sick if you're too far from the ocean."

Wash nodded again, her other hand sliding up to rest on her broad hips. "So… I haven't done anything to tick you off?"

"Nah," said Gale, trying not to stare at the way Wash's hands perfectly framed _those hips._ "Just took-" a shiver raced up her spine, utterly spoiling her attempt to look casual. "Took me a while to realize what was going- Wash?"

"Hmm?" While Gale was talking, the battleship had gripped the hem of her snug-fitting top and pulled it up to the base of her generous breasts. Gale felt her eyes bug out at the sight of Wash's bare, nicely toned stomach.

The battleship was gracious enough not to react to Gale's act of impropriety. "You're cold, aren't you?" she said, pulling her top the rest of the way up and exposing her navy-blue sports-bra. "Here," she handed the now-somehow-perfectly-folded article of clothing over to Gale.

"Uh…" Gale felt her mind scrambling to reboot. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening. Things like this _don't happen_ to her. She squeezed her eyes closed, counting to three as she tried to get the fatigue-induced fantasy out of her head.

Nope. Wash was still there. And she was still shirtless.

"You'll catch cold," said the battleship, her ivory skin glistening in the light at she thrust her folded shirt at Gale.

"Um…" Gale shook her head, pulling the top on as best as her exhausted muscles would allow. "Don't… won't you want it back?"

Wash smiled, "It's just a loan," she said, hooking her arm around Gale's, "until we get to your room."

* * *

 **A/N:** _USS_ North Carolina _, Wash's older sister was nicknamed "Showboat" because of how very very pretty she was. Sailors said she was "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen." **  
**_ **Jersey:** _Guys! Guys guys guys! I just found out Bon Jovi is from my home state! ON A STEEL HORSE I_ RIDE!  
 **A/N:** _You're from Phily, J._  
 **Jersey:** _FUCK YOU, I'M A BATTLESHIP!_


	46. Chapter 36: Naka Does Something Horrible

**Chapter 36: Naka Does Something Horrible**

It was almost sunset when Jersey finally walked back into her so-American-you-must-salute-it room. Her belly was full to bursting with warm, spicy ramen, and her pockets were bulging—metaphorically speaking. Her faries were far to good at managing her stowage to let a few models disturb her shapley silhouette. It'd taken her a solid two hours to find everything she wanted.

Well, no that was a lie. It took her all of ten seconds to determine that she wanted one of absolutely everything in the store, but she _really_ didn't want to explain to Williams why she'd dropped several million yen—whatever that was in Freedom money—on models and toys. Eventually, she narrowed her selections down to just a few choice items.

She was fully ready to go when a Myoukou-class heavy cruiser burst in from the back room and _demanded_ Kirishima join her for a round of "Forty-K." The Japanese battleship put up the kind of resistance Jersey would've expected from the Italians, and left Jersey to her own devices.

That suited Jersey just fine. Miwaza was pleasant to talk to,and there was an abundance of naval history fans crowding the model shop eager to talk or get their picture taken. The battleship got halfway though debating the merits of Naka's turret placement when her stomach let out an undignified growl.

With Kirishima still occupied with her miniatures, Jersey'd planned on taking the train back to Yokosuka for an early dinner. Which would've been fine if everything wasn't written in moon-moon runes. Eventually, Jersey settled for a tasty-smelling Ramen shop and parked her ass in the first empty seat she found.

Several hours and about half a ton of Ramen later Kirishima _finally_ turned up and—between bouts of profuse apologies—lead Jersey back to the train station. A short ride—and nap—later, and the battleship was back in her temporary home.

Which brought Jersey back to where she was now. Burrowing ever deeper into the fluffy blankets covering her bed. The fabric felt amazing against skin chilled by hours in the open air. Some part of her suspected Kongou'd stuffed the blanket in the dryer while she was out. It felt _that_ warm and comfy. Yeah, she had shit to get done… but it could wait. At least for a few-

"Jersey!" something fast, loud, and distinctly Taffy-shaped slammed into Jersey's stern at flank speed. The girl's voice was quivering with unmidigated fear, something _very_ unbecoming of a destroyer. "Jersey, I need your help!"

The battleship rolled onto her back, her radars warming up as she made a complete tactical analysis of the area.

All three Taffies were standing at the end of the bed, their little faces white as sheets as they stared up at the battleship with eyes that teetered on the verge of outright tears. Judging by the streaks down Hoel's face, she'd already succumbed to whatever the hell it was that had the girls so scared.

Jersey scowled. Who ever did this was going _down._ "What happened?"

"We-" Hoel sniffed, rubbing at her ruddy nose with the back of her hand. "We were playing games in Naka's room."

"And- and we were kinda hogging the computer," added Heermann with a very quiet whimper.

"And she said she was-" Johnston's voice cracked and the destroyer flung her arms around Jersey's waist, sobbing uncontrollably into the battleship's stomach.

"She said she was gonna go do sudoku!" said Hoel, sprinting over to join the cuddle puddle crying into Jersey's shirt. "We were so into the game… I didn't think about what she said until she was already gone."

Johnston nodded. A loud, wet sniff slipped from her nose as she squeezed Jersey's waist even tighter.

The battleship blinked. Then she blinked again. Then she burst out in uncontrollable laughter. Her mouth cracked into an incandescent smile, and she'd have fallen square onto her ass if there weren't two destroyers clamped around her waist like buttresses.

"'s not funny!" moaned Heermann, "She could be out there right now, cutting herself with that sword!"

Johnston and Hoel chimed in with a moaning cry. "We're sorry!"

"Kiddos…" Jersey shook her head, walking over to her dresser with as much grace as she could with two destroyers sobbing into her stuffed tummy. "Do you know what sudoku is?"

Hoel nodded. "'s when a Jap thinks she's failed."

"And she guts herself," finished Johnston. "We didn't mean to make miss Naka mad!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," said Jersey, her mouth still stuck in a lopsided smile despite her best efforts. "THIS," she grabbed a little booklet from her bedside table, "this is sudoku."

"Wha?" Heermann flipped though the book, her nose scrunching up like an accordion as she buried it in the pages. "It's just little squares and numbers."

"Yeah," said Jersey, "You gotta fill them up so they all have the numbers one to nine. Or some shit."

Johnston sniffed. "R-really?"

The battleship nodded, giving each destroyer a quick kiss on the top of their heads, "Really."

"So…" Hoel gulped, wiping her bleary eyes with the hem of Jersey's shirt. "We didn't do anything bad?"

Jersey shook her head, "No, kiddos." She smiled, waving for Heermann to join the impromptu cuddle puddle, "You did _good_ coming to me as soon as you realized something was up. Even if… something actually _wasn't up._ "

Heermann pulled herself up onto Jersey's bed, snuggling up next to her sisters on Jersey's belly. "For real?"

"Yes, for real," said Jersey. "Damn, you girls really need to read a dictionary sometime."

"We tried," said Hoel.

"Not enough pictures," said Johnston.

Jersey rolled her eyes. She could tell the destroyers were still shaken. She could feel Johnston quivering against her flank as the little destroyer cuddled up against her breast. Hoel wasn't doing better, her breath was shallow as she did her very best to become one with her sister. Heermann was doing better, if for no other reason than that she had one entire side of Jersey all to herself—not to mention one entire Iowa-class breast for her pillow.

"Tell you what," said Jersey, "Why don't you go get changed for bed, then we'll watch a movie together once Sammy and White get back."

"R-really?" mumbled Hoel.

"Really," said Jersey, her fingers lightly brushing up and down her destroyers' quivering backs. "Of course… you'll probably have to sleep here."

"I-I think we could do that," said Johnston, smiling weakly as she burrowed her face deeper into the battleship's soft bosom.

Jersey smiled back. She squeezed at Johnston's little waist for a second before letting her arm flop back against her horribly mussed blanket. As comfortable as a fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket was, it was like laying on a bed of rusty razor blades compared to a cuddle-puddle of destroyers. "Alright, up you go," she said, trying to convince herself as much as anyone.

"Awww… do we have to?" moaned Heermann.

"You girls have to get changed," said Jersey, ruffling Heermann's hair before planting a kiss on her forehead. "And I need a shower."

Johnston's tear-streaked face split into a smile. "Can I-"

"No, you may not," said Jersey, aiming a playfull swat at the lewd little girl's nose.

"Aww…"

"I mean it!" said Jersey, waving the girls off with a giggle most unbecoming of a battleship her size, "Git!"

"Okay," the three taffy sisters shuffled off the battleship's bed with as little speed as their turbines could manage. Heermann was the last to leave, and she darted back for a parting hug and whispered, "Thanks, J" before she too left the room and closed the door behind her.

Jersey's face was still stuck in a smile from the sodoku incident as she sized up her outfit. Her shirt was soaked though with salty taffy tears, and there was a distinct musk of noodles and beef clinging to her body.

The battleship quickly peeled off her soaking shirt and tossed it in the general direction of her dirty-laundry hamper. The rest of her clothing followed a few moments later, and she hopped into her private shower and spun the hot-water tap as far north as it would go.

The borderline-scalding saltwater felt _amazing_ against her skin. She might be nominally shipshape, but her skin was still fresh from her last stay in the repair docks. Jersey didn't want to stress it while her replacement equipment was still being shaken down. Besides, she'd be deploying in a few days—if not sooner. Better take advantage of the luxuries while you still have them.

After about a half-hour, the water was starting to chill. Her cue to get out and be a grow-ass battleship. Jersey didn't bother toweling off, her skin was bone dry by the time she stepped out of the stall, and her hair followed suit by the time she reached her dresser.

One pair of impossibly soft, loose-fitting pajama pants and a "Back to Back World War Champs" tank-top later, the battleship was decent again. She was ready for-

She checked her watch, silently counting off the seconds to herself. Four. Three. Two. One.

"MOVIE TIME!" The taffies plus White and Sammy exploded though the door, every one of them dressed in matching pajamas—even if the _Fletcher_ -class destroyers were the only ones who'd ripped the sleeves off. All five girls pounced on Jersey for a hug, burring their noses in her stomach.

"What're we watching?" asked Hoel.

" _Top Gun_?" half-asked half-pleaded White.

"Nope, better," said Jersey, walking to her television as gracefully as she could with five shipgirls hanging off her waist. "I'm going to show you a little movie called _Star Wars_."


	47. Christmas Omakes

**E/N:** Not canon, but whatever. Merry Christmas, you guys.

 **Christmas Omake**

Jersey scowled as her bow smashed though a freezing arctic wave. It was an absolutely _miserable_ night to be at sea. The scattered clouds were just enough to block any potentially pleasing view of the stars without providing even a shred of warmth. What an utter, unmitigatedly _horrible_ way to spend Christmas day.

The battleship's scowl deepened as ice-cold spray splashed over her face and slicked her hair back against her freezing skull. Actually, she'd crossed the International Date Line a few hours ago, which meant she was _technically_ steaming along on Christmas eve.

As if that was some-fucking-how better. She was still cold and miserable. Her stomach was grumbling at the distinct lack of fuel oil in her bunkers. Every time she hit a wave, the end of her sopping-wet ponytail slapped against her butt with a wet squelch. Her shorts were almost soaked though, and she just _knew_ Crowning and Was were enjoying a warm dinner right about now.

Gah. So much for the Christmas Spirit.

"Hey, Jersey?" Ryuujou waved to the battleship, but her gaze was twisted in frustration as she fiddled with one of the… little… folded-paper thingies that somehow became a Zero when she did her magic shit.

"Yeah," said the battleship as she lazily pulled abreast of the little carrier. At least it was a distraction from being utterly bored and miserable. "What's up?"

"I had a, uh…" Ryuujou pulled at the collar of her outfit, "My elevator's jammed, I can't spot anything."

Jersey's scowl deepened to a full-out frown. "That so…" she growled. She folded her arms across her chest, grumbling under her breath at whatever asshole god ruled this little spec of ocean. "Please tell me you can fix it."

"I think so," said Ryuujou, hunching lower over scroll with her brows knitted in concentration. "But until I do, I can't launch planes, just recover them."

"The CAP's almost out of gas, isn't it?" said Jersey. It might have been phrased a question, but given the quality of her day thus far, the battleship was all but certain of the answer.

"Yeah," said Ryuujou, "Sorry, boss."

Jersey scowled and wiped her face with the least-damp part of her scarf. "'s not your fault," she said, peeling away to launch her own scout plane. It wasn't nearly as good as a Zero, or even a Val. But an extra pair of eyes in the sky would do wonders in spotting Abyssal submarines.

"Keep an eye out for santa for me!"

The battleship cracked a tiny grin. She was a battleship, the biggest, most mature class of warship ever put to sea, with the _arguable_ exception of the big fleet carriers. She knew full well how utterly impossible it was for a single north-pole dwelling elf to deliver presents to every home in the world in a single day. Just the storage alone would be unimaginably vast. The science behind it just _didn't make sense._

It didn't change the fact that unexplained presents had been showing up every Christmas since the Abyssals and Kanmusu emerged. Jersey didn't think she could complain about the implausibility, especially since she was a battleship who was also a pretty girl.

"Uh…" Fubuki pulled up alongside, her little ponytail all but encrusted in salt, "Jersey-Sempai?"

"Yo."

"I- I think I saw something," said the little destroyer, waving off to the far norther horizon, "Just inside radar range."

Jersey squinted, focusing her radars along the vector Fubuki was indicating. There was… definitely something there. A few somethings maybe, it looked like a capital ship escorted by a few contacts too indistinct to hold onto for long. "Yeah, I see it too."

Fubuki gulped, but she held her gun at the ready and set her face at a determined slant.

"Don't think they see us," said Jersey, closing her eyes to 'see' though her floatplane's observers. "Taking a closer look. Let's see if we can get the drop on them."

"Hai, Jersey-Sempai."

The lone kingfisher climbed high into the evening sky, its little engine fading into the soft rush of the wind as it broke off towards the distant radar contact. After a scant twenty-minutes in the air, the Abyssal taskforce was finally in view.

Only it wasn't Abyssal at all. Abyssals reeked of hatred, their twisted forms were malice personified. Ugly, twisted mockeries of once-proud ships.

But not this… this little taskforce radiated life and.. _joy_ even.

A single carrier—a Yorktown. Jersey knew that silhouette by heart—formed the center of the formation. Eight—no, nine—destroyers were arrayed in a loose horseshoe around the carrier. And-

Jersey blinked.

And not only was the carrier wearing red-white-and-green dazzle camo, the lead destroyer was shining a brilliant crimson spotlight into the midnight gloom.

Jersey laughed, her mouth twisting up into a smile even she couldn't control.

"Jersey-sempai?" Fubuki clutched her turret even tighter, "wh-what is it?"

"'s nothing, kiddo," said Jersey between bouts of laughter. "Relax," she waved the destroyer down.

Turns out she was wrong. It was a _perfect_ day to be at sea.

* * *

 **A Certain Lady Christmas Omake**

 **By Old Iron**

The sky was filled with dark, billowing clouds that coated the landscape with a half-foot deep blanket of snow. Some might find the weather dreary and depressing were it not for the laurels and boughs of holly decked all about. It was actually rather hard to find some place that wasn't getting into the season in some way, shape, or form. Even some of the grumpiest of individuals had given in to the holiday cheer and hung something festive on their door.

The myriad homes in USFAS' housing distict were just as varied in their decorations as their occupants, if they had any at the moment. Some had opted to share the holidays with friends or family off base and a few of the ship captains were having a grand time on their boats with the crews who hadn't taken any leave.

One home in particular stood out owing to the poorly painted candy-cane colored life-preserver hanging on the front door. It was covered in appropriately colored sparkles and with tinsel glued to the rope that wound about the frame of the former safety device. The phrase 'Merry Christmas' was painted around the circumference in sloppy lettering.

Richardson adjusted it one last time to make sure it hung properly on the door.

"And done." He stepped back to take in the entire front of the house and admire his handiwork. The lights running the length of the gutters were all lit up and finally not drooping. And the ones circling the windows had only taken two tries to get right. To top it all off, the bits of holly hanging from the light-strands were all staying in place.

"It looks beautiful." Mutsu piped up from his left. She was wearing a rather attractive looking getup suited for the season. A red skirt with white fluff lining the edges and matching top. A wide, black belt fastened by a silver buckle sat about her shapely hips and a short, red cape rested over her shoulders. The thigh-high stockings, black boots, and white gloves completed the look. Were it not for the fact the cold hardly bothered her, she might have donned a heavy coat to go outside.

"Yeah, it does. I'm just glad we could actually decorate the place this year." His tone held its usual ire, but he refrained from swearing. Just in case Jane was hiding nearby.

"Things were a little hectic last Christmas." She clasped her hands behind her back and looked up into the falling snow. "Supply problems. Constant deployments. The learning curve..."

"You and Hiei did just fine with what you had. Got a little banged up, but you still came home. Can't ask for much more than that, can I." Richardson crossed his arms. "We couldn't really celebrate it like I wanted, but what we had was better than nothing. Still, I would have liked Jane to not have Christmas dinner in the CIC."

"It was certainly better than not having it at all. Or all alone." She giggled before casting an amused expression towards her admiral. "My, my. But you are a demanding man."

"And you've known that for how long now? Since day one?" He cast a suspicious gaze towards his XO, who merely laughed jovially. With a resigned sigh he patted her on the back and ushered her forward. "Come on. They're probably wondering what's taking so long."

"I rather like it out here. But if you insist~"

"I do insist. I'm freaking freezing out here even with all this on."

The pair made their way inside, Richardson with a bit more haste than Mutsu. Even bundled up as he was, it still wasn't quite enough to stave off winter's frigid touch.

"It is going to burn."

"It'll be fine. Just a little bit more."

"I can see smoke."

"Mutsu, is it bad that I would like nothing more than to go back outside and pray I was unconcious?" The banter coming from the kitchen was not something one should ever be glad to hear. Even less so when it involved two battleships. One of whom was apparently taking her recently restored kitchen privelidges as an opportunity to experiment.

"...Only if you leave us behind." She sighed and shook her boots off. "I'll go see what I can do."

"You're a life saver. I'll go check on Jane and Jintsuu." Richardson ignored the yelp of shock that resulted when Mutsu entered the kitchen as he removed his winter coat and gloves. He would have left his boots on were it not for the fact he recalled just how much Jintsuu hated it when he did so. He'd remember it properly one of these days.

He trudged into the dining room to see his daughter and the sole light cruiser under his command flitting about the table, setting down tableware, cups, and various items in preparation for dinner. Jintsuu moved with considerably more grace than Jane and it proved quite useful when the latter got underfoot. He observed no less than four near misses before his presence was realized.

"Daddy! Are the lights all up?" Jane's cheery mood was contagious and she grinned even more widely when she saw her father crack a smile. Her festive attire made her look like she had attempted to wear a Christmas tree and he thought it was cute as could be. "No burns?"

"Nope. Besides, I was putting up lights, not cheap fireworks." You get what you pay for turned out to be painfully true last July. And he was not eager to have another trip to the ER. Especially now. He reached out and ruffled her short hair, glancing at Jintsuu for a moment. "How're things going in here?"

"We've almost finished setting the table. And... no doubt you heard about the ongoings in the kitchen." Jintsuu sighed as she placed a hand to her cheek. Much like Mutsu, she had opted to dress for the season and was even wearing something rather similar, albeit with a rather lovely shade of green instead. The cut and length she had chosen was also considerably more conservative and easy to move in than the battleship's. Well, Richardson thought they were similar.

"Unfortunately. I'm wondering if I should start regretting giving Hiei her priveliges back now or later." Hiei tried. She really did. But he had seen more casualties from her cooking than he saw survivors. By orders of magnitude. How the Emperor's Ship managed to pull that feat off was beyond him. "Need a hand?"

"You can go help bring the food in from the kitchen." Jane's commanding directive broadened his smile and elicited a giggle from Jintsuu. "Me and Jintsuu can finish up here."

"Jintsuu and I, Jane. How often have I told you that?" Jintsuu walked over to the father and daughter whilst gently rebuking the little girl.

"But it sounds silly..." Jane pouted as she shot the cruiser an disbelieving and irritated look.

"It's also correct. You don't hear Arizona or Mutsu speaking like that, do you?" She placed a gentle hand on Richardson's should and nodded towards the kitchen, which had become eerily silent. "We'll handle this. Please make sure they're all still alive in there."

He really wished she was joking.

"Alright. But if I'm not back in ten minutes, call the meds." Richardson ruffled Jane's hair once more before giving a resigned look to Jintsuu. "Once more, into the breach..."

The sight that greeted him was not one he expected in the slightest. No. In fact had he been asked exactly one thousand times, he would have answered the same way exactly one thousand times. Near dead silence save for the soft bubbling of sauce on the stove. His three battleships were standing around a plate containing some manner of food item. What, exactly, he was not certain at the moment.

Hiei stood there looking triumphant and imperious, her ovenmitt covered hands on her jeans covered hips and chest thrust out proudly. The eye-bending Christmas dazzle camo sweater was only partly concealed by the novelty 'Kiss the Admiral' apron that Mutsu had gotten him as a gag on his birthday.

Opposite her was Arizona, looking both baffled and stoic at the same time whilst chewing on what was likely a piece of whatever was on the plate. It was if she wasn't quite sure what to make of her current situation, something that had been thankfully falling off the more time she spent around others. Especially Jane. The sole American warship was wearing a simple red turtleneck that managed to be all-concealing while revealing... far more than she perhaps realized. The long blue dress-skirt had a similar effect and made Richardson believe Mutsu had a hand in dressing the dreadnought.

Mutsu's expression was the real winner however. Her face was colored in abject disbelief as she stared at the plate. The silverware in her hand looked to be mere moments from falling from her slackening grip.

"H-How?"

"I told you I could cook." Hiei's victorious tone was plainly obvious. "I've served even the Emperor. And there's no way he would have eaten anything less than the best."

"I... Do not understand. This was about to catch fire." Arizona seemed more confused about the apparent avoidance of a kitchen fire than the actual taste. She set down the fork she had used before continuing. "But it is delicious." And here she had been led to believe Hiei's cooking was nothing short of toxic runoff. At best.

"B-But it's never like this! You left poor Jintsuu bedridden for days." Mutsu's statement drew a cough from the fast battleship, who looked both put out and embarrassed at the same time.

"I might have tried something that didn't work out too well last time. I thought it tasted fine though..." She picked up a fork and took a bite of the plate's contents for herself. A hum of happiness escaped her as she popped the morsel in her mouth. It did certainly taste better than her usual attempts. But it was just as edible as everything else.

"Let me try." Richardson made his presence known as he picked up a spare untensil.

"Ah, Admiral-"

Richardson didn't catch Arizona's warning before he scooped up a bit of the apparently mysteriously delicious cooking and took a healthy bite. He would be the first to admit it was most absolutely amazing. How? He had not even the slightest clue. Did Hiei really make this? Really and truly?

"It's good. It's very good." Hiei seemed to be extraordinarily pleased with his words. "I'd even call it a Christmas Miracle."

"Hey! Now you're just making fun of me."

"I believe his praise is genuine, Hiei." Arizona's comment mollified Hiei, who went right back to her energetic self. Mutsu still seemed to be caught in a state of wonder.

"Alright. Enoguh playing around. Jane and Jintsuu have set the table and are waiting for us." Richardson shuckled before pointing at one of the food laden plates. "The troops must be fed, ladies!"

Christmas dinner was a joyous affair for all.

Jane and Arizona sat next to each other, with the former keeping the latter engaged in conversation. It was plain to see how out of her element the battleship was. But the smile on her face never once faltered.

Hiei took the seat opposite Arizona while Jintsuu took the one opposite Jane. Hiei's dinner was scrumptious beyond words. Something only Arizona did not have trouble believing. Jintsuu paled upon the revelation, but eventually settled into simply enjoying the meal and the company.

Mutsu opted to sit herself at the foot of the table and busied herself with lively teasing and banter when not attempting to figure out why none of them were fleeing from what had been put on their plates. Perhaps it was a miracle. Or perhaps Hiei had finally gotten it right this time. Somehow.

Admiral Richardson spent probably more time serving up plate after plate of food at the head of the table than engaging in talk. But he was still having fun, despite the look on his face. For once he was able to have everyone sit down at the table and just have a nice, fun dinner without having something hanging over their heads. The war was set aside for the evening and he could not be more thankful for the cheer that permitted.

They sat there, enjoying the food and the company for well over an hour. The merriment and smiles unending on a snowy Christmas Eve.

Unfortunately it eventually came time for the dinner to end.

With bellies full to bursting and tiredness setting in, it was decided that clearing the table and relaxing was probably a good choice of action.

Bit by bit, the table was emptied of dishes, cups, and what have you.

It was on his return trip to see if there was anything else he could take back to the kitchen, that Richardson collided with someone in the doorway. He steadied the both of them, more himself given he was heavier than only one of the house's current occupants, but steadied nonetheless.

A mischievous chuckle drew his attention to Jane seated back at the table.

"Hehe... Daddy, look up."

And he did.

And there, hanging aove the doorframe, was a sprig of mistletoe.


	48. Ping Part 1

**A/N:** _Have an Omake to Old Iron's "A Certain Lady" Omake!_

 **E/N:** _An omake of an omake written by the author of the original story that the original omake is of? Can you say... omakeception?_

 **Ping... Part 1**

Submarine Albacore was _thoroughly_ confused. The last thing she remembered was… was the feeling of saltwater pouring into her though a hole torn in her pressure hull. She must've hit a mine while she was lurking off the Japanese Home Islands. As deaths go, it wasn't the _worst_ way to go. She'd gone down with a kill-tally a mile long, she'd seen her duty though to her end. Albacore felt a small measure of pride at that.

But all the pride in the world didn't change the fact that she died. Died. Past tense. She should be a crumpled, imploded hulk resting on the bottom at the moment. Why the hell was she still seaworthy? And more to the point, _how was she having this discussion_

Albacore was a Submarine. A _Gato_ class attack boat, the best of its kind in the world! But even a _Gato_ couldn't think for itself. Right? The submarine couldn't remember thinking for herself before. But on the other hand, she had _memories_. She remembered tense stalks as her crew guided her into position for a perfect shot. She remember it like she was _there_ , like she'd taken part as more than just a vessel of steel at her skipper's command.

But there was time for that later. Last she checked, there was a war on.

Albacore glanced up. The water was shallow enough to tell she was inside some kind of building. A pool, maybe? Some new kind of subpen? Whatever it was, the enormous flag just visible though the water proved it was some kind of American structure. It should be perfectly safe to surface.

But some seventh sense tingled in the back of her conning to- in the back of her mind. Something wasn't right, she just _knew_ it. Something beyond a sunken, lifeless submarine coming to life.

She leveled off at periscope depth, her body motionless except for the tiniest movements of her slender feet as she slowed to a crawl. Once she was sure her periscope wouldn't kick up a wake, she brought it up just above the gentle waves.

And promptly shat bricks.

Standing at the opposite end of the building, right on the grated metal walkway that must've served as a 'shore' was a Sendai-class light cruiser. Albacore would've recognized that hull shape anywhere. The traffic-cone orange dress didn't hurt either. There was at least a hundred sailors standing behind her, staring expectantly at a spot a few yards ahead of Albacore's position too. But the cruiser was the only ship that mattered.

Sendai-class cruisers had depth charges. And they'd all _been sunk_. What the hell? What in any hell?

But Albacore hadn't racked up her impressive kill tally by panicking at the first sign of trouble. The Jap was just staring into the water with that taciturn 'inscrutable oriental' gaze. She was _searching_ for a target, but she hadn't acquired it.

Time for the submarine to _fade._ Albacore very slowly flooded her ballast tanks, setting her planes at a gentle five degree angle as she backed away to the pool bottom. She was low on fuel, but her batteries were at full charge, and she had enough air to last at least a day on the bottom. She could be patient.

Up until she got the chance to ram a spread of Mark Fourteens past the orange skirt and right up her treacherous Jap ass. Albacore smiled. Smiled like a shark. Revenge is a dish best served cold. And it's very cold at depth.

The Jap would get bored. They always did, usually long before their job was even close to done. In the mean time, Albacore would just have to find ways to pass the time without making any noise.

The Submarine had settled down on the tiled bottom when it hit her. She was sitting cross-legged. She had _legs_ now! She _almost_ broke noise discipline and let an audible gasp out of her throat. Legs! What else did she have?

She felt her crew scrambling though her cramped interior, hunting for any manuals or data sheets they could bring her. It was a _really_ weird experience.

Not quite as weird as having _legs_ , or _hips_ —the submarine smiled as she settled her hands on her broad swimmer's hips, or a _waist_ —she wasn't vain, but she _did_ have some pretty stellar curves to her—, or…

Albacore's smile died as she realized her bust wasn't anything to write home about. And she'd been on such a roll too! Oh well, she was a Submariner, she was used to having to make do with what she had—or could 'liberate'. Well, as used to it as a girl who'd only been alive for less than an hour could be.

At least her swimsuit was cute. A dark-gray one-piece that hugged what curves she had as well as Albacore could expect. Ocean-gray patches on her sides and around what bust she had helped define her curves. It had to be the most fashionable version of Measure 10 ever developed!

It might even have been stealthy if "NAVY" wasn't stenciled down each side. But of _course_ there was something wrong with her swimsuit, the silent service never got _anything_ nice.

But Albacore didn't mind. She'd work with what she had, it's what she always did. At the very least, her scruffy, dirty-blond fauxhawk looked pretty cool. And it was short enough that it wouldn't get caught in her screws of planes. Net positive!

Albacore closed her eyes and opened her ears. She could still hear the hum of the Sendai-class cruiser idling on the shore. No matter, she'd wait her out. The submarine lay back against the poolfloor. She'd practiced sleeping without sacrificing situational awareness until she'd turned it into a high art.

She could wait, wait until sundown when she could slink out of here and find out what the _hell_ was going on.


	49. Chapter 37: Northern Princess

**Chapter 37: Northern Princess**

Naka smiled to her reflection, narrowing one eye as she threw up a cutesy gesture with her gloved hand. Her hair was done up in its usual buns, her skin was fresh and crisp from her saltwater shower, her brilliant day-glow orange dress was neatly ironed, and her neckerchief was tied _just so._ The Idol of the fleet was ready to start her day!

Which, in this case, meant hopping onto her computer to livestream for her adoring fans. It wasn't exactly hard work, but Naka enjoyed it. She loved to get up early and get a few rounds of _League_ or _World of Warships_ in before everyone else was awake. If she timed it right, she'd claim her victory just as the first beams of sunlight crested over the eastern horizon!

Of course, she loved her fans too—the one annoying troll who kept calling her turret arrangement stupid excepted of course. They were such an interesting cross-section of people! There were music fans who'd never picked up a controller in their lives, hardcore naval history buffs who'd claw their ears out after just _one_ of the Idol's catchy little ditties, and gamers who lay somewhere between.

"Testing, one two…" Naka fiddled with her mic stand. Like just about everything on her desk, the taffies had moved it out of alignment during their very enthusiastic Pong binge. The Idol pursed her lips, listening to her voice as it echoed back to her though her speakers.

Content with her levels, Naka keyed in her 'Begin Broadcast' hotkeys and smiled for the camera. "Hi~Hi!" she waved to the camera with boundless enthusiasm, "This is the Idol of the fleet, Naka-Chan, desu~" She let slip a little giggle, "I'm coming to you live for gametime with Naka! Today we're playing…"

The Idol paused, drumming one hand against her desk as she scrolled though her extensive game library, "World of Warships!"

 _"Not that bloody boat game again ;"_ said someone in the chat. But the majority of her fans were happy with her decision.

"Today," said Naka, making a show of checking that her buns were done up perfectly, "We're playing the American Tier Nine Battleship! The USS _New Jersey_."

Naka silently counted off the seconds. One… two… three..

 _"You mean Iowa"_ _"T9 is Iwoa"_ _"I mean Iowa"_ _"The Tier Nine is the Iowa, Naka."_

"Yes yes, I know," said Naka, "But the new patch changes her to Lady J, isn't that cool!"

A few more seconds and the tide of corrections petered out. And more than a few people started asking if Naka could get Jersey to join the show.

"Could I get Jersey to join me…" Naka tapped a finger against her chin, her lips puckering in an exaggeratedly cute 'lemme think' pose. "Probably! I'll make sure to ask her!"

Naka spent the next few minutes answering questions about the new patch while her game loaded, followed by a few more minutes describing how the new _New Jersey_ was different from the old _Iowa_. She was seconds away from hitting the battle button when familiarly frightening contralto cut though the layers of cuteness Naka surrounded herself with.

"Yo, Naka," The Battleship New Jersey—the flesh-and-steel version, not the one that merely existed as a set of ones and zeros on Naka's computer—ducked into the light cruiser's room.

"Ohai!" said Naka with a cute giggle. She tossed an adorable wave at the battleship before motioning to her webcam, "Welcome to Twitch, Jersey-chan!"

The towering battleship blinked, her ice-blue eyes gliding over to the webcam with the oiled precision of her main batteries. "What-the fuck-ever," she grunted. She settled her hands on her broad American hips, apparently tuning out the legion of Naka-fans, "Look, I got shit to do, can make sure the fucktards don't go fucktarded?"

"I… what?" now it was Naka's turn to blink.

"Taffies," growled Jersey. "Keep them…" she waved her hands in the air, describing a rough sphere with her gestures. "Contained and shit."

"Oh, no problem!"

"Thanks, I'll get 'em," said Jersey, tossing a lazy gaze at the computer, "Uh… carry on." Without another word, the battleship spun on her heel and jogged out of the room at a lanky gallop.

Naka spun back to her computer. In the scant few minutes she'd been taking with Jersey, the chat-log had filled to bursting with comments espousing profuse praise for her American's friend's legs. And stern area. Naka had a hard time arguing with them herself, so she settled on a teasing, "Hey now, be careful what you say, she's got a boyfriend."

The light cruiser giggled as she sat back in her chair. She'd probably pay for that later once the battleship… woke… up.

Naka froze, her eyes suddenly going as wide as dinner plates. "Gottagobye!" she yelped as she smashed the 'End Broadcast' so hard she felt plastic shatter under her finger.

It was five. In the morning. In the AM. Before Noon! Jersey couldn't be bothered to string together two coherent _syllables_ before noon! What the hell? Something was up, something very very serious was up.

—|—|—

"Comin' though," grunted Jersey, bumping the door to Admiral Goto's office open with a thrust of her plump stern. It wasn't the most graceful way to enter a superior's office, but one hand was occupied holding to carafes of coffee—fully caffeinated Navy coffee, none of that heretical un-American decaf shit—and the other was equally occupied keeping her hoard of breakfast muffins from falling off her chest.

The Japanese Admiral glanced up from his desk, but other than a tiny smirk at the battleship's breakfast selection, he didn't react in the slightest. Apparently months of Kongou antics had instilled a rather more relaxed definition of "normal" to the good Admiral.

Secretary Ship Nagato's reaction was no less subtle. Her nos trials flared by fractions as the bridge of her slender nose crinkled minutely. One hand rested on her hip, framing that so-called skirt that was really more of an unusually wide skirt and a set of abs _almost_ as nice as Jersey's own. The other slowly crept up to massage the battleship's temples in what Jersey instantly recognized as a "I'm so done with this shit" look.

"Oh, Welcome, Jersey," said Ooyodo as she carefully extricated herself from under her desk.

Jersey nodded, setting her carafes down atop of a bookshelf and dumping her muffins in a pile next to them. "Lieutenant Commander USS New Jersey, BB-62 reporting, sir!" she snapped a hand to her brow, her posture instantly going ramrod straight.

"As you were," said Goto, return her salute with a rushed one of his own.

Jersey took a quick gulp of her coffee. The salty Navy brew wasn't the best tasting, but it at least intimidated her tummy into temporarily ceasing its cries for muffins. "Admiral, what uh… what exactly going on?"

"Iku just finished developing her photos," said Goto, motioning to a pile of printouts sitting on a plotting table. "Take a look."

"Admiral Williams will be joining us shortly," said Ooyodo, her head bouncing between the six screens setup haphazardly around her desk. "I've emailed the scans to him."

"But," said Goto, "I want your opinion."

"Yeah," said Jersey, popping a muffin into her mouth, "Nu prubum." The battleship brushed a loose crumb off her scarf before leaning over the pictures. By the look of it, Iku'd caught the images on film with her seaplane, developed them overnight, then snapped a few pictures with her cell-phone.

She could tell because not only did every glossy color printout feature a black-and-white aerial photo, each one also somehow managed to include the submarine's breast and/or crotch.

But there were other, far more interesting sights to be seen. Sights like a pair of hulking abyssalized battleships. Looking at them sent shiveres down Jersey's keel, and she had to fight the urge to scrunch the printout into a tiny ball.

They were seagoing castles, with a monolithic tower mounted aft of their three triple turrets. There wasn't a hint of grace or elegance to their design, nothing but pure malice radiated from their scarred hulls. War machines with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. Like someone had dug up a medieval castle and somehow made it float. "I'm guessing those are NelRods?"

Ooyodo nodded, "That's what we think. Iku reports there's at least three, possibly four."

"And these," Jersey glanced at another photo. A pair of battleships steamed in line abreast. These ones didn't have quite the same concentrated hatred as the NelRods, but they _did_ have the same monolithic bunker superstructure. They carried three turrets in the same layout as Jersey herself did, but there were two quadruple turrets and a twin. "KGVs?"

A nod from Ooyodo confirmed her suspicions.

"Well, I hate to be cocky," said Jersey, "But I can tank fourteen inch shells all day long." She tossed the photo back onto the pile, "Even the sixteens shouldn't be a problem without heavy shells."

"Not everyone has your armor," said Nagato, her tiny microskirt ruffling just so as she hunched over the plotting table.

"And _they_ ," Goto waved to the abyssal battleships, "aren't what we're worried about," said Goto.

"Sir?" Jersey felt a shiver run down her spine.

"Take a look," said Nagato, "we've given it the codename 'Northern Princess'." The battleship slid one last photo over to the American. The image was slightly out of focus, clearly taken at the very limit of the camera's zoom lens, but the content was unmistakable.

An aircraft carrier made of _ice_ dominated the frame, its colossal white deck spotted with tiny blobs that had to be aircraft. Beside the carrier sailed two escorting destroyers—no, escorting _battleships_ —each dwarfed by the carrier's sheer size.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck," breathed Jersey.

"This is our main concern," said Nagato, her slender fingers coming together in a steeple as she stared at the image. "The Abyssals have an untold number of aircraft based on that iceberg-"

"It's no an iceberg," said Jersey, her scowl deepening by the second, "that's a battle station."

Nagato cocked an eyebrow.

"Project Habakkuk," said Jersey, "A secret project to make an unsinkable aircraft carrier from… from ice and wood pulp."

Nagato offered a confused look, but Ooydo spoke up before her. "Admiral," said the command cruiser, "Admiral Williams is on the line."

Jersey instantly snapped to, pivoting on her heel to face the television screen displaying Her Admiral's face. "Sir," she said, snapping off a smart salute.

 _"Relax, Jersey,"_ said Williams, _"You've had a chance to look over the images?"_

"Aye, sir," said Jersey, "That carrier's gonna be a tough bitch to sink…." She cradled her chin with her hand, staring at the picture as if her glare would damage it. "The Air Force has been working on those glass-nosed B-52s, right?"

 _"Right, what's your plan?"_

"Load them to the gills with bunker-busters, sir."

 _"Might not be that easy,"_ said Williams, his frown mirroring the one adoring Jersey's face, _"But Edwards to Alaska's a long flight… I'm not sure I can pull that much kerosene. And that's assuming the modifications even work."_

Ooydo glanced over her wall of television screens,"The US Navy is willingly including the US Air Force? Over an iceberg?"

"I agree," Nagato glanced up from her steepled fingers, "I fail to see why a ship of ice is so intimidating."

"Because it's _not_ just ice," said Jersey, "It's ice and wood pulp. We called it pykrete because it's as strong as reinforced concrete. And that thing-" she jabbed her finger at the carrier, "that thing's got sides forty feet thick. It's built to shrug off torpedoes like they were nothing. Hell, even if I _had_ Katies, it'd just laugh."

Nagato glanced from Jersey to Goto, "Katies?"

"Uh…" Jersey winced. Crossroads. Nagato. Right… "Bombardment shells."

The Japanese battleship nodded, her jaw suddenly clenched tight.

"She's right though," said Goto, moving a little closer to Nagato and gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "We'll need armor-piercing shells."

"No, you don't," said Jersey. "Sirs… " the battleship held her hands up, "Forty fucking feet thick. Regular AP rounds won't cut it. Even my Mark 8s will _barely_ penetrate that much, and they're the best damn AP round ever made." She let her hands fall to her hips, "I'm the _only_ ship you've got who can kill this bitch."

Goto let out a low huff, his brow furrowing as he glanced from the pictures to Williams. Williams' jaw tensed, and he pursed his lips as he returned the Japanese Admiral's questioning look with one of his own.

"Unless…" Jersey smirked, "There's something you're not telling me."

—|—|—

The Yeoman gulped as he knocked on the door of a kanmusu who, officially at least, didn't exist. Her utility was limited, her appetite enormous, and her prestige unimaginable. If word got out to the public that she'd been summoned, the clamorous demand of public opinion would force her into battles she had no place in.

She wasn't built for escort duties, she was built for fleet actions. And now she finally had one.

"It's open!" came the husky Japanese of the SDF's most closely-guarded weapon.

The Yeoman gently pushed the door open, squinting into the gloom of the kanmusu's room. Her windows were closed, and only the glow of her computer revealed anything of the luxurious quarters.

The Kanmusu gave a half-nod of acknowledgement, her attention focused on her computer and the game she was playing. _World of Warships_ , if what he could see though her tied-up tufts of snowstorm-white hair told him anything.

"What do you want?" she asked. Her tone was clearly trying to be friendly, but the Yeoman could tell her heart just wasn't in it. Too many disappointments… too many times when she'd been told 'Not yet.'

The Yeoman smiled. Not this time. "Admiral Goto wants to see you," he said, "For fleet deployment."

The Kanmusu instantly snapped from her gaming slouch to sitting bolt upright. "Deployment?" she breathed, slowly pivoting in her chair to look at him, her glasses glinting in the light.

"Deployment," said the Yeoman, snapping his hand up in salute to the battleship. The battleship who had no equal.


	50. Chapter 38: Thermal Exhaust Port?

**Chapter 38: Thermal Exhaust Ports?**

"So," Jersey did her best to scowl at the plotting table while still chewing on her most recent bite of muffin. "Do we wanna talk about why you're just now telling me the third-best battleship in the world's on our side?"

Admiral Goto reacted almost on instinct, his tone shifting from the long-suffering-Admiral's monotone to a more guarded, calculated PR dialect. "Sorting Musashi would be politically untenable," he said absentmindedly tugging his uniform smooth, "her appetite is vast, and her utility limited. A battleship has no role in anti-submarine pickets, and she's far too hungry to waste on simple shore patrols."

"Deja-fucking-vu," said Jersey. She knit her brows as she popped another muffin into her mouth. "Lemme guess, her triple-A sucks ass too."

Goto nodded, "If we can't sortie her, we can't upgrade her armaments. And we can't sortie her without upgraded anti-aircraft weaponry."

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't, eh?" Jersey gulped as she swallowed the muffin whole.

"Indeed," said Ooyodo, her appearing above the wall of televisions dominating her desk before popping back like a shore-battery cannon. "And the loss of a Yamato-class super battleship for anything less than an earthshaking cause would cripple the morale of the entire nation."

"It's the same problem we've been facing with Arizona," Wiliams' scowl mirrored Jersey's, although the Admiral had noticeably fewer muffin crumbs piled up on his uniform. "I'm more curious why you rated Musashi as third-best."

"I as well," said Ooyodo, only the crown of her head visible above her parapet of screens.

Jersey smirked, her teeth glinting in a cocky smile. Her smile faded as she realized the answer wasn't as blatantly obvious to her Admiral as it was to her. "Okay..." she said, counting off on her fingers, "Sammy, me, 'sashi." The battleship turned on her heel to face the command cruiser slowly being eaten by her desk, "Duh."

"Sammy?" said Goto, shooting a sideways glance at his American counterpart.

Williams gave a nod of acceptance, "I'll buy it."

"But surely," said Ooyodo, "Between Jersey and Musashi, Musashi is the superior warship."

"Oh please," Jersey rolled her eyes so hard it noticeably slowed the rotation of the planet, "My triple-A's better, my fire-control's better, my DC isn't shit..." she trailed off, "shall I continue?"

While Jersey continued her tirade, Admiral Goto gave Admiral Williams a sidelong glance, "Maybe we should supervise their introduction."

 _"No argument here,"_ said Williams, _"Commander."_

"Yo." Jersey stopped mid-sentence, pivoting around her heel to face her Admiral like nothing had even happened.

"Musashi should be arriving shortly" said Goto, "Perhaps it'd be best if-"

The Admiral's next words were drowned out by the sound of heavy battleship footfalls and the thunderous racket of Kongou bellowing "TEI~TO~KU~" at the very top of her lungs. Jersey couldn't hear a word over the excitable fast-battleship's heralding call, but she swore she saw Goto mouth the words "for fuck's sake..." Williams hung his head, a glimmer of a smirk fighting its way onto his craggy face. Ooyodo just retreated lower beneath her protective barricade of fabulously-expensive electronics.

"Hey! Teitoku!" Kongou exploded the door open, seemingly with nothing more than the power of her bouncy voice. But for once, the hyperactive girl didn't fling herself at Goto like some sort of kiss-fuzed artillery shell. She just stood triumphantly in the doorway, her hands on her hips and her chin thrust into the air. "A new face has arrived! I won't forgive you if you love her more!" The battleship let out a giggle that sounded just a tiny bit more forced than usual, then stepped aside with a whistled fanfare.

Just as promised, in walked what was unmistakeably a Yamato-class super battleship. Jersey'd soaked up decades of naval knowledge in her post-war service, she'd recognize the towering pagoda, the inverted-tripod mast, Imperial Chrysanthemum, and of course the big-ass canons of a Yamato anywhere. She'd practically memorized every detail of the vaunted warship.

But the girl who bore her spirit... the girl was another thing entirely. She was barely an inch shorter than Jersey, something that made the amazonian American feel decidedly uncomfortable. Her tanned skin and snow-white hair looked like... like whipped cream on pancakes, if she was honest. Jersey was starting to regret skipping breakfast.

Of course, the factor that most caught her eye was the Japanese battleship-girl's colossal... big-ass canons. Jersey didn't even try to hide her stare. Apparently the biggest damn naval guns ever built translated to the biggest damn rack ever carried. It didn't help that the Japanese battleship wasn't even wearing a _bra._ Because of course she wasn't. Jersey winced, those things had to _hurt_ in high seas.

"Hmpf," Musashi smirked, waving the 18.1 inch shell clamped between her fingers like it was a fine cigar, "Seems I've kept you waiting." She folded her arms under those colossal cannons of hers, the stupid-ass bandages going taut as she posed, "Musashi has arrived."

Jersey blinked, her own hands migrating to her broad American hips. "Goto," she said, her voice stuck solidly in the 'what the hell is this bullshit' tone her Admiral used so often. "Why the hell-" she turned, making sure her hips were visible from Williams' webcam, "are all your battleships stacked."

Musashi flashed a teasing, cocky smile.

Jersey scowled. "Seriously, why what possible reason could there be?"

"Pagoda masts," said Musashi with a smirk, the bandages she wore as a so-called 'top' pulling tight as she took a breath. Little bitch just had to flaunt her rack, didn't she?

"Best logic I've ever heard," said Goto, taking a few steps back while the two shining triumphs of the Age of the Battleship squared off. Whatever the result... it'd get the forum-goers talking for months. And that's before the inevitable rule 34 started.

"Fine, whatever," said Jersey, throwing her hands up in the air, but making sure they landed right back on her hips. Her 16in/50's might not have the bore size of Musashi's 18.1s, but the American could push almost double the horsepower though her shafts. She could run rings around Musashi even with half her boilers cold, and she'd be damned if she didn't show that off. "Would it kill you to wear a shirt?"

"Nothing comes in," Musashi glanced down, her glasses glittering with a teasking wink, "My size."

"Bullshit," said Jersey, her scowl deepening as she stare down the slightly shorter Japanese battleship. "You're wearing a shirt!" she snapped, waving at the zipped-open jacket Musashi had draped over her shoulders, "Just... you're wearing it like a fucking cape! What the fuck?"

Musashi let out a slight chuckle, "And yet, my armor's still superior."

"In weight, sure," said Jersey, glaring down her slender nose at her Japanese counterpart, "But it's crappy pig iron. Mine-" The battleship lifted her shirt enough to show—both to her opponent and to her Admiral—her solidly-toned abs, "Is proper American steel. And I've got DC that doesn't actively suck."

Goto leaned over towards Williams, "Should we stop them?"

 _"Nah, they have to get it out of their systems."_

"Perhaps that's true," said Musashi, crossing her arms to squeeze her chest in a display of her topweight superiority, "But my guns are the most powerful ever built, and I have the largest-base rangefinder in history-"

"So what, your optics are better," said Jersey, her brows knitting into a dense palisade as her nose crinkled in frustration, "Big fucking deal, I have radar."

"As do I."

"Not tied into your Fire Control Computer you don't," countered Jersey, "Can you shoot while maneuvering? What about through clouds? Or though darkness?"

Musashi made a dismissive little 'humpf' sound before answering. "Perhaps not, but I can take a torpedo hit."

The universe seemed to grind to a halt. Ooyodo retreated lower behind her barricade of technology. Kongou gasped.

"Yeah?" said Jersey, her voice cold as ice as she stared down her Japanese counterpart, "Well I haven't done fuck-all for my country. I sunk a battleship, two cruisers, and twenty-odd destroyers. What about you. Hmm?"

Musashi glanced down, biting her quivering lip to stop it from shaking as she suddenly found the floor entrancing.

"But right now," said Jersey, grabbing the photograph of the Northern Princess and slapping it to Musashi's... surprisingly soft chest. She suddenly understood why the taffies liked to cuddle her that way, "We've got bigger shit to worry about. So let's just man the fuck up, and deal with this afterward, hmm?"

"Deal," said Musashi, peeling the photograph of her comically large chest. "What..." she squinted, adjusting her glasses as she examined the photo in minute detail, "What is this?"

"That's an aircraft carrier," said Jersey, her scowl shifting to a mischievous grin, "She's over a kilometer long, she's got almost two hundred planes, and she's unsinkable."

"And what are we going to _do_ to this carrier," said Musashi, placing the photo back on the table and locking eyes with her American counterpart.

"Sink her."

Musashi scoffed, "And yet you just said she was unsinkable."

"I know." said Jersey. "But,"The battleship reached into her pocket and fished out a pair of shades. Not her usual mirrored aviators, but the American-flag shutter shades she'd borrowed from White, "I'm an American. Impossible is our everyday."

Williams chuckled while Goto and all the Japanese Kanmusu present rolled their eyes in near harmony.

The Yokosuka briefing room always hovered somewhere between controlled chaos and outright anarchy. On the morning of December 4th 2015, it was leaning more towards the latter than the former, due in no small part to the sheer number of Kanmusu assembled for their briefing.

Light Cruiser Tenryuu lounged in the very back row, one foot propped up against the seat back in front of her while she idly sharpened her notched-back sword. Her kindergarden, the adorable destroyer lolis of DesDiv6 sat clustered around her in what could best be described as a "puddle." Hibiki was doing a crossword puzzle, Inazuma was snuggling up against Tenryuu's pleasantly soft tummy while Ikazuki played with her sleepy sister's hair. Akatsuki was 'enjoying' a cup of morning coffee. She'd take a _tiny_ sip, pucker her face, then scurry off to add another cube of sugar when she didn't think anyone was looking.

Across the room, the Akizuki sisters were energetically chatting with the taffies about air-defense. The Japanese twins excitement only grew as they learned about the magic of "VT" fuses, not to mention the experience of growing up with almost two-hundred sisters.

Meanwhile, Kongou and Kirishima tending to the spread of crumpets, scones, and teas they'd setup next to the base-supplied coffee-and-donut table at the back of the room. No one was quite sure _where_ the pastries came from, or where the finely-appointed _table_ came from either. But given the obvious quality of Kongou's fine British cuisine, no one was willing to question the illogical.

Ryuujou was with them, happily enjoying her scone with butter and a healthy dollop of raspberry jam, even if she did look a tiny bit jealous of the fast-battleships' bustlines.

Akagi, to Ryuujou's glee, had excused herself from the breakfast spread after her twenty-seventh crumpet, and was perusing the more pedestrian donuts selection. She wasn't a huge fan of donuts of any kind, they lacked the home-cooked taste of Kongou's delicacies, but they _were_ pleasantly sweet. Next to the carrier, the battleship New Jersey was gulping down stale coffee like it was the lifeblood of Poseidon himself, at least between donuts. She'd also gotten Akagi involved in a fun new game to pass the time, 'how donuts can you fit in your mouth.'

Akagi was currently winning with six, though Jersey was furiously debating her about weather or not a maple bar "counts as one." Sammy B was _trying_ to mediate, but the little Destroyer Escort was laughing too hard to get a word in edgewise. Fubuki was _there_ , but she was too awe-struck interupt either of her sempais.

A few rows forwards, Mutsu and Naka were discussing the latter's musical career, and the former's wardrobe. As much as the old battleship liked her usual attire—and let's face it, with a body like that, who _wouldn't—_ she wanted to get a little something... seasonal. And perhaps a little sexy as well.

At the front, Musashi flipped though the latest batch of recon photos, a miniature 18.1in shell dangling from the corner of her mouth like a gunslinger's toothpick. Every so often, the battleship would glance up from her work, look around to see if she had sufficient attention, then 'subtly' reposition herself to make sure her main battery was on proper display.

At the front of the room, _way to many_ tiny aviator faeries sat cross-legged on a pair of desks. Or as close to cross-legged as their stubby chibi legs would allow. At any given time, about a third of them were paying attention, another third were energetically discussing tactics by repeating the word 'desu' as many times as needed, while the last had their arms out by their sides and were making airplane noises. The exact ratio, as well as the faeries contained within each group, changed seemingly at random.

And stuck smack-dab in the middle of this slowly-unfolding disaster was the Battleship Nagato herself. The pride of the Imperial Japanese fleet was hunched over in her seat, her half-gloved fingers a cathedral of focus as she struggled with all her powers to tune out the ridiculousness of her surroundings. Her lips were pulled thin as she glared at a spot a few meters behind the projection screen, and her brows where knit together like armor steel.

It didn't help. No matter where she looked, it was impossible to keep both DesDiv6 _and_ the taffies out of her peripheral vision. She could _feel_ it building up inside her, the monster inside of her... _Nagamon._ The battleship knew she couldn't keep it contained forever, but she was nothing if disciplined. She'd keep her warrior's mask on for now, present a leader's visage to her girls. Then... once her briefing was done, she'd slink back to her room and feed her pet hamster. Feed it, and play with it. Play with it to her heart's content. Just the thought of its tiny paws clambering over her gave the battleship a sense of calm. She could focus now.

And not a moment too soon.

"Attention on deck!" Jersey's barking contralto was soon lost in the shuffle of feet as every kanmusu snapped to attention. Akagi let out a loud glup as she swallowed her donuts, her round face beaming in the kindhearted smile that no one, not even Nagato herself, could stay mad at for long.

"As you were," said Goto, waving at the girls as he mounted the center stage, "Jersey, if you would?"

"Sir," Jersey snapped off a salute, flicked off the lights, and settled down next to the taffies.

Goto got as far as opening his mouth to ask Ooyodo for the next slide before the seemingly precognitive command cruiser smiled at him and flicked a switch on her laptop. A projector flickered to life, throwing up a brilliant image that nearly blinded Goto and caused every destroyer present—even Akatsuki—to burst out laughing.

Until the realized what it was a picture _of_.

"This," said Goto, "Is an aircraft carrier. She's twelve-hundred meters long-"

"That's just under four _thousand_ feet," whispered Jersey to her taffies.

"She carries upwards of a hundred and fifty aircraft," continued the Admiral, "She's escorted by seven battleships and at least that many light cruisers. And she commands the arctic seaway." Goto paused, resting his hands against the podium as he chose his next words, "We've designated her Northern Princess, and we _are_ going to sink her."

"It's just like the Death star," whispered Johnston, excitedly tugging on Hoel's neckerchief and pointing at the picture. Jersey was quick to shush them with a hiss.

"Sir," said Nagato, "Do we know anything about destroyers?"

"As far as we can tell," said Goto, "Their entire destroyer flotilla was lost attempting to stop the convoy that brought Jersey here."

The taffies excitedly shared high-fives.

"Whu abut-" Akagi stopped and swallowed the donut she'd been working on. "Sorry, what about aircraft? Didn't the convoy encounter heavy bombers?"

"They did," said Goto, "But we haven't seen any evidence of them in the recon photos. It's likley that they as well were expended trying to stop the convoy."

The taffies passed around more high-fives.

"But that still leaves an extensive air wing." Goto motioned for Ooyodo to move to the next slide, a picture of tiny airplanes taxing along the vast carrier's deck. "Analysis suggests something between fifty and eighty Sea Hurricanes, and about that number of Beaufighter torpedo bombers."

Nagato blanched at the thought of that many aircraft darkening the sky, but forced herself to push though. "What about their surface assets?"

Goto nodded for the next slide, "They've got three Nelson-type battleships," he motioned to the floating castle dominating the screen, "And four of the KG-five type. Ooyodo?"

The cruiser nodded, skipping to a slide that showed the whole formation from above.

"The NelRods," Goto waved at a circled group of battleships, "are arranged together in a heavy-division, along with three cruisers. We think they're the primary defensive element."

There was a flurry of pencils as each Kanmusu took notes in their logbook.

"Three of the KGVs, along with three cruisers," Goto motioned to another group of ships, "Are arrayed as a quick-reaction force to counter anything that gets past or around the main force. The last battleship," he tapped a ship utterly dwarfed by the mammoth carrier, "along with the remaining cruisers is attached to the Princess as tight-escort."

The scribbling continued for a few seconds. When it stopped, Goto found himself being stared at by every single Kanmusu in the room.

"I won't lie to you," said Goto, "the Northern Princess is a tough nut to crack. Her armor's forty feet thick, which means the only ships that can guarantee penetrations are Jersey and Musashi."

The two battleships raised their fists, each straining to hold _her_ hand higher.

"Concept of operation is as follows," Goto motioned for Ooyodo to move to the next slide, a breakdown of the order of battle. "We're splitting our surface group into two main thrusts. Task force Hammer, lead by IJN Nagato, will consist of Nagato, Mutsu, and Musashi, with Akizuki and Teruzuki, as air-guard."

The destroyers nodded.

"Task Force Sword, lead by USS New Jersey, will consist of Jersey, Kongou, and Kirishima, with the Taffies attached as air-guard-"

The taffies exchanged fist-pounds.

"-And Tenryuu's DesDiv attached as a fast-attack element."

Tenryuu smirked, drawing the back her freshly-sharpened sword across her forearm. "They better be scared."

"Task Force Shield, lead by IJN Akagi, will consist of Akagi and Ryuujou, with Naka, Sammy, and Fubuki as plane-guards."

Akagi nodded, while Ryuujou offered her own nod that was really closer to a scowl. Naka smiled sweetly, Sammy offered an eager nod that sent her pigtails flying, and Fubuki all but passed out from happiness.

"How much of our decks will be strike planes?" asked Akagi, idly chewing on the end of her pencil.

"None of it," said Goto, ignoring the gasp from his fleet carrier. "You and Ryuujou are to spot a pure CAP deck."

" _Nothing_ but Reppus?" said Akagi, leaning in to make absolutely sure she heard her Admiral correctly.

"Reppus?" Hoel leaned over to Jersey,

"A7Ms," explained the battleships, "'Sams'. Like Zeros, but less sucky."

"Ah, okay."

"Nothing but Reppus, correct," said Goto. "Finally, The US Air force may, I say again _may_ have three B-52-kilo glass-nose conversions to offer us. We won't know for sure until after you put to sea."

"B-52s?" asked Hoel.

"Jet-powered strategic bombers," explained Jersey, "They pack seventy-thousand pounds apiece."

Hoel was momentarily reduced to sheer inarticulate glee.

"Any questions?" asked Goto.

Johnston's hand rocketed into the air. "Me!" she chirped, "MeMeMeMe!"

Jersey sighed, her head lolling forwards to rest on her chest.

"Yes?"

"You should put us with Hammer," said the little sleeveless destroyer, "And the Akizukis with Sword."

"It's because of Musashi's boobs, isn't it?" said Jersey, not bothering to lift her head up from her palm.

"No," Hoel shook her head as fast as she could. "It's because your AA is like... _stupid_ good. You don't _need_ the best AA-defense destroyers in the business, Hammer does. The Akizukis can cover Kongou and Kirishima, you don't really _need_ us."

Jersey narrowed her eyes.

"Okay, and because of Musashi's boobs," said Johnston, "But c'mon! They're _so huge!_ It's like... "

"No," said Jersey, clamping the little destroyer's mouth closed with one hand. "Boss?"

Goto sighed. "The girls have a point... alright, let's switch them up. Anything else?"

The kanmusu uttered a ragged chorus in the negative.

"Alright, get some food and scarves," said the Admiral, "You set sail at thirteen-hundred. Dismissed."


	51. Ping Part 2

**Ping... Part 2**

It took hours before Albacore was certain she was alone. The low droning hum of the Sendai-class's turbine had remained long after the loud bustle of human sailors had filed out of… of whatever the hell this building was. Albacore could _feel_ the light cruiser searching, she could sense her eyes panning across the gloomy water for any hint of a submarine hull.

The Submarine was just glad whatever insane Jap architect built this structure had decided to light it with candles instead of floodlights. The water couldn't be much more than twenty feet deep, and it was clear as crystal. Even a Jap couldn't miss the submerged shadow of her hull though _that_.

But finally, even the patient hum of Japanese turbines faded to nothing, and Albacore was left with nothing but the sound of gentle eddies washing against her skin. She glanced at her watch, squinting at the dimly-glowing radium numerals though the dark, clear water. She'd lost contact with the cruiser a solid forty-five minutes ago, and her last track had the cruiser steaming out of the building.

Albacore flipped her watch's anti-glare cover back on, and angled herself for the surface. A few strong kicks sent her on the way to periscope depth, and she went still as she glided to a stop just below the glass-calm surface.

A quick check with her scope only verified what her hydrophones had already told her. She was absolutely, totally alone.

Albacore swam the last foot or so to the surface, her fauxhawk cutting though the water like her bow used to do, although with considerably less churned-up surf. The submarine swam for the first ladder she saw, her long legs speeding her though the dark water at a solid clip.

She paused as she grabbed hold of the painted-steel ladder, squinting in the gloom at the sign hanging from the top two rungs.

A very clear "NO DIVING" picture was framed by a row of illegible Japanese squiggles on top and much more legible "No diving" lettering in English. Strange. Strange and mildly worrying. The only reason Albacore could think of to put two languages on a sigh like that was occupation. And she couldn't imagine the US every putting their language on the bottom.

The submarine scowled, pulling herself up the ladder one rung at a time as she tried to minimize the sound of water pouring off her swim suited body. Something was very very off here.

But regardless of how many strange things were going on, Albacore was certain she wouldn't find any answers in this… bizarre candle-lit room. She pushed her growing reservations to the back corner of her mind and powered up the ladder and made her way to the first door she saw.

The submarine stopped a few feet short, pressing her slick body against the wall without a sound as she opened her ears. She could hear the wisps of a gentle breeze wafting though streets outside.

Muted conversations—in both Japanese and occasionally English—mingled with the dull sound of rubber-soled boots against concrete. There were people about, but none of them sounded closer than a few dozen yards. With a little luck—something Albacore'd never lacked for—she should be able to slip out unseen.

The submarine was _just_ about to make a break for open… land when she glimpsed her reflection in the mirror. She was still getting used to being a girl, much less one so… _shapely_.

She didn't mind her salt-caked hair, and her stern aquiline features were the very model of a cold, calculating submariner. But her _stern_ … The _Gato_ -class's four after torpedo tubes had apparently translated to a very… pronounced stern. One that her tight-fitting swimsuit was cut far to high to properly cover.

Albacore scowled. If she wasn't deep within Jap territory, she _might_ have considered flaunting what BuShips had so graciously given her. But now wasn't the time… now was the time to act!

The submarine peeked around the corner, making sure no prying eyes were looking in her direction. Then she sprinted though the door, carefully placing her feet to minimize noise as she bolted for the nearest bush.

Neither her skin nor swimsuit were the best camouflage, but in the evening gloom, they worked well enough. Any passers-by would be too blinded by the bright streetlights to spot a lone _Gato_ lurking in the grass.

For the next hour, Albacore slowly made her way though the base. Her stomach twisting itself about inside her slender waist, and it was all the submarine could do to keep it from letting its displeasure known with a loud growl. She _needed_ something to eat, and soon.

But she hadn't panicked before, and she wasn't going to start now. She couldn't risk looking for a mess hall, that many sailors in close proximity would spot her no matter how stealthy she tried to be. No, she'd need to find a private home and break in.

At least she was on a Military base. Security might be tight, but it was concentrated at the gates, anyone already inside the base could move about at will. And with such a large military presence keeping the cordon secure, anyone living on base wouldn't have a reason to lock their doors.

That's what the Albacore kept telling herself. That, and fantasizing about warm biscuits and fresh fruit. Anything to keep her aching belly from giving her position away.

Finally, after another hour of slinking about, the girl found her mark. A distinctly American house with a distinctly empty driveway. The lights were on, but with no car parked outside, Albacore figured the owners had to be away. And if they weren't… anyone with such a fancy house this deep in Jap-held territory was either Japanese or working for them. Neither one was particularly dear to her heart.

Getting in proved harder than she'd hoped. The owner—someone by the name of 'Richardson' if the welcome mat was to be believed—had locked all the ground-level doors, and Albacore wasn't brave enough to test her brand-new legs with a climb.

Fortunately, she was a submarine, the red-headed stepchild of the Navy. She and her sisters had earned the reputation of stealing everything even remotely stealable every time they made port. They _had_ to to fill out their meager handouts from 'proper channels.' And that skill had made Albacore _very_ practiced in picking locks.

It took her less than a minute to gain entrance, and the submarine instantly angled for what she assumed was the kitchen.

Everything inside looked fancier than anything she'd ever seen. What wasn't brushed steel was polished stone or glistening black plastic. More importantly, there was a refrigerator, its door adorned with dozens of mediocre drawings 'to daddy' lovingly attached with magnets.

Her stomach frantically cramping inside her, Albacore threw caution to the wind and flung open the polished metal door. She basked in the sudden light and _smell_ of food for all of a second before frantically grabbing for everything her sinewy arms could reach.

She tore open a plastic bag of…she didn't even _know_ what and gulped down the contents with a greedy pant. She'd barely swallowed when she zeroed in on a bottle of milk. The starving submarine tore off the cap so violently the top half-inch of the bottle came with it, spilling chilly milk all over her feet.

Ablacore was too hungry to care, she raised what was left of the gallon jug to her lips and downed it all in one long swallow. She wiped at her mouth, letting the empty-jug fall to her feet as she scrambled for something else to eat. Her belly had been roused from its forced-hibernation, she needed—

Oh, pizza! The Submarine stacked two species atop one another and shoved the improvised sandwich into her mouth. The cold meat and bread felt better than the finest French cuisine to the famished submarine. She was still hungry, but at least she'd driven off her need for food long enough to claw her way back to rational thought.

"Oh, hello?" a very tiny voice said. She seemed… she wasn't scared, was barely even _surprised._

Albacore froze, instinctively rigging for silent running and trying to _fade_ into the tile floor. Sadly, crash-diving into the open ocean is a lot less painful than belly-flopping onto wet tile.

"Who are you?" hissed Albacore, rolling onto her back as she struggled to gain situational awareness. She'd been backed into a corner by her own stupidity! She'd been thinking with her belly instead of her brain, and now she was going to pay for it! But she wouldn't go gentle!

"I'm Jane!" said the source of the voice, a smiling little girl— _Caucasian_ girl—who could only be described as _utterly adorable_. The girl offered one hand to the terrified submarine, "You looking for a midnight snack?"

The Submarine slowly nodded.

"Let's make a cake!"

Albacore blinked. "Uh… okay?"


	52. Ping Part 3

**Ping... Part 3**

Albacore rubbed her stinging chest as she carefully stood up. Her whole body stung from the impromptu belly-flop onto the kitchen's tile floor. Her chest—her _breasts!_ she had breasts now!—felt like it'd taken the brunt of the blow. Apparently, despite all appearances to the contrary, those things weren't just padding.

"Owww…" The submarine very carefully rested hip against the kitchen counter, trying to ignore the wet squelch of spilled milk against her swimsuit. She could worry about how much that was going to stink later, right now her mind was overridden by the ache in her whole… frontal… aspect area. "Owww," she moaned in conclusion.

The girl—Jane, apparently—let out the kind of adorably sweet giggle that flushed a hint of color into the submarine's snow-white cheeks. "You okay miss Albacore?"

The submarine nodded, shooting a brief smile at the tiny damage-control faerie running a mop over her bare hip. "Wait."

Jane gave a little giggle as she stood up on tip-toes. "Can you get that?" she asked, pointing to a fresh box of devils' food cake mix.

Mmm… Cake. Albacore knew it well, even if she'd never had the pleasure of _eating_ it herself. Cake sounded really good right about now, she could feel her belly licking its lips in anticipation. On second thought, maybe that wasn't the best metaphor, she was still getting used to this 'being a girl thing.'

And on third thought… "How did you know who I am?" asked Albacore as she reached for the cake mix. She was taller than Jane, but not by much. She had to really stretch to grab the box of heavenly mixture.

"The Faeries," said Jane, waving at the two minute figures sitting with their itty-bitty legs splayed out on a refrigerator shelf. Each was happily chowing down on whole grapes like they were watermelons. Albacore had to physically restrain herself from uttering an audible moan of happiness at the sheer distilled cuteness.

"So, uh…" she coughed, letting herself slip back into her cold, detached assassin's voice. "How did you know I was _Albacore_ ," asked the submarine, setting a good-sized mixing bowl as Jane rifled around for some eggs. The Submarine helped herself to package of… she was pretty sure it was ham, but she couldn't read the chicken-scratch Jap runes to be sure.

"Your tattoo!" said Jane, shooting the submarine a disappointed look as Albacore stuffed a dozen slices of ham into her mouth.

"Tah-tooh?" mumbled the submarine, craning her neck and twisting her hips to look where Jane was pointing. Sure enough, high on her hip right below the hem of her swimsuit were the characters 'SS-218.'

"Huh," Albacore shrugged, resting her hands on her hips as her tired mind processed that. "Wait… how old are you?"

"Nine!" said the girl with such enthusiasm Albacore felt her heart melt into a tiny puddle of steel and copper slag. Damnit, she was supposed to be a submarine, not a gooey nanny!

"Nine years old, huh?" Albacore ducked into the refrigerator and grabbed a fresh apple to munch on while Jane measured some water. She didn't know _why_ she grabbed an apple, just that it felt like the right thing to do. "And you know all of us by our hull codes?"

"No, not all of them," said Jane, humming to herself as she stirred the cake mix together, "Just you. Miss Tatsuta made sure I knew who you were! She thought it'd be funny if I tell miss Tenryuu."

Albacore froze, her body instinctively going to full noise discipline. Tatsuta? Tenryuu? As in the Japanese light cruisers? The _enemy_ warships who as apparently friendly enough with this little girl to exchange chit-chat? She managed a silent gulp. This girl, this adorable little girl was consorting with the enemy. She couldn't be trusted. Damnit!

"Miss Albacore?" asked Jane, humming a tuneless little ditty as she stirred the batter up, offering a dollop every so often to the cluster of submariner faeries huddled around the bowl.

"I'm fine," said Albacore, taking a bite of the last of her apple and tossing the core into the garbage. "I, uh… you have a head?"

"Upstairs," said Jane, "You'll find it! But the ducky's mine."

"Thanks," said Albacore, holding out her hand to let her faeries hop back aboard."

"Aww… they were helping!"

"I can't leave them unsupervised," said Albacore, her mind racing as she tried to formulate an escape plan. "I'll bring them back, don't you worry."

"Okay," sighed Jane, "Just be careful you don't wake up miss Jintsuu."

Albacore winced. She most certainly would. "Okay," she said, carefully working her way up the stairs. Jane wasn't just friends with Jap CLs, she was actively _living_ with them? How the hell… what the hell?

She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on her immediate goal: get back to open water. And if possible, find pants. She wasn't _ashamed_ of her rather plump stern, in fact the exact opposite was true. But… deep in enemy territory wasn't the best place to flaunt it.

As it happened, her secondary goal was accomplished first. The submarine passed an overflowing laundry hamper on her way to the head. There were the usual sundries, girls' clothes of every color, yet more girls' clothes… and a set of blue-camouflaged fatigues.

Albacore couldn't believe what she was seeing as she pulled the spattered camouflage pants out of the pile of clothes. This would blend in perfectly with the ocean! She had to suppress a giggling smile. For once, the Navy was actually _making things for the silent service!_

She couldn't believe her luck, and she wadded up the pants as she scurried off towards the head. It didn't take her long to scrub her stomach and butt free of whatever milk stains had accumulated.

Next came her borrowed pants. They didn't quite fit her, and she was forced to leave the top few buttons undone and just roll the waistband back against itself. She didn't really mind, with most of her hips uncovered, she had more mobility.

Albacore was just about to bolt out the door, when she heard Jane's humming waft though the air, the smell of baking cake following right behind. The submarine hated to leave her like this… but there was a war on.

A war Albacore was determined to do her part in.

"Sorry Jane," she breathed, lowing herself out of the window with a quiet 'foomph' of bare feet against grass. Maybe they'd see one another again… but right now, she had a war to fight.


	53. Chapter 39: Firepower for Freedom

**Chapter 39:** **Firepower For Freedom**

Jersey settled down cross-legged on her bed, the striped bedding forming a comfortable crater where her mass dented it in. She had enough food in her to get her to Alaska and back, her belly was full to bursting with rice and chicken. Her uniform was freshly washed, and she'd spent the time to properly braid her strawberry-blond hair until it was magazine-cover perfect.

And most importantly, she'd convinced Goto to give her a half-hour of precious bandwidth before she and her girls shipped out. She didn't belove how easy it was to get her video-call request past his desk, anything that could manage that kind of dataflow had to be _hideously_ expensive.

The Battleship glanced down at herself. She zipped her vest down a bit more, before finally deciding to ditch the whole thing. It wasn't that chilly in her room, and she didn't like the way the puffy fabric was piling up around her waist.

There, that was better. Now she looked all perfect for her video call. The Battleship leaned over her borrowed laptop, staring down the tiny webcam as she waited for Crowning to-

A sharp ringing from the lithe black machine jolted Jersey back to reality. "Hey," she smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair back as she soaked in the image on the screen.

"Afternoon, Jersey," said Crowning. He was in his office—the Battleship could tell because the wall behind him was covered in nothing but musty old books.

"Evening, Doc." Try as she might, the battleship couldn't quite keep her cheeks from puckering in a smile. "Nice library."

Crowning shrugged, "Oh, you know… There's a few bookstores down in Seattle."

"Damnit man, you need hobby," said Jersey, her smile transitioning into an odd scowling sort of smile. "Look uh…" she bit her lip, her teeth glinting just so in the light wafting in though her window. "You hear about the mission we're running?"

"Yeah, Williams' uh, Williams' offered to let me watch from the CnC," Crowning frowned at Jersey, his calm, friendly eyes dancing up and down her consternated face. "You okay?"

"Sorta," said Jersey, "There's something… something I need to ask you. Before I, uh… before I sortie."

"Yeah?" said Crowning. He was suddenly the picture of careful attention, he sat forwards in his chair, his eyes wide and comforting as he somehow _exuded_ hugs though the screen.

"Are my boobs too small?" said Jersey, clapping her hands to the relevant pars of her anatomy. Her real anatomy, not her steel hull… which was also kinda her body.

Crowning's mouth opened, then closed. Like a goldfish mouthing at the water, he simply stared at Jersey for a solid minute. "I…" his gaze drifted down for a brief second before coming back to Jersey's ice-blue eyes. "what?"

"Boobs." Jersey squeezed hers while offering a slightly doe-eyed plee, "Are mine too small?"

"What?" said Crowning, barely stifling a cackle as he ran a hand though his beard. "I thought you were… were going to tell me you're afraid to die or something."

"What?" Jersey scoffed, "Hell no, I'm a fucking _Iowa_. They're not gonna fucking sink this battleship. No fucking way!"

"Then…" Crowning shook his head, the collar of his half-zipped sweater just tickling at his—if Jersey was being objective here—quite handsome jawline. "But… Why do you need to know before you sortie?"

"'Cause I'm sorting with fucking _Musashi_ ," said Jersey. The battleship suddenly realized her hands were still glued to her chest and she abruptly dropped them to her lap. "Her tits are like… fucking basketballs! They're basket-tits! And she wears a fucking, like.. a pair of bandaids."

"And you're jealous?" said Crowning with a toying smirk.

"I fucking am _not_ ," snapped back the battleship. "And you didn't answer my question."

Crowning rolled his eyes, "You really know how to put a guy on the spot you know."

Jersey nodded enthusiastically.

"Fine, your chest is perfect," said the professor, "Perfect in just the way a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM isn't."

Jersey smiled. Then the left side of her face abruptly forgot what it was doing and scrunched up as her mind struggled to make sense of the second half of that sentence. "I… uh… what?"

Cronwing burst out laughing at the battleship's expression of utter befuddlement.

"Hey!" Jersey did her best to scowl. She really did. But somehow, she ended up laughing right along with him.

"You would not believe," said Crowning, his laughter ding to a mostly-controllable level, "The stuff some students will write."

"I choose to only remember the first part."

"Lady's choice."

"Hell fucking yeah."

"I regret my choice of words immensely," deadpanned Crowning.

"Fuck you too," snapped back Jersey, flipping off the little webcam with both hands.

For a moment, the two people, one flesh-and-blood, the other steel-and-oil shared a laugh. Jersey couldn't help but feel relief flood though her.

"You're really not worried about this?" asked Crowning.

"Hell no," Jersey waved him off, "I'm a Battleship, it'll take more then a fucking… an ice cube to sink me."

Crowning sighed, his lips pursed for a moment as he thought. "Still… when you get back, we're going somewhere nice-"

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"There's this place in Seattle that makes the most _amazing_ pies."

Jersey froze, her mouth watering at the very thought. "Pies you say?"

"Pies."

"You're fucking on," said the battleship. She would've said more, but the tinny electronic chirp of her watch brought her back to reality. "Shit, uh… I gotta go do… battlethings."

"Knock 'em dead," said Crowning.

"That's the plan."

—|—|—

"Hey, Akizuki-Chan," Naka elbowed the anti-air destroyer in her armored corset, "you ever see Americans rig up for battle?"

The destroyer didn't even look up from the elevation flash-cards she was studying. "Uh… no," She shrugged, chewing on her lip as she poured over the the firing tables.

"You should watch," said Naka, her hands on her hips and a smile on her face, "They have a flair for the dramatic."

Akizuki almost threw the flash-cards on the water she looked up so fast. If Naka-chan, Idol of the fleet said something was dramatic, _you listened._

As if on cue, the Battleship _New Jersey_ stepped though the massive bulkhead door into the kanmusu pen. At least a dozen sailors surrounded her in a chaotic bundle, each seemingly wearing a different color sweater.

One sailor, one wearing a yellow sweater with the words "DECK BOSS" emblazoned on the back, waved the girl onto the water.

The rest of her entourage followed along on the mesh grating walkways submerged a few inches below the saltwater surface, and a pattern emerged from what seemed like chaos.

The ones in red and green carried air-tools, while the ones in blue managed the hoses to make sure everyone had enough slack and nobody tripped over anything.

Suddenly, the man in yellow, the Boss, crossed his forearms in front of his face, and the swarm of sailors leaped into action with choreographed precision.

The water frothed and bubbled as Jersey's rigging tore though the water. Six men grabbed the twin-stacked backpack as it came to rest on the battleship's spine.

More teams of six, this time in red, grabbed each of the massive turrets hanging from the ceiling cranes and wrestled them into place like they didn't weigh a thing. The whir of torque wrenches and the clack of latches slamming closed filled the air.

"Alpha hot!" barked one team, stepping back from Jersey's forward turret as one.

"Bravo hot!" the second was less than a second behind.

"Charlie hot!" All three of Jersey's massive main batteries were mounted, their enormous barrels yawing as the battleship stretched her muscles.

The Deck Boss pumped his fists in the air, the motioned to the rear. His crew responded as one, each one of the red-clad men filing back without so much as disturbing the green-clad sailors.

"Rig mounted, ma'am," said one of the men in green, his glove leaving a greasy hand print on the battleship's shoulder from the pat he gave her just before he stepped back.

The Deck Boss threw up a fist, then showed the palm of his outstretched hand to the battleship.

Jersey smiled, her rig let out two thunderous roars, _BANG BANG_ and her fore stack belched smoke.

The Boss repeated the signal.

Two more enormous bangs, and the sound of turbines revving to full combat speed. The water around the battleship's stern churned to white as her screws bit into the water.

Again, the boss repeated the signal.

Just when Akizuki thought the noise couldn't possibly be louder, the battleship's rig let out another pair of enormous roars. The sound of her turbines was overpowering, a force not so much heard as _felt_ as it thundered though the kanmusu pen. The destroyer felt her jaw drop in awe of this much sheer power.

And then the boss repeated the signal _once again._

The battleship's rig let out another pair of thunderous bangs, her turbines roaring like a thousand angry gods smashing their swords against their shields.

"Eight boilers hot!" the Boss was yelling at the top of his lungs, and it was _still_ barely audible over the roaring turbines. "Battleship New Jersey," he stepped back, dropping to one knee and thrusting his bladed hand at the open ocean, "On the way!"

Jersey's face erupted in a furious smile, "Firepower! For! FREEDOM!" she roared, her voice thundering even over the ear-shattering sound of her turbines. The ropes of muscle in her neck went taut, and her icy-blue eyes seemed to bury with the righteous fury of the most powerful nation on earth.


	54. Chapter 40: What Wash Was Up To

**Chapter 40: What Wash Was Up Too...  
**

 _North Carolina_ class battleship Washington pursed her lips, staring up at the brilliant crescent moon. Night was not a battleship's natural element. True, she'd earned her moment of glory under the cover of darkness, but even with her exhaustive suite of advanced radar, she couldn't hope to claim she _owned_ the night.

At best, she merely rented it, sneaking the odd scrap from the banquet table of the night's true owners. Submarines. With no airplanes to spot them from above, nor light to detect their surfaced hulls, Submarines were as at home in the dark of night as they were in the dark of the depth.

Ever since Jersey's convoy left for Japan, the Abyssals had stepped up their efforts, including their submarine patrols. It'd gotten so bad that Williams simply couldn't afford the several hours it took Wash to steam up the Puget Sound and down the coast to wherever she was needed.

Which was why the battleship was out steaming lazy circles around an imaginary anchor point twenty miles off the coast of her namesake state. She could be anywhere between the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the port of Astoria inside of two hours if she had to be.

It was a rather boring assignment most of the time. She'd spend endless hours sailing in random circles while she tried as hard as she could not to think about submarines. It'd be hard enough to spot a Mark 14 in this gloom, let alone one of the bubble-less Japanese fish.

But tonight… the big battleship wasn't scared at all. Crowning and his team of slightly-crazy sailors might not have produced another battleship, but they'd delivered her a clutch of adorable escorts of her own.

"Hear anything?" asked Wash, her hands resting loosely on her hips as she threw her rudder over.

The diminutive form of DE-635, USS _England_ held up a finger as she glided to a stop. Her button nose was scrunched up, and concentration oozed from her doll-like features a she focused on the sounds coming though her over sized SONAR headphones. The girl held one tiny hand against her earpiece, pressing it tight against her ear to make sure she caught every little sound.

Wash smiled at the little girl. Her first few weeks back as girl had been terribly lonely, but it was all worthy it for the lovely company she'd been graced with.

Finally, England pulled her headset up, her turbines humming to life as she caught up to her flagship. "We're good," she said, her cheeks puffing into a smile as her little chest swelled with pride. "Not even a whale!"

"Aww nuts." Wash's other escort, the far more precocious but equally adorable USS _Borie_ made an exaggerated scowl, one of her little fists resting against the pocket knife she wore on her gunbelt.

Wash smiled, reaching out to ruffle the hair of both her escorts. "Now now, you'll have your chance at action."

England shrugged, her oversized coat dragging behind her as she steamed a lazy course in a generally cuddle-wards direction. Meanwhile, Borie made finger-guns at random patches of ocean, complete with obligatory "pew pew" sound effects.

Wash laughed. It was good to be with friends, even if she _did_ miss her sister so.

 _"Washington, this is Cominch"_ the tightly-wound voice of an Everett operations chief rattled though the battleship's radio room.

"Go for Washingtion," replied the battleship, instinctively resting two fingers against her ear for no readily apparent reason.

 _"Astoria's under attack,"_ the voice slipped into cold, soulless rote as it rattled off the details of an attack in progress, _"One, possibly two dreadnauts plus escorts. They're requested heavy gun support."_

"Copy," said Washington, glancing at the 'GPS' on her 'phone' and doing a quick bit of mental arithmetic. "Making for Astoria at best possible speed. Eta two hours."

She signaled her escorts to form up on her as she threw her rudder hard over. Her turbines roared into life as she spooled up to her full twenty-eight knot sprint. "Will we have air cover?"

 _"Air Force is scrambling Vipers, but…"_ A resigned sigh, _"They can't see shit in this light."_

Wash scowled. She was a gunfighter, but she'd seen enough Carrier Air Groups in action to realize the awesome power of a proper airborne strike. She solely wished she had proper backup from above.

But she had her duty to do regardless.

"England," said Wash, glancing at the slow little Destroyer Escort.

"Mmm?" the little girl stared back at Wash with enormous sea-green eyes.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," said Wash, her five knot advantage already starting to build up distance, "Divert back to Everett. The coasties will escort you back."

"Okay," mumbled the little Destroyer Escort. Her shoulders slumped like half-filled sandbags at the thought of leaving her charge, but she didn't try and deviate from her course home.

"I'll nab one for ya!" cheered Borie, waving her little knife so energetically she almost dropped it in the inky-black water.

"Borie?" asked Wash with a smiling sigh.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Are you planning on stabbing a dreadnought?"

"No?" Borie shrugged, "But, you know… if the opportunity _arises_ …"

Wash shot her a look, and the destroyer sheepishly put her knife away, mumbling something about "better than those fish…"

—|—|—

Wash _heard_ the battle before she saw it. The rolling thunder of heavy guns ripple-firing rumbled though the still night air like an angry drumbeat. It mixed with the equally-thunderous sounds of shore-batteries, the crash of shells exploding against water and shore alike, and the occasional scream of "YASEN!"

Borie smiled a grin that seemed—somehow—to consist of nothing but razor-sharp canines as she stared in the general direction of the battle. Luckily, she glanced to Wash for permission before she bolted off to torpedo something.

"Stay tight on me," said Wash, squinting into the blackness as she tried to make sense of the muddled mess of radar returns she was getting. At this distance, all she could gather from the chaotic muck was that there were ships out there.

Which she knew already.

She couldn't break radio silence to contact the local fleet. Not without giving away her position. Direction-finding loops were a thing after all even in the forties. And even giving away her _existence_ could cost her the precious element of surprise.

Luckily, this _wasn't_ the forties. The battleship fished her phone out of her pocket and tapped in the lock code with her free hand. She still hadn't gotten the hang of typing on the featureless screen, but she _could_ work the morse keyboard almost as fast as she could an actual key.

It took her all of a few seconds to get in touch with the local naval authorities, and a scant few more for her call to be bounced to the flotilla leader.

 _"Yo, Name's Maya,"_ A surprisingly relaxed voice spoke over the rumble of gunfire, _"Nice to-"_

 _"YASEN!"_ screamed another voice.

 _"SENDAI! For the fuck of fucking fuck! I'm on a call!"_

Wash blinked. "Maya, this is USS Washington," the battleship endeavored to keep her demeanor calm and professional in the face of such a battle-weary cruiser. "I'm here to assist."

 _"Gotcha,"_ Maya grunted, and Wash heard a number of splashed that sounded like shells landing far to close for comfort. _"Me 'n the girls knocked out the escorts, but there's one dread left, and we're all fresh outta fish."_

Wash nodded, staring out into the soup of gloomy night and blazing muzzle flashes. She was almost close enough to get a good firing solution, but on _what_. She couldn't see well enough to distinguish friend from foe, and the battleship refused to have more friendly blood on her hands.

"Be advised," said Wash, "I can't acquire a target."

 _"Don't you have that fancy radar shit?"_

"I do," said Wash, bristling internally at her top-of-the-line radar-assisted fire control being derided as 'radar shit.' "But it can't tell friend from foe."

 _"Heh, is that all?"_ Maya grunted as yet another volley bracketed her far too close for comfort. The heavy cruiser didn't seem that upset however, _"Just tell us when you're in position and we'll illium that fucker."_

Wash scowled. Using one's searchlights in a night battle was asking to be shot out of the water, _especially_ if one as already being bracketed. "Illuminating at that range? Is that safe?"

 _"Eh, probably not. But Yasen-Baka-"_

 _"Yasen!"_

 _"-lives for that shit. Just give the word, Washington."_

Wash nodded. One eye was glued to her radar as she steamed in, watching the range data plummet as she closed the distance to her ignorant prey. Ten thousand yards… nine… eight… seven… six….

"Now!"

 _"Light 'em up!"_

Searchlights from a half-dozen ships erupted to life, bathing the Abyssal dreadnought in light. Every detail of its twisted carapace was on display, its six turrets skewed at every angle as they focused on every shipgirl at once. Its towering masts shown like polished bone in the manmade glow, and its stacks belched sickly black smoke.

Just looking at the horrid thing made Wash's stomach churn, but she had the advantage. While it struggled to bring its turrets to bear, hers were already within degrees of a perfect solution. Her guns were loaded, her solution perfected, her target was showing a fat broadside.

At this range, she simply couldn't miss.

"FIRE!" bellowed the battleship, her nine 16in/45s barking their thunderous reply. The massive Mark 8 rounds tore though the dreadnought's belt armor like it was tissue paper, burrowing deep into the citadel before exploding.

Great gouts of flame erupted from the dreadnought's superstructure, and Wash's secondaries opened fire, hosing down every exposed surface with high-exposive rounds.

While Wash reloaded her main batteries, Borie sprinted ahead, adding her torpedoes into the mix while her little four inch guns blasted away at anything that looked shootable. Wash even swore she heard the tiny _ting_ of a pocketknife bouncing against battleship armor.

The dreadnought, already slowed by the damage Wash's first salvo had incurred, couldn't maneuver fast enough to avoid the spread of torpedoes. Two of them were duds, bouncing off the hull with an infuriating _clang!_. But the rest stuck true.

Geysers rippled down the dreadnought's side as its torpedo bulges were torn open by more explosive than they were ever intended to handle. The twisted abomination of a ship slumped to the side as water poured into her.

Wash felt her main guns slam back into battery. She had nine more rounds to deliver, and she _refused_ to allow the Abyssal warship to remain afloat. Not after firing on her homeland.

She folded her arms, letting her guns speak as one. The deadly chorus of American Steel thundered over the ocean, crating the water with their voices.

The first hit sealed the Abyssal's fate. A single 2700 pound shell burrowed its way into the dreadnought's after magazine, touching off an explosion that tore the ship almost in half. The next eight merely removed any glimmer of doubt.

The dreadnought was denied even the privilege of sinking gracefully. A boiler explosion and detonation of the amidships magazine tore what was left of the ship into unrecognizable shrapnel. In an instant, the ship simply ceased to be, leaving nothing behind but a slick of burning oil at the mouth of the Columbia river.

Wash smiled. Tonight had not been a boring night.


	55. Ping Finale

**Ping... Finale**

It took the best part of three hours for Albacore to make it back to the ocean she belonged in. The base as waking up around her, and she had to move even slower and more cautiously than before. It didn't help that her stomach was still growling its indignation at her. The food she'd scrounged from little Jane had barely been enough to dull the pangs of her hunger, and thinking of the succulent cake she had passed up almost made up the difference.

Albacore _loved_ her cake, it was one of the precious few luxuries her crew had enjoyed. And she had to walk away from a perfectly good cake to live off… off whatever it was she kept finding in the dumpsters behind the restaurants the passed. The packages were all labeled in Jap scratch, obviously. The subgirl wasn't entirely certain _what_ she was eating, other than some of it was noodles and at least one item was actually just a box.

She found it slightly worrisome that she'd been so hungry she'd ate most of a cardboard box before realizing it was, in fact, cardboard. But she was a submarine of the US navy. Doing miracles with supply lines that'd make shoestrings look lavish was in her blood. So to speak. The subgirl wasn't sure if she _had_ blood or not. Ideally, she wouldn't find out for a while.

By the time she finally made it back to the comforting ocean embrace, the first rays of sun were starting to glimmer on the horizon. Jap ASW might be hilariously bad, but even _they_ could spot a sub running on the surface in broad daylight. Especially from the air, Albacore's heart—if she had one—was racing a million revs a minute as she slipped into the water, her long legs powering her out to the open sea.

She glanced at the glowing dial of her watch. She should have another hour or so before there was enough light for air operations. If she couldn't reach water deep enough to _fucking fade_ in by then… well, she didn't really want to- wait.

The sound of high-speed screws screamed though the submarine's sonar, and she could see a-

Albacore blinked. It was only her submarine instincts that caused her to run for the bottom and go silent as night, the human part of her brain was frozen. The sight ahead of her was so bizarre… so incomprehensibly strange that her mind just gave up even _trying_ to explain it.

A destroyer, obviously Japanese by the design, rocketed across the water with all the speed of a chastened PT boat. Except it wasn't any mere destroyer… it was… a stripper destroyer? Her skirt was the tiniest thing Albacore had ever seen. Her mind couldn't even comprehend a piece of fabric so small, and from her position below the waves, the subgirl could see _clear up it._

Albacore was no stranger to observing horrible things though her scope, but this took the cake—mmm… cake—for the _worst_ thing her optics had ever observed. But she couldn't look away. Even if she'd been somehow able to peel her eyes off her periscope, she _had_ to know if that destroyer spotted her.

There was precious little water under her keel, but dammit, the USS _Albacore_ would put up a fight before she sank!

Thankfully, the destroyer-slut was too busy rocketing across the waves _way to damn fast_ to notice Albacore. What little noise the sub generated as she held her breath was all but lost in the destroyer's roaring turbines. In fact, her turbines probably drowned out the horrified screamed of her parents at that disgusting little outfit!

At that speed, there was no way the destroyer could hear her. But if she was doing a sprint-and-drift… Albacore didn't want to think about it. This water was too shallow to offer any protection.

She waited a good thirty minutes before moving again. She couldn't afford to screw up, not here. Not now… She felt her heart pounding in her skull, her fingers quivered as she checked her luminescent watch.

Thirty minutes… She was clear to move. Albacore spooled up her electric motors, creeping out of the harbor at her frustratingly low top-submerged speed of nine knots. It took her an hour to break out into water deep enough for her to really feel safe. Or as safe as a hungry _Gato_ could this far behind enemy lines.

The submarine glided to periscope depth, spinning her scope around as she checked for anyone that might notice her. Sonar was clear, but it never hurt to check twice. Lazy sub skippers didn't tend to live very long. There wasn't any hint of surface ships or aircraft… or anything for that matter. Albacore was sitting right under a thick fog bank.

Which suited her just as well, she could surface and stretch her legs a little. Her air-search radar would give her enough warning for her to hit the bottom before any Jap planes spotted her. It as a risk, but cruising at twenty-one knots was worth it.

But Albacore had one last decision to make… _where_ to sail. Her fuel tanks weren't the fullest, but she could reach Pearl, maybe even California if she pushed herself. The Submarine wasn't afraid to admit she was _scared_. She was lost and hungry, and all she knew was that she was surrounded by Jap forces.

Well… that wasn't true. She _also_ knew she had a full load of fish. Albacore scowled to herself. She was hungry… but she'd scavenged for herself, she could do it again. She was scared, but since when was _that_ new.

She was a _Gato_ class submarine of the United States Navy. She wasn't running from a fight, not when her hull was sound and her fish were hot.

Albacore picked a course at random—south, as the case was—and steered herself along it. This might go down in history as the _strangest_ war patrol a submarine ever sailed. But dammit, she was _gonna sail it._ Come hell or high water!

Albacore'd been sailing for almost three hours when she spotted the impossible. Two battleships steaming hard into the waves without so much as a dinghy to escort them. The submarine felt her mouth start to water, and not just from the salty brine she swam in. Two juicy targets steaming along dead-straight… even if they _had_ sonar and depth charges, there was no way in hell they'd hear her over their own turbines.

She recognized the first battleship right off the bat. A Jap Kongou class, probably Hiei from the superstructure. Which was _weird as hell_ since she was _certain_ Hiei had sunk in 1942. The worrisome part was _that wasn't even the strangest thing._

The _other_ battleship was… _distinctly_ American. Her chubby hull was adorned with two towering lattice masts, and her gleaming paint had none of the wartime grime Albacore associated with a working battleship. It almost looked like…

Albacore gasped, swallowing a lungful of seawater when she spotted the battleship's hull number. She slammed her scope down, slumping back from the eyepiece in bewilderment.

BB-39

Arizona.

 _The_ Arizona.

What the FUCK?

This wasn't possible. This couldn't be happening… and yet it was. Arizona, the martyr of Pearl, was steaming side by side with a Jap battleship. Before even that could fully process, Albacore watched both battleships bring their guns to bear on yet another ship.

The sub felt her stomach churn as she spotted the object of Arizona's ire. Equal parts battleship and demon, the twisted ugly.. _thing_ sent Albacore's heart racing in furious anger. It was _wrong_. It was _evil and wrong._ It _must be removed._

The Submarine smiled as Arizona and Hiei's guns barked their furious invocation at the demonic _thing._ She had to fight back the urge to blow her ballast and zoom-climb with a roaring scream.

That… _thing_ would die. And she had just the fish to kill it with.

Above her. Arizona closed in for the kill, her massive armor bouncing shells that would rip the little submarine open from stem to stern. Rounds poured into the reborn super-dreadnought, tearing at her clothes and punched though her shattered belt.

Arizona… _the_ Arizona, the martyr of Pearl was going to die once more. She was fighting back with every tooth and claw she had, brawling like a caged bear. But it just wasn't enough.

The bastardized excuse for a battleship engaging her had found its range. Its guns barked in murderous hate. Its armor angled perfectly against Arizona's defiant turrets…

And its hull placed squarely in the sub's firing solution.

Albacore fired her first two torpedoes, her eyes glued to her scope as she watched the bubble trails race towards their mark. Impact in five… four… three… no. No NO!

The Mark fourteen torpedoes lazily yawed off course, their bubble trails making their deviation painfully evident as they sailed clean past their target and into fucking nowhere.

"Goddamnit," grunted Albacore. She couldn't even spare the anger for a proper furious outburst. She still had four fish in her tubes, her TDC still worked. So suck the gyros, fuck the BuOrd, and FUCK THAT BATTLESHIP!

"Die you fucker," breathed Albacore, rippling off all four of her remaining tubes and slamming her motors to flank. She closed her eyes in a silent prayer. Run straight. Just this once, run _fucking straight._

Albacore opened her eyes once more, throwing her rudder hard over to bring her stern tubes to bear. She couldn't believe it. Four fish left her bow tubes… and four bubble trails ran straight as arrows at the twisted excuse for a warship. Four fish slammed into their targets square and true.

And four explosions erupted along the battleship's hull, signaling four troublesome exploders somehow all working at once.

"YES!" screamed Albacore, pumping her fist as adrenaline flooded her system. She emptied her stern tubes into the listing battleship, but her fish were beaten to the punch by a salvo of fourteen inch shells from The Martyr of Pearl.

"FUCK YES! FINISH HER, ARIZONA!"


	56. Chapter 41: Bouncey

**Chapter 41: Bouncey**

Jersey smirked as her long, slender bow cut though the playful Pacific waves. The seas weren't glassy-calm today, but you could hardly call them nasty. Compared to the horrific—not to mention excruciatingly cold—waves of the Bering Sea, the waves were downright timid. The cloudless sky almost glowed a uniform sapphire blue, and the breeze was just enough to blow salt-tinged air though the battleship's long braid.

It was a downright perfect day to be at sea. But that wasn't the reason she was smiling. No… no, she was smiling because of the monstrous super-battleship sailing a few hundred yards abreast of her. More specifically, she was smiling at the look of exhausted agony on said super-battleship's face.

"Doing okay over there?" yelled Jersey, her hands resting on her broad American hips, framing the two-hundred-and-twelve-thousand horses her designers had crammed into her hull.

Musashi thrust her chin in the air and adjusted her glasses before deaning to dignify the American with a response, "I, Musashi, am quite alright."

"Uh huh," Jersey rolled her eyes as Musashi smashed though a wave, her whole body going tense as she steeled herself to stifle a wince. The Japanese girl's stupid-ass bandage-things might keep her decent—for certain definitions of the word "decent." She was flashing more boobage than Jersey'd ever _have_ —but they offered absolutely _nothing_ in the realm of support.

Every wave sent a jolt of pain up the battleship's spine as her colossal breasts bounced against her tanned chest. She was trying to hide it, of course. Crossing her arms under her chest to keep herself contained. But her escorts were to attentive for that. Johnston's eyes never _once_ lost their perfect lock on her bouncing topweight.

"You know," said Jersey, putting her hands on the small of her back and stretching her muscles. "If you're hurting-"

"I am _not_ ," stated the Battleshipl

Jersey ignored her, "There's these things called bras."

Musashi scowled, staring down her slender nose as the America.

"Just saying," said Jersey with a smirk, angling her hull to catch a wave square-on.

Musashi let out a haughty scoff.

Before Jersey could answer, her cellphone buzzed frantically in her pocket, makings its desire for urgent attention known. She, aided by a pair of faeries wearing miniature hardhats, slipped the cellphone out, and jabbed frantically at the screen. Her lock code was nice and simple, "2262" and she got it on her third try. She was really getting good at this whole 'future' thing.

"Yo," Jersey cradled the slender rectangle in its armored, waterproof steel case against her ear. Which… was weird considering she's a ship and doesn't _have_ ears. But it was the kind of weird she just tried her best not to think about.

 _"Jersey,"_ the gravelly baritone of Her Admiral rumbled though the cellphone's surprisingly high-quality speaker, _"Any problems with the fleet?"_

Jersey glanced around, "Musashi's jiggling like you wouldn't fucking believe," said the battleship, shooting a glare at the actively-disinterested Japanese woman, "And she refuses to admit it's a problem. That's about it, sir."

Williams allowed himself a single gruff chuckle. _"She'll learn from your example, commander."_

"I certainly hope so, sir," said Jersey. "What's the, uh… what's the news on- wait, let me tie in the rest of the fleet." Jersey fiddled with her phone for a few seconds, adding everyone else into the call. "There. what's the news with our zoomie friends?"

 _"One of the testbeds had its nose blow out,"_ said Williams, _"Had to make an emergency landing at Ontario."_

"Damn." Jersey scowled, "And the rest?"

 _"Forming up as Bonecrusher flight. Two B-52-Glassnose birds with GPS-guided munitions."_

"Fuck yeah," said Jersey, "Uh… sir."

 _"As you were, Commander,"_ said Williams, his tone not _quite_ the stoic rumble it was before. _"Our spooks have poured over the latest… Intel from Iku."_

Jersey winced at the thought. Spooks were a strange bunch at the best of times, spending days on end in a tiny windowless room peering at highly classified photographs took a certain kind of person. And they just got a load of strong pornography dropped on their laps. The worrisome thing was Jersey wasn't sure if the porn was the lewd shipgirl pics or ultra-high-resolution images of Abyssal warships. "I'm… sorry, sir."

 _"Thanks, Jersey. I'll take what I can get."_ The Admiral let out a huff, probably while he reached for the appropriate folder, *"They're radiating, but at very low levels. If they've got surface-search radar, it'll be short-ranged and imprecise."

"Okay," said Jersey, her mind already starting to run war games and scenarios in her head. "What's the weather looking like?"

 _"Latest estimates are…"_ a pause and the sound of rustling papers, _"gentle seas, but thick, patchy fog and possible rain squalls."_

"Alright," Jersey nodded, her gaze slowly unfocusing as her conscious slipped back into her CIC. "Alright, I can work with that."

 _"Anything else, Commander?"_

"Uh, no sir," said Jersey. "Well…"

 _"Yes?"_

"How come future taskforces have such cooler names?" asked the battleship, "Back in my day, that had numbers. And like… maybe a decimal point."

Williams chuckled, _"If I knew, Commander…"_

"Understood sir."

 _"Williams out."_

Jersey sighed, glancing over at Musashi, who had _her_ phone all but glued to her ear. "You got all that, I take it?"

The assembled fleet of Kanmusu offered a ragged chorus of nods.

"Okay," said Jersey, "Taskforce leads, I want a course that'll put us in combat positions by dawn."

Musashi smiled, her teeth glinting in a truly predatory display. "We'll attack with the rays of the rising sun."

"No," said Jersey, her icy gaze hardening to steel, "At dawn."

"Here we go," said Hoel, handing Mutsu a five dollar bill which the latter promptly stuffed down her top.

Nagato pretended she hadn't noticed her sister's antics. "And what's the plan once we make contact?"

Jersey smiled. Then she told them.

—|—|—

"Any questions?" asked Jersey, her hands resting on her hips while she awaited input on her plan.

Musashi offered a solemn nod. "I'm not excited to fight though fog," she said bluntly. "My fire-control range finders are superb, but they require clear line-of-sight to function."

"Then they ain't so superb," snapped back Jersey. "Radar Master Race," she pointed to her arrays with both hands, "Can't expect the weather to go your way."

Musashi folded her arms, "And you cannot expect every air-dropped torpedo to behave as… consistently poorly as your mark fourteens." She smirked, her glasses glinting a solid white in the sun as she squeezed her ample torpedo bulges, "Need I remind you that the air will be swarming with torpedo bombers?"

"Which would be a problem," countered Jersey, "If my AA wasn't god-tier. And even _if_ a fish or two make it to the water," she gave her hips loving pat, "I float like a butterfly, _and_ I can shoot on the move."

Johnston kinda tuned out after that. The argument quickly got boring for everyone but the two girls involved in it. And the rhythmic bounce of Musashi's… musashies was just too entrancing to be around. Bounce… Bounce… Bounce… So calming… so much more interesting than listen to the battleships argue.

Especially when Jersey was so _obviously_ better.

* * *

 **U/N:** _Forgive Johnston, any IJN fans out there, she does have a bias. And a point, in at least some areas._


	57. Chapter 42: Shoot to Thrill!

**Chapter 42: Shoot to Thrill!**

Crowning cradled his steaming cup of tea close to his chest as he was ushered though the guarded doors of the command bunker. It was less than an hour before sunrise off Alaska, which put Everett solidly in the later hours of morning. But the sea of fatigue-clad sailors moved with the kind of nervous energy the professor associated with student struggling to finish an all-night study binge.

The camouflage of their clothing blended together into a single undulating sea of blue as sailors hunched over their computers, ran clipboards to one another, or just sat back in their chairs and prayed. The 'pre-mission jitters' he'd heard so much about.

And in the center of the idling maelstrom of activity, Admiral Williams stood with his hands clasped behind the back. His craggy face was set in a stare, like he was trying to simply _glare_ the Abyssals out of existence.

"Morning, Doc," Yeoman Gale smiled at the older man, giving him a wave with the hand that wasn't busy clutching her coffee close to her uniformed chest.

"Gale," Crowning managed a smile in return, raising his cup to her.

"Not what you were expecting?" asked Gale, gently leading the academic to a back corner of the room where they'd be out of the way of the seething mass of nervous sailors.

Crowning blew a breath though the corner of his mouth. Every desk was covered with computers, and every wall seemed dominated by even larger screens. "Not really," he admitted. "Especially for a battle like this."

"Hmm?"

"More… bravado," said Crowning, gesturing to the seemingly infiltrate rows of glowing consoles with his beverage-hand, "Dashing along the decks yelling 'damn the torpedoes' and such."

Gale chuckled, her nervous outburst drawing a brief glare from an officer standing watch. "Yeah well… it's the information age, _those_ days are over." She took a long sip of her coffee, the precious liquid making a quiet _sluuuuuuurp_ in the cheap paper cup, "At least they _were._ "

"Jersey?"

"Yeah." Gale shrugged, "The dramatic stuff's gonna happen on her end. She'll be making the torpedo-damning calls herself."

"Probably with a lot more cussing," said Crowning, taking a long sip of steaming tea.

Gale shrugged in acquiescence, her free hand burrowing into the pocket of her fatigues. For a moment, the yeoman said nothing. She just looked over the civilian with the all-knowing eyes of a Navy NCO. "You don't want to be here, do you?"

"No," said Crowning. There wasn't any reason do deny it, the sailor seemed to know everything already. "I don't. I don't want to see her get hurt. See any of them get hurt."

"You love 'em?" said Gale, a glint of a teasing smile on her face, but only a glint.

"Don't you?" Crowning arched an eyebrow as he silently took another sip.

"Well…" Gale squirmed, her face going a brilliant red, even in the subdued command bunker lighting. "Yeah," she admitted, her blush stabilizing somewhere between Marx and Lenin. "Yeah I do. Even the taffies." She shrugged, "They're little shits most of the time, but yeah. I love 'em."

Gale bit her lip, her blush ever so slowly fading away as she focused a map projected against one wall of the bunker like command building. "So why'd you come?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't wanna see your girl get hurt," said Gale, "Why'd you come to watch?"

"It's the least I can do for her," said Crowning, taking another testing sip of his tea. "I can't fight like her, but… maybe I'll see something she missed. Something all of you-" he waved at the crowd of sailors, "missed. New perspective, new pair of eyes… something like that."

"Hell, it can't hurt," said Gale, "You're probably more qualified than anyone to deal with the magic shit."

"That fails…" Crowning forced a grin, "I can always lecture them to death."

Gale rolled her eyes, "I'm sure your lectures were fascinating, doc."

Before Crowning could respond, one of the sailors filling the computer-laden bunker bolted up in his chair, his face suddenly the picture of intense concentration. "Sir. Baseplate eta to station five minutes."

The Admiral nodded, the muscles in his jaw tightening fractionally.

"Baseplate?" whispered Crowning.

"Global Hawk," replied Gale, leaning in close to the doctor to make her whispered heard. "Drone. Should give us a live feed of the battle."

"Is that safe?"

Gale shrugged, "'hawks fly at sixty-five-thousand feet, forties' planes shouldn't be able to fly that high, but…"

"But?"

"But forties planes shouldn't be able to give a Hornet a run for its money, but they do. It's how we lost the _Stennis_."

Crowning scowled. "What's that mean for the bombers?"

Gale shrugged, "First time we've ever tried this… I'll tell you once we know."

"That's reassuring."

The two watched in silence for another few moments, both waiting anxiously for the camera feed.

"Sir, Baseplate is on-station."

"Put it on the main," said Williams, "And pipe the fleet net though the 1MC."

"Aye aye, sir."

The projected map that dominated the bunker flickered into a rock-steady aerial camera feed. There was just enough light to make out the familiar shape of Jersey's long, slender hull, along with her equally long, toned legs.

Along side her sailed two girls Crowning recognized as Kongous—probably Kongou and Kirishima if Jane's had told him anything. Their flowing miko-like outfits snapped in the breeze, and each was flanked by a destroyer-girl in a tiny skirt Crowning didn't recognize.

"Akizuki and Teruzuki," said Gale, pointing to the girls in question. "Air-defense destroyers. Protecting the Kongous."

Sailing at the front of the formation, grouped up like a wedge on either side of Jersey's pointed bow, were four of the most adorable little destroyers had ever seen, with another girl—a cruiser, maybe? He was still learning his ships— leading them in formation.

"Tenryuu and her kids." How Gale could read his mind was beyond the good professor, but he welcomed the help. "They're Jersey's escorts."

Crowning nodded, his eyes glued to the screen as it held on the American battleship and her Japanese allies for another minute until they vanished into a fogbank.

"Using the fog to close," said Gale as the camera panned over the icy waters, "American radar master race and all that."

The camera panned over to the other pincer of the allied attack, and Crowning almost dropped his drink once it stabilized. Three battleships sailed in echelon, each with a watchful taffy practically glued to her hip.

Nagato and Mutsu he recognized, their matching wardrobes and busty yet athletic builds made it easy to identify their class, and their differing hairstyles let him tell the two sisters apart easy enough.

But the middle warship of the battle line… she was something else. A towering woman with dark-tanned skin and an absolutely monstrous bustline. No wonder Jersey wanted reassurance that her breasts weren't too small—they weren't— Dolly Parton would be jealous next to those. And that was before considering the battleship's… less then modest outfit. "Holy hell."

Gale let out a snort as she tried to contain her laughter. "Yeah… that's Musashi."

"I…" Crowning gulped, "I can see why."

"Why what?"

"Nothing."

Gale offered a twinkling smile, "If you say so." She shrugged, staring up at the screen with a studied look her her face, "she _is_ pretty hot though."

"Not my type," muttered Crowning.

"What is?" said Gale as she took another long sip of her coffee.

"Leggy."

The yeoman gagged as she tried to avoid a spit take while the Admiral was _right there_. Crowning just offered a sly smile.

—|—|—

Musashi smiled as the salty sea spray plumed off her bow, kissing her Imperial Chrysanthemum with jewel like droplets. The icy water around her stung like knives against the steel of her hull, the iron-gray sky above her sang with the sound of a hundred planes, and the freezing air bit at her skin.

And she didn't care.

She'd gotten her hull under her. She'd learned to sail her new body. The freezing knives in her hull only stoked the fires burning withing her twelve boilers.

The planes above her were friendlies, flown by the best pilots the Imperial Japanese Navy—or any Navy in history—could produce. The first rays of the Rising Sun warmed her face, casting a towering shadow behind her as she steamed into battle.

She would have her chance at redemption. She would prove herself in battle. She would have her vengeance.

"Target spotted, bearing zero-six-zero," said Nagtao, her steel-hard voice utterly devoid of emotion as she relayed the information. Her red-brown eyes were fixed on the horizon, never moving from their focus even as the super-dreadnought crashed though the waves at almost twenty-seven knots. "Heavy division. Three Nelrods… three cruisers."

Musashi cracked her knuckles, her massive turrets grinding to life as they slewed over towards their targets, nine of the biggest armor-pricing naval shells ever devised waiting ready in their barrels.

Nagato's brows knit, her nostrils flaring as she stared down the hostile ships on the horizon. "Remove it."

Musashi grinned, adjusting her glasses as she slipped into a zen state. She might not have the fancy radars of her American counterpart. But she did have the finest optics ever constructed tied into the best optical fire-control system ever devised.

Her fifteen-meter rangefinders were the largest ever built, and she had no less than four of them. Each director fixed her target in its deadly glare, feeding its estimates into her fire-control-computer which averaged them for a perfect solution.

"Range, thirty-two-thousand-four-hundred meters," growled the battleship, her eyes narrowing to sits as she stared down the twisted mockeries of once-proud warships. She had the range, her own course and speed were known and constant… all she needed for a perfect solution was their course and speed.

And she'd just got them.

"All batteries! FIRE!" The battleship's thunderous scream was all but drowned out by the booming report of her nine 46cm guns. Just one of her monstrous rifles spoke with the wrath of an angry god. Nine of them at once shook the very foundations of heaven itself.

The West Horizon erupted in a fire to rival the dawn as Nagato and Mutsu added their 41cm shells to Musashi's opening volley.

Beside her, Musashi's escort—the young American destroyer Hoel—stared with slack-jawed amazement. The little girl's hands hung limply at her side, and her face burned with furious excitement. "HOLY SHIT!"

Musashi smirked. A crass statement perhaps, but one fitting enough for the wrath of a sea-going god. She felt her guns drop to their loading angles, her crews scrambling to their stations as a fresh load of Type-91 armor-piercing shells were winched up from her underwater magazines. She threw her rudder over by half, spoiling any return fire as she watched her shells arc though the air.

Her guns slammed back into battery before her first salvo even hit. The battleship smirked, her guns traversing on target as the Abyssal warships opened fire. She gritted her teeth. She wasn't changing course, wasn't ruining her firing solution for them. Not at this range. Not when she was loaded down with more armor than any battleship in history.

"FIRE!"

Her guns bellowed in response, erupting in colossal fireballs that thundered across the ocean surface and dug mighty craters in the water with the very force of their voices. Hoel nearly tumbled into the water from the concussive force, and Musashi felt her loose cape snap tight from the sudden blast.

As her guns dropped for reloading once more, the battleship threw her rudder hard over, turning into the incoming sixteen inch rounds to protect her vulnerable—relatively speaking—citadel. And that's when her first salvo hit.

six of her rounds were misses, the massive shells kicking up towering pillars of emerald-dyed spray as they crashed into the surface. One smashed into an Abyssal cruiser just aft of its' forward stack, burrowing deep into its boiler rooms before it exploded, simply erasing the hateful abomination from existence.

The last pair landed mere feet away from the lead battleship, their specially-designed caps stabilizing the shell as it hit the water and guiding it into the abyssal's hull. The explosive filler blew the ship's bow clean off. Any lesser ship would've been stopped in its tracks by such a hit.

But not a battleship. A battleship was _built_ for this, and the hateful thing barely seemed to notice as it unshadowed its turrets.

Nagato and Mutsu's shells joined mere seconds later, sending another cruiser hurtling to the seafloor and bracketing all three battleships with near-misses or hits to the superstructure.

"Incoming!" barked Hoel. The little destroyer somehow made her voice heard over the thunder of 46 and 41cm guns, her tiny hand frantically jabbing at a sky turned all but black by a horde of incoming planes.

Akagi's reppus roared overhead, tearing into the roaring pack of twin-engine heavy fighters with their cannons while carefully staying out of the destroyers' firing solutions. Seconds later, the roar of piston engines was joined by the staccato growl of five-inch guns as Hoel and her sisters lit up the sky with proximity-fused weapons.

But even that was not enough. The abyssal torpedo bombers were solidly-built planes. The ones that didn't break off and tear into the reppus simply shrugged off all but the worst of the destroyers' volleys.

"NO!" growled Musashi, throwing her rudder over again to spoil the incoming planes' torpedo solution. It meant giving up her own firing solution, giving up a chance to thunder her righteous invocation to these hateful monsters. But she couldn't fire her AA at the same time as her main battery, the thunderous over pressure was simply too much for any mortal creature to endure.

"Musashi, hard starboard NOW NOW NOW!" Hoel barked at the battleship. The little 2,500 ton destroyer boomed with such command that even the 72,000 ton battleship responded on instinct.

She threw her rudder over again as she saw the cause for the destroyer's warning. A dozen planes had slipped though the defense umbrella, and their fish were already in the water. Musashi pushed her engines as hard as they could go, steering into the attack to present her armored bow instead of her fragile screws or rudder.

She might sink this day, yes. But she _refused_ to go down without earning her place as a warship. She would _not_ be taken out like this again.

She almost made it. The first eight torpedoes sailed past her bow, the last missing her by mere inches. The next four weren't so misguided. They smashed clean into her hull, punching though her structure and exploding against her armor and torpedo bulkheads.

At almost the same instant, a volley of shells from the abyssal battleships slammed against her belt and superstructure, hammering every exposed part of her hull with their bursting charges.

Any other other ship would've crumpled under such a powerful barrage. But Musashi was not just any ship. The finest battleship every built simply shrugged off the tears to her thigh-highs and unshadowing her guns for a decisive reply.

"Bring it on!" she bellowed, throwing her arms wide in challenge, "I'm right here!"

—|—|—

"Twenty degrees to port on my mark," called Jersey, her eyes glued to the real-time satellite imagery displayed on her tiny cellular phone. The tiny little device might be shifty and borderline magic, and it might be utterly useless for detecting Abyssals, but it _was_ a godsend for steering around foul weather.

Or in this case, _into_ it.

"Mark." Jersey glanced up from her telephone, staring into the uniformly gray soup surrounding her little task force. The fog was so thick, even Kongou's bouncy little body was little more than a vaugley-battleshipgirl-shaped dark spot in the wall of dark haze.

Normally, maneuvering with such limited visibility would be suicide, _especially_ when all ships involved were sprinting at twenty-seven knots—except Jersey, of course. twenty-seven knots was more of a leisurely trot for the leggy American.

But these ships weren't just _any_ ships. Kongou and Kirishima had been "kai ni'd." Jersey wasn't sure what that literally translated to, but she did know it meant both battlewagons were carrying Type 22 surface-search radar. It wasn't nearly as good as Jersey's own set, and it wasn't tied into their fire control like hers.

But it gave the sisters enough situational awareness to cruise in a fog bank without fear of collision.

Radar master race. Suck it, Musashi!

In the back corner of Jersey's mind, some lowly rating reported that all ships had completed their turns. Judging by the lack of horrible metal-on-metal scraping sounds, they'd all pulled it off with parade-ground precision. Not that Jersey expected any less, Kongou and Kirishima were some of the best-crewed battleships _ever_. They knew _exactly_ what they were doing, probably more than anyone save _maybe_ a few of the RN boats. Maybe.

And this time they were on her side. The battleship couldn't help but smile as she peered out into the foggy gloom. She relaxed her eyes, letting her radar punch through the fog like smoke being parted by a well-thrown brick. She saw Hammer engaging the Abyssal heavy division almost thirty miles off her rear-port quarter. She saw the giant furball of aircraft brawling their way around the sky. Most importantly of all, she saw the abyssal quick-reaction force, four battleships and their escorts making circles in the water as the debated what to do.

"C'mon," growled Jersey, her fingers tensing around the grips of the forty-four magnums hanging off her hips. "C'mon… take the bait…"

The Abyssals battlewagons finally started to move. Jersey couldn't see for sure, but she could just _imagine_ their stacks belching clouds of inky black soot as they built up steam, forming a ragged battle echelon.

"Yes," hissed Jersey, indulging herself in a brief fist-pump as the abyssal QRF pulled away from their patrol station and broke for Nagato's task force. And in the process, left themselves utterly exposed if, say, a group of fast battleships just _happened_ to be hiding in a nearby fog bank.

"Task force sword!" barked Jersey, her face split by a toothy grin, "Break port and engage!"

The three battleships accelerated as one, their wakes churning to foam as their screws bit into the freezing arctic water. Both Kongou sisters had their guns at the ready, their turrets traversed hard-port, ready to acquire and engage the instant they broke though the fog wall.

But Jersey wasn't a Kongou. She was an _Iowa_. She had radar fire control, and computers that constantly re-computed her solution. She couldn't just fire on the move, she could fire blind. She felt her turrets slew around as she smashed her way though the waves, her slender bow kicking up a solid wall of freezing spray.

The Kongous knew their targets. Their fourteen inch guns would struggle with the abyssal battleships, but they'd make swiss cheese of any cruiser who dared show its twisted excuse for a hull. The battleships… they were _Jersey's_. And she fully intended to make them her bitches.

"GO LOUD!" bellowed the battleship, all nine of her sixteen-fifty rifles responding with their thunderous chorus. The sheer concussion from the guns punched a hole though the wall of fog, revealing Jersey to the Abyssals mere seconds before her shells found their marks.

It took a full second before the abyssals even processed Jersey's sudden appearance. Then all hell broke loose. The cruisers wheeled around, desperately hiding their broadsides as whatever instincts they had kicked in. There was no strategy, no tactics to their movement. Just sheer pants-darkening fear and the override urge to _survive._

The battleships too broke formation, scattering in every direction to foul up the American's firing solution and get their own fourteen-inch guns on target. But they weren't nearly as mobile as the cruisers. They couldn't capitalize on what little warning they had before Jersey's shells crashed home.

The American landed five close bracketing shots and four solid hits with her first volley. Her Mark 8 super-heavy shells burrowed though the abyssal battleship's armored belt like it was tissue paper and buried themselves deep within the warship's gut before exploding. Gashes tore across the warship's rusting, rotted hull, belching clouds of oily fire and gritty smoke.

Jersey smiled, throwing her rudder over to hide her broadside while her guns reloaded. The terrified, surprised abyssals threw up a ragged volley in return.

Jersey just laughed as the cruisers' six inch guns lazily arced their shells though the air. They might have the range to hit her, at least on paper. But at this distance a mildly-alert barge could dodge their fire, let alone the most powerful battleship ever put to sea crewed by the finest four decades of Navy service could provide. The splashes weren't even in the same zip code as her by the time they finally landed.

Only a single salvo of fourteen inch shells connected with the battleship, their lightweight armor-piercing rounds slamming into her inclined belt at a steep angle. The outer-layer of special-treatment steel, a luxury that only American Economic Might could afford to lavish all over a battleship, shattered the incoming rounds' ballistic caps.

Jersey grunted as her inclined cemented-armor belt absorbed the new-declawed rounds. There wasn't a hope in hell of them penetrating her armor, not at this range. Not at this angle. But it still hurt like hell.

Behind her, Kongou and Kirishima burst though the fog, their guns slewing to target the abyssal cruisers mere instants later.

"ALL BATTERIES!" Boomed Kongou, her face a picture of furiously energetic rage, "FI-YAH!" She threw her arm out, knife-handing her target as her guns barked in response. The concussion sent her billowing sleeve flying. Abreast of her, her sister mimicked the movement, her glasses glittering with stoic fury as she erased a cruiser from the face of this earth.

"Hell yeah!" cheered Tenryuu, her sword flashing in the morning sun as she thrust it threateningly at the nearest battleship. She and her kids broke formation, bolting out of the line of fire to set-up for a torpedo run.

Jersey roared in approval, her long hull gracefully smashing though the waves in a monument horsepower, the American god of Large Fast Things. The abyssals were cobbling their scattered ships into a proper battle line, but it just gave the American a neatly-ordered set of targets to pick from.

"You die," she growled, heaving into a hard turn as her guns rippled off a full broadside into the already-wounded abyssal battleship, crippling it with hits to the bridge and screws. "Nagato, we are fully engaged!" she barked, deftly slaloming between the splashes of reprisal shells."

 _"Copy,"_ came the Japanese woman's terrifyingly calm voice, _"Starting the pull."_


	58. Chapter 43: That's What it Means, Right?

**Chapter 43: That's What It Means, Right?**

Battleship Nagato knew she was being fired upon. She knew near-misses were churning the water around her into a prismatic sea of dyed, churning water. She knew her belt sang as every hit crashed into her armor. She knew all these things the same way she knew the universe was composed of minute particles.

Interesting trivia with no impact whatsoever on her day to day life.

She was a dreadnought of the Imperial Japanese Navy, a ship born again to serve her country for freedom, not tyranny. And she was squaring off against her fellow members of the big seven with her beloved sister by her side.

It was the fight she was _built_ for. And she held the upper hand. Her crews were drilled and precise, second to none but the Kongou sisters in professionalism and skill. Every time she straightened out from a turn, she found her guns already within mere degrees of their targets. Her guns sang at her command like a fine orchestra.

Her gun crews worked their deadly instruments like virtuoso of steel and cordite, playing out their perfect symphony for these twisted abyssal abominations.

"FIRE!" boomed the battleship, her voice thundering with the fury of an entire nation as she steadied for a full broadside.

The abyssal battleships took swift advantage of her momentary lull in maneuvering. Their guns rippled off a ragged riposte. They lacked the eloquence of Nagato, their guns spoke like thuggish brutes not skilled samurai, and their lightweight armor-piercing rounds lacked the Japanese warrior maiden's teeth.

But most crucially of all, they lacked her peerless ranging gear. Where the Japanese maiden's rangefinders were mounted high on her pagodas, the abyssal brutes carried theirs on their turret roofs. Every frigid wave that crashed across their bows fouled their optics with spray and salt, degrading their accuracy further.

The abyssal warships were forced to close the distance, lest they be annihilated from range by the three Japanese battleships. They were fully engaged, there was no hope of retreat. They had no choice but to fight, and let themselves be pulled wherever Nagato wished.

Nagato allowed herself a brief smile as she turned in to blade herself to an oncoming torpedo-bomber attack. The sky was nearly black with a churning swarm of aircraft. Some friendly, but most hostile.

And the dreadnought didn't feel the slightest bit of worry. Her escort, USS _Heermann_ had barely said a word since the battle began. But the little destroyer had been practically glued to her hip. Not a plane had _touched_ Nagato. Not _one_. Her anti-aircraft gunners were starting to get _bored_ at their posts. The battleship could hardly believe it. The sky was black with brawling fighters, but she almost felt safer than she did at Yokosuka.

And she had her sister steaming abreast of her. The two Nagato-class battleships reunited for a decisive battle against a seemingly unbeatable foe. And with them Musashi herself, the most powerful warship ever to sail the seas. The world _quaked_ at their power and profession-

"HA!" bellowed Musashi. The sleeves of her unzipped shirt flew out as she flung her hands in the air, showing her middle fingers to the abyssal warships as they landed a solid shot against her belt. A square hit that did _nothing_ to faze the enormous battleship. "I! AM! INVINCIBLE!" she thundered, her voice echoing even over the sound of her colossal battery.

Nagato rolled her eyes. So much for professionalism. It was a good thing Musashi and Jersey didn't get along. Nagato didn't know how she'd be able to handle the two of them together.

 _"Nagato!"_ Jersey's rough, brash, typically American accent sounded in Nagato's ears, " _"We're fully engaged."_

Nagato smiled, her eyes narrowing to an ice-cold squint. "Copy that," she said, sticking her arm out and curving it back towards herself, signaling her taskforce to turn away from the action. "Starting the pull." She glanced at her escort, "You ready, little one?"

Heermann nodded, her entire deck aflame as her guns filled the sky with bursting flak. "Mmhm, don't worry Miss Nagato," the little destroyer flashed a toothy smile, her freckled cheeks glowing from the heat of her batteries, "Nobody's touching my charge."

"Good to know, little one." Nagato smiled in return, throwing her rudder over in concert with her sister and Musashi. The six warships heeled over in a coordinated turn, deftly stepping around shell-splashes as they extended away from the slower Abyssal warships.

"Come on…" breathed Nagato, her gaze so focused on the twisted almost-ships on the horizon that she felt time slow to a crawl around her. "Take it…"

One one thousand…

Two one thousand…

Three one thousand…

Four one thousand…

Nagato felt the seconds slip by with each passing breath. She kept waiting for the Abyssal battleships to turn away, to risk breaking contact to link up with their fellows assaulting Jersey and her Kongous.

But they didn't. Their stacks belched sickly black smoke as they powered their way towards the Japanese ships and their peerless American escorts. They'd taken the bait, now it was time to make pay for their crucial mistake.

Crowning stared at the shaky drone footage, his face scrunching up like a prune while his eyes bounced from confusing camera feeds to equally confusing symbolic map displays. "Uh," he leaned over to Gale, careful to keep his voice low enough to avoid disturbing anyone else, "what just happened?"

"Divide and conquer," said Gale though a mouthful of ham sandwich. It was getting close to dinner time, but neither the sailor nor the civilian was willing to leave the bunker, even if they weren't doing more than watching.

"Huh?" Crowning folded his arms, glancing back at the map where both Jersey's girls and Nagato's girls were in two very distinct, very _divided_ groups.

"Not them," said Gale, gulping down her impromptu lunch. "Planes."

Crowning bit the corner of his lip, "You lost me."

"Princess has _way to fucking many_ planes," explained Gale, "even with Akagi and RJ spotting nothing but Reppus, there's no way they can hold the line. Not against everything at once."

Crowning nodded, patting himself down for his notepad. He was studying whenever he got the time, but he still knew painfully close to nothing about naval engagements. He wasn't gonna waste a prime opportunity to study up before Jersey got back. He needed some common ground beyond 'pie' to hold a real conversation after all.

"Okay, so…" Gale pointed to a coffee carafe sitting on the back table. "This is the princess. That-" she tapped the creamer, "is her CAP. The planes she's got in the air ready to go right this second."

Crowning scribbled furiously before offering another nod.

"This," Gale waved the box of sugar packets, "is her reserve air wing. Stuff that's on deck but not in the air." She turned back to Crowning, "When Nagato and Hammer showed up, _they_ were the biggest threat, so the whole CAP ran off towards them."

"But…" Crowning scrambled for whatever shreds of naval knowledge he had, "the dreadnoughts can take torpedoes better?"

"Yeah," said Gale, "And they got the taffies and Shield's… well fighter shield at full strength."

"So…" Crowning drew circles in the air with the tip of his pen. The point was hovering somewhere right in front of his face… he just had to reach out and grasp it. "That lets us fight just their CAP with everything we've got."

"You got it!" said Gale, smiling as she offered a teasingly enthusiastic wink. not unlike the typical over-caffeinated children's show host. "With that many planes in the air, it'll be hard for the Princess's planes to set up good attack runs."

"And all the while…" Crowning paused. It wasn't _quite_ a shot in the dark, but given his current level of nautical knowledge, he'd call it a shoot in the _gloom_. "Hammer's pounding the heavy battleship division, right."

"Yep. The heavies can't risk disengaging while Naggy and her girls are right there," said Gale as she took another bite of her sandwich.

"And the Princess's cap already dropped all their bombs," said Crowning, "so all it's got left to throw at J are the reserve planes?"

"And the battleship QRF."

"That too," Crowning shrugged, "It's still a lot for her to get through."

"Not enough to stop her," said Gale, smiling as she leaned in to give the professor a one-armed hug.

"Let's hope."

—|—|—

 _"New Jersey,_ " Akgai's sweet, friendly voice sang in Jersey's head, somehow audible over the roar of almost a quarter million American horses, twenty five-inchers, and nine of the best damn naval guns ever built. _"You've got another squadron heading your way. Vectoring Reppus to cover."_

"Yeah, I see 'em," said Jersey, squinting into the distance as her radar acquired the seething horde of fighters and bombers rolling her way. She lost count at forty, there were just too many contacts flying too close for her radar to crank out solid target tracks. All she could see was an enormous blob of flying malevolent fuckers screaming straight for her and her girls.

Not that she was the least bit worried. She had almost a hundred next-generation Jap carrier fighters flown by the best pilots the Kido Butai had ever produced flying topcover. She had two the terrible Akuze- Akiz- the AA destroyer twins watching the air with those super-fucking-high velocity ten-centimeter guns.

And she was a battleship with flak out the ass, and she had quite a nice, generous ass. Jersey was slinging more flak than certain countries.

"Yo, Akuzi!" growled the battleship, dispatching a burning Abyssal cruiser with a backhanded volley from her after turret.

"Akizuki," corrected the anti-aircraft destroyer, her extra-long-ass hyper velocity cannons scanning the sky as she effortlessly skimmed around shell splashes, her hull rolling hard enough to flash glimpses of her antiquating paint.

Jersey blinked. "Whatever, you ready to kick ass and take names?"

The little destroyer shook her head, "I'm afraid not," she said. "But Chou-10cm-Hou-chan is!" The animated turret in her fore mount waved its tiny flipper hand at Jersey, its barrels slewing around to point in a generally fuckhuge-mass-of-abyssal-planes-ward direction.

Akizuki smiled, giving her foremost turret a little kiss on its armored roof, "Chu chu!" Her turret… fucking _blushed_ at the attention, its adorable little eye… hole things glancing away as it suddenly found the splintered clouds utterly entrancing.

Jersey shook the bizarre image out of her head, focusing herself on the matter at hand. "Yo, Akagi?"

 _"Hmm?"_ the Japanese carrier's voice purred though Jersey's head, sounding distinctly like every word had to run a blockade of instant noodles to reach the battleship.

"You got eyes on the princess?"

 _"Ahmm…"_ a pause, _"I do now."_

"How's her deck looking?"

 _"Uhmm…"_ a slurp of noddles, _"maybe half a dozen fighters on CAP,"_ said Akagi, _"Everything else is either headed your way or landing for resupply."_

"Copy that," said Jersey, almost absentmindedly rippling off a perfect broadside at an abyssal fast-battleship, bracketing it with towering pillars of spray. "Bonecrusher flight," she smiled at the call sign. Such a fucking cool name. "You there?"

 _"That's afirm, Jersey,"_ came a drawl that somehow managed to be both lazily relaxed and perilously tense, _"What can the US Air Force do for ya?_

"You know that fuck-huge iceberg?" said Jersey, matching his tone with an equally bored drone of her own. She even managed a pouty teenage sigh as she tore a battleship's superstructure to shreds with a volley of high-explosive shells.

 _"I do indeed, miss."_

"Make it go away."

A small laugh echoed though Jersey's radio room. _"Sure thing, miss."_


	59. A Certain Lady Part 8

**A Certain Lady Part 8**

 **By Old Iron**

"FUCK YES! FINISH HER, ARIZONA!"

The American battleship needed no further prompting as her remaining guns finished reloading.

Nine 14 inch 45 caliber rifles were joined in murderous harmony by eight more as they delivered a death sentence to the mortally wounded abyssal.

With its waterline already perforated and shredded by four Mark 14's, the combined might of two battleships rent the monster asunder. Violent explosions burst the hull and hurled burning entrails across the sea. Magazines detonated and fuel burned. Twisted machinery was mutilated and the keel shattered beneath the brutal onslaught.

When the last four bubble trails finally reached the hulk, it's death was complete. Three explosions rang out and sealed the overkill with a final detonation that sent a shockwave through the savaged waters, hurling burning oil and broken steel into the sky.

Arizona fell to a knee as her strength gave out. Her damage control crews working as fast as they possibly could to save her. She brought her hand to the gaping wound in her belly and fought to not cry out in pain. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Hiei cutting a hard turn to shield her whilst placing all of her guns squarely upon the last Abyssal battleship. Her mouth moved, but only gasps of pain escaped her lips.

Even though it could no longer move, the last Abyssal on the field still vainly attempted to escape with its life. The damages inflicted upon it ensured what little remained was barely functional. Vile cannons attempted to track the advancing Hiei with minimal success. Its guns screeched as they tore into the broken armor while wrecked shafts mangled each other further.

But Hiei's cannons, even had they been likewise damaged, outpaced the Abyssal's.

"All guns! Target set! FIRE!" Her eyes narrowed as she thrust a hand forward and roared. The Emperor's Ship fired her guns all in one motion with a thundering boom and cast down the Abyssal to the hell from whence it came. Her shells punched through the armor with relative ease and gutted the monstrosity. Shrapnel and fire tore the internal structure to ribbons, leaving their final foe little more than a burning husk as it sank to the bottom.

However despite apparent victory, Hiei turned cautiously towards Arizona with a wide arc.

"Where are you..." She muttered as she scanned the seas, putting her lights to the water. The illumination of the burning debris could only do so much. Richardson had said he'd try to wrangle up some support, but there was none to be seen. Combined that with a decent number of splashes she was almost certain weren't from her or her comrade and there was little doubt as to what had saved Arizona's life.

"This is Lieutenant Hiei of the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force. Unknown submarine, please identify yourself." Her clear and commanding voice rang out as she racked her brain to imagine who it could be. An IJN sub would have identified herself by now. She slowly began closing the distance to Arizona in order to render aid, but never once stopped keeping her eye on the water. Just in case. "I repeat, please identify yourself."

Albacore could have remained submerged.

She could have gone to full silence and faded into the deep.

The battleship seeking her could not hunt as she lacked the means and mobility to do so.

But USS Albacore, terrified as she was, was neither blind nor stupid. She had seen Hiei come to Arizona's aid. She had seen them fight together. Seen them bleed together. And in Arizona's defense, she herself had thrown caution to the wind and hurled her own weapons into the fray.

Her fauxhawk slowly breached the surface of the waves off of Hiei's starboard, her gaze snapping back and forth between the Japanese warship and the obviously suffering Arizona. The spotlights found her with appropriate haste and she had to blink the spots out of her eyes as one caught her head on. A moment passed before she fully arose from the sea, camo pants and swimsuit dripping with brine. She was plainly tense and her motions nervous to the point of being twitchy.

"Lieu-t-tenant." Arizona finally spoke, addressing the only other battleship present. Her voice was cracked and a trickle of blood and oil ran down her chin. She paused before violently spitting out a congealed gob of the vile mixture. "Help me up. Please."

"Right! Right away. Hang on Ari, I'm coming." Hiei seemed to ignore Albacore completely at that moment, to the submarine's surprise, as she dropped her commanding demeanor and rushed to help the wounded American. Yet the searchlights remained fixed. "Jeez. I thought I'd seen dreadnoughts fight before. But that's something else."

"Ari?" Albacore blinked.

"It was more vicious than I imagin-AH!" She yelped as Hiei's hand slipped too close to the gaping exit wound on her back. It was a testament to her damage control crews that she was able to finish her fight, much less survive to the end.

"Whoops! Sorry!" Hiei readjusted her grip on Arizona and continued helping her up, a sight which looked utterly bizarre to the submarine. "Gotcha..."

"Thank you." It took some doing, but Arizona was finally able to stand upright. However Hiei was forced to keep a tight hold on her in order to keep her upright.

"I really want to chew you out. I really do. But I'm going to wait. I also need to have a few words with myself. Plus, you did really well despite nearly getting killed." There was a brevity and a sharpness to her tone that did not go unnoticed by the two Americans. Both could tell that Hiei, while glad they had won and that Arizona hadn't sunk on her first combat mission, was very much not happy at the moment. "But I'm mostly just glad you're alive."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir." Arizona's apology was sincere, and appeared even moreso given the amount of pain she was in. Sometimes grievous injury and a near death experience made for very potent motivators to simply give up on putting on airs. At least they made it a lot harder to maintain a stoic image.

"Apology accepted. Now then!" Hiei turned her attention to the thus far silent savior currently held in her spotlights. Albacore did not flinch to her credit. Or show any sort of reaction other than straightening her back. "Looks like a new younger sister has arrived."

She offered a toothy, if bloody, grin to Albacore.

Albacore drew in a deep breath. This was it. The moment she would put all her chips on the table and lay down her hand. She had a clear and plain shot at the Japanese battleship with all six of her forward tubes. The same battleship who was smiling at her while offering every aid she could to the Martyr of Pearl. A ship she had an indirect hand in killing...

She would trust.

She would find her answers. And if she had been mislead...

Her eyes sharpened as she brought her hand up in a salute.

"Gato-class submarine. SS-218. USS Albacore." Her voice was clipped and edged like a razor. "Ma'am."

"Good to meet you, Albacore. Sorry if I don't return the salute. Ari's kinda heavy." Hiei chuckled at the painful attempted glare sent her way by Arizona. "What? You are. Not everyone has that much armor."

"Nevermind. I only ask that we... hurry back to base. There is nothing else we can do here." Arizona would have gestured towards the smoking port, but did not wish to risk falling from Hiei's strong grip. It was a painful admittance. She wished she could do more. But her drive to slay the Abyssal's had cost her and there was little to nothing they could have done regardless on land. But they had slain the monsters with great prejudice. They had done their duty.

She turned her grey gaze to the submarine. "You saved my life. Thank you, Albacore."

"Just doing my job, ma'am." Albacore allowed herself to sail in a bit closer to the battleships, still keeping the most watchful eye possible on Hiei. "Why are you... here?"

Not the most eloquent of questions. But she needed to know. And at least she had managed to catch herself before she flat out asked why a Japanese and an American battlewagon were sailing together. That would have been disastrous.

"The Admiral didn't tell you?" Hiei appeared genuinely confused. Even if it was in a hurry, Richardson would have at least given the girl a rundown on her way here. Somehow. Sub communication was always odd to her.

Albacore shook her head. She didn't know who the Admiral in charge of this battlegroup was and she certainly hadn't received orders or instruction from him. But no need for anyone else to know that. She'd play it by ear and work with what she could get.

"Hmm... That's odd. Come on. We've got to hurry up. I'll get you up to speed while we head back to base. Ari's stable for now, but you really don't want to let injuries like these linger." She pulled Arizona closer as she angled them towards the fastest path back to Sasebo. "Arizona's still new to the fleet, so she might not know everything."

"The Lieutenant is the commanding officer here, regardless." Arizona piped in tiredly. A part of her might want to just take a nap and let herself be towed home, but the far more willful share demanded she stay awake and alert. Especially with a new ally apparently present.

As the three began traveling in earnest, Albacore took position towards the rear of the impromptu formation. Neither battleship made mention of this and Hiei was inclined to allow the sub some leeway. The girl was certainly confused. But sometimes a little give went a long way.

"Let me just drop the biggest, but probably most obvious bomb for you right from the start: You won the war. We might have sucker punched you and gotten a few decent hits in, but we woke up a giant we didn't have a hope of beating." Hiei began her little history lesson with a jovial tone despite the grim nature of it. "And it's been over seventy years since the end."

"Seventy years?!"

"Yup!" Hiei adjusted a few degrees to port to account for Arizona's mass as she continued. "A lot has changed. In fact, Japan and America are pretty good allies with each other and have been for a long time now."

"Bu-"

"You will adjust. It may take time, and not everything will make sense. But you will adjust." Arizona winced as she spoke. Regretting having decided to voice so much as one of her fairies had decided at that moment to begin welding some of her communications array back together.

"Look on the plus side. Admiral Richardson is US Navy, so it's not like you're being tossed into a completely unfamiliar command structure." Hiei laughed as she recalled her posting under Richardson. "He's the only Admiral I've had since waking up. And since my last Admiral was Admiral Abe, it was a bit of a culture shock."

"That's one way to look at it I suppose." Albacore paused and discreetly thumbed the folded waistband of the camo pants she had pilfered from Jane's home. There on the tag was the name Richardson. Made sense. Not to worry. Probably plenty of Richardsons. "Are there any other submarines in service?"

"A few. None of your sisters if that's what you're asking. You are the very first US sub to answer the call." She glanced back to flash another toothy grin in the darkness. "That we know of at least. You were really good at hiding, so there could be dozens out there and we have no clue."

Albacore felt a slight swell of pride in her chest at the compliment. Not that she'd let it show though. The silent service was just that. Silent in their service. Knives in the dark. Unknown until after the fact.

"I pray they will all be just as well dressed." Arizona muttered somewhat irritably.

"What do you mean, Lieutenant Arizona?"

"Oh, Ari's just a big prude. That's all." Hiei's amused comment drew a glare from the super-dreadnought and a rather shocked expression from the submarine.

"A woman should not be revealing so much of herself!" The redhead's voice was raised. A fair achievement considering how worn out and wounded she was. Up to and including the gaping hole in her midsection. "I am amazed the Lieutenant Commander has not flashed her undergarments to the entire base. And the less said about I-19 the better."

"Iku's a... special case." There was a hesitation in Hiei's voice, as if she wasn't really sure how to defend the amorous submarine. She would have made mention of Arizona's current state of dress if she had been feeling teasing at the time. But she wasn't Mutsu. And could read the mood. Sort of.

"Then please explain to me why I heard the term 'Lewdmarine' so often at Yokosuka in reference to Japanese submarines as a whole." She winced as her increasingly animated anger twisted something in a way it did not wish to be twisted at the moment. Having her engineer begin yelling at her did not help matters.

Hiei remained conspicuously silent.

"Albacore at least has the decency to wear pants and a swimsuit far more appropriate for her duties." She didn't think folding the pants down to reveal more of the hip line was appropriate however. But she would take what she could get at the moment. "It a uniform. Not some... fetish outfit."

That got a laugh out of both Hiei and Albacore, though the latter did her best to stifle it. Arizona simply grumbled irritably.

"This is still... pretty weird." Albacore took stock of herself again when the laughter died down. Hands. Legs. She had a face, hair, a shapely rear, and a voice to speak with. "I'm a submarine. An American submarine. And here I am having fun with USS Arizona and the Hiei after a battle to the death with some sort of evil sea monster." Thinking of those twisted, vile... things made her skin crawl.

"Yeah. It's weird. Terrifying. And really freaky sometimes. But I'm glad. I get a second chance to make things right. So do a lot of us." Hiei gave Arizona a gentle squeeze. "And some of us get to finally do what we were made for. You two should have seen Mutsu after her first battle. She had the biggest smile on her face for weeks. Jintsuu was like that too. But she was way more reserved about it. All shy and humble."

"Jintsuu?" Albacore suddenly became far more self conscious and had to fight off the urge to go silent. Play it dumb. Just enough to get the information. Hearing the name Mutsu was important, but not nearly so much as having heard the name of the cruiser supposedly guarding Jane.

"Yep. She's been a bit out of it lately. Got sick. And then something I made didn't help." It wasn't her fault! It wasn't! She'd followed the directions to the letter this time. She'd only added a little extra brown sugar. A single teaspoon! "She's Admiral Richardson's Yeoman right now."

The submarine froze as things began sliding into place.

Jintsuu was Admiral Richardson's Yeoman. The home she had broken into belonged to someone named Richardson. Jintsuu was sleeping at the Richardson residence according to the girl there named Jane. More obviously now, Jane Richardson.

"Oh fuck."

"What's the matter?" Arizona asked of Albacore as their little formation slowed, the submarine having stopped moving.

"I... may have broken into Admiral Richardson's home."

The battleships blinked in unison.

"You what?"

Maybe a crash dive was in order...


	60. Chapter 44: Splash One

**E/N** : _The Eagle-eyed among you will realize pretty quickly that this is a reworked version of Chapter 44. The author decided to do that since he didn't like how the first version turned out. And I do think it's quite the improvement, particularly with those Heerman feels at the end...  
_

 **Chapter 44: Splash One**

Jersey smirked as she glanced up at the sky. Miles above her, barely visible though the shattered clouds and scattered rain squalls were two Boeing Stratofortresses. Their enormous, lumbering fuselages seemed like little more than gray toothpicks hanging from their swept-back wings, their podded engines visible only as minute disturbances in their silhouette.

The Battleship was a navy girl though and through. She'd tease _anyone_ from another service, but the Chair Force always got special treatment. Old rivalries run deep, especially when the planes they flew drove Jersey and her sisters from their oceanic throne. But as much as she'd tease them, those airmen were as much her brothers in arms as Hoel or White. And no one. But _no one_ could beat out a Zoomie bomber when it came to sheer amounts of Freedom delivered on target.

Her guns could level a building. Their bombs could scrape whole cities from the face of the planet. It was fucking _awesome._

"Brace yourselves, girls," said the Battleship, her face stuck in a wry smile as she turned her gaze back to the brawl developing on the surface. "Zoomies are gonna saddamize that bitch."

Kongou's head whipped around so fast her long brow hair nearly slapped her in the face. The spray rippling off the tips caught Akizuki in the mouth, sending the little girl sputtering even as she rippled off her long 10cm guns. "Sodomize, Dess?"

"No, Saddamize," said Jersey.

Kongou gave the American a confused look, her finger slowly creeping up to rest against her lower lip while her fourteen inch rifles swiftly silenced an abyssal cruiser attempting to interrupt her conversation with her American counterpart. "What?" she said at last.

"Yeah," Jersey pointed to the string of signal flags her faeries had helpfully run up on her mast. Sierra, Alpha, Delta, Third Substitute, Second Substitute, Mike. "Evil son of a bitch who ruled one of those bum-fuck shitholes in the Middle East."

"Is he dead?" asked Akizuki between the sharp _Crack_ of her hyper velocity hundred millimeter guns.

"Does he need to be?" added her sister.

Jersey shook her head, mentally ticking off the seconds before her main batteries finished reloading. "Hell fucking yeah he's dead. He pissed of America. You girls know how well that goes."

"But this time, they're on our side, Dess!" said Kongou. The battleship threw her fist in the air and pumped it down with a dramatic flourish, the airy fabric of her less-than-perfectly wholesome miko outfit fluttering in the concussion of a perfectly-timed fourteen inch broadside.

"And we're never gonna let you down," said Jersey, a smile growing on her face as she brought her guns to bear on one of the two remaining Abyssal battlewagons. Her gaze narrowed to a squint as she let her fire control computer guide her shots. She was killing them with _math_ how fucking awesome was that? Her finger was already smashing the firing trigger down when something occurred to her. Something _horrible_ "Oh fuck."

Her words were all but lost in the boom of her Mark 7 rifles. Her shells were barely out of their barrels when her target sailed into a bank of fog so thick you could almost swim through it. But her radar kept a solid track on the target.

The abyssal was slamming on the brakes with all the power its badly broken hull could manage. But it wasn't enough, its efforts caused Jersey's shells to slam into its bridge and forward batteries rather than its center hull.

"What?" asked Kirishima, her rain-spattered glasses glinting like diamonds as she swung out to add her forward rifles to the American's salvo.

"I'm going to fucking kill Naka," grumbled Jersey, her sides blazing with five inch and forty millimeter fire as she steered into an oncoming bomber formation. Fucking _RickRolling_ bitch of a traffic cone…. "Yo, Bonecrusher flight."

 _"Copy, Jersey, what's up?"_ came the calm response.

"Two questions. You drop that ordy yet?"

 _"Negative. The Princess sailed into a fog bank. We need a clean visual for weapons release."_

"Damnit," scowled Jersey. The battleship barely had to shift her rudder as Akagi's reppus tore into the oncoming pack of pack of torpedo bombers. Only one managed to get its fish off before it broke formation or broke… apart. And that fish was so far off-track it'd make a Mark Fourteen hang its head in shame. "Okay, second question."

 _"Shoot, miss."_

" _Please_ tell me you've got some music there?" pleaded the battleship, "I got that stupid Astley song stuck in my head."

A rumbling laugh crackled though the battleship's radio room, _"Sorry, Jersey, but-"_ In an instant, the pilot's voice shifted from charmingly relaxed to deathly serious, _"Princess just came out of the fog. Starting our run."_

 _"Razgriz!"_ cheered Akagi.

 _"Copy that,"_ rumbled the pilot's reply.

"The fuck?" grunted Jersey.

"Don't ask," said Kirishima with a shudder.

 _"Bombs away, breaking off."_

Jersey glanced over at the carrier, letting her eyes relax as she searched with her radar. "Bonecrusher, be advised, hostile CAP is climbing to meet you."

 _"Copy. They closing at all?"_

"Not really, no," said Jersey, rolling her eyes as she swung her main battery around to focus on the burning abyssal battleship as it sulked in the fogbank. Like that'd save her. Radar master race, bitch! "What about that ordy?" she asked, rippling off her broadside almost as an afterthought.

 _"Wait one- shit."_ the pilot stated the most level-voiced profanity Jersey'd ever seen. Or heard, actually. Heard is more appropriate here. _"Eleven splashes, only one hit."_

"Damnit!" cursed Jersey, her voice echoing over the sound of an abyssal battleship blowing its magazine. Modern GPS-tech-that-was-basically-magic should've earned more than one fucking hit!

 _"Jersey, be advised, we've still got six weapons apiece. If we come in low and slow-"_

"Negative, Bonecrusher flight," snapped the battleship. "It'll put you at too great a risk."

 _"That may be, ma'am, but we're willing to risk it."_

"Yeah, well I'm not," said Jersey. There was only one abyssal battleship left, and it was doing an admirable job at keeping itself angled and at arms length. Little fucker… "You guys can't take hits, we can."

A very long pause.

"I can make it an order, you know."

 _"I just hate to leave all this ordy laying around._

"And I'd hate to write a letter back to your families," said Jersey. "Seriously, I fucking hate paperwork. Ditch the rest of your shit from high alt, go home, hug your kids, put on some fucking… rock or some shit for me and the girls."

Another long pause. _"Copy,"_ came the reluctant reply. _"Forming up for another run."_

 _"Razgriiiiiz!"_ said Akagi.

 _"Akagi, stopit!"_ hissed a noticbly less-bubbly than usual Naka.

 _"Razgriz,"_ whispered the carrier.

"I work with fucking children," scowled Jersey, bringing her guns to bear on the last Abyssal battleship. "Yo, Tenryuu."

 _"Yo."_

"Your kiddos in position?"

 _"Hai,"_ said the cruiser with a barely noticeable growl in her voice. _"We're lurking in the fog, keeping eyes on as best we can. Want us to go loud?"_

"Not yet, the battleship still there?" asked Jersey, her batteries bellowing out a ranging salvo. The abyssal battleship she was chancing was proving a clever little bastard. Always flicking its stern this way and that to put that stupidly-thick belt to good use while it danced around her firing solution.

 _"Hai."_

"Stay dark for now," said Jersey. The battleship scowled as her shells landed in a perfect bracket around her target without scoring a single hit. Not even splinter damage! "I want you doing BDA when-"

 _"Bonecrusher flight beginning our run."_

 _"Razgriz."_

"-When that happens," said Jersey, a smile crossing her face as she brought her guns to bear on the fleeing abyssal battleship. "c'mere you little shit," she said, mentally counting off the agonizing seconds while her main battery reloaded. As much as she enjoyed the feeling of hundreds of faeries scrambling around inside her running her shell hoists, she'd really rather _be fucking shooting._ "Yo, Kongous!"

"Dess?" "Hai?" came the near-simultaneous responses of the two sisters.

"Push up," said the American, "Zommies aren't gonna be able to finish this."

"No problem, Dess!" bellowed Kongou, her voice somehow carrying over the thunder of her fourteen inch rifles and stupid number of chattering twenty-five millimeter AA guns. Kirishima just offered a polite nod before turning back to her terrifyingly calm deconstruction of the remaining gaggle of battle-weary abyssal cruisers.

 _"Bonecrusher flight… bombs away."_

Jersey smiled. "C'mon you big ugly fat fucks… land this one."

 _"That's a hit!"_ the pilot's silk-calm voice cracked into a triumphant yelp, only to be quashed an instant later by Tenryuu.

 _"Nope. Hit the water."_

"Shit!" Jersey scowled, her brows knitting together as she stared down a random patch of ocean in fury. "Fuck! Bonecrusher, RTB. We'll finish this the old fashioned way."

—|—|—

Crowning blinked, his mouth hanging half open as he held his cup close-but not quite _at_ drinking height. The professor blinked again, slowly lowering his beverage back to the table. "Gale?"

"Yeah?" said the sailor, her hands burrowing deep into the pockets of her fatigue pants.

"I distinctly remember the Air Force dropping bombs into individual rooms during the Gulf war."

"Yeah, that happened," said Gale. The yeoman scuffed one boot against the other, her loose bun glimmering in the bunker spotlighting.

"That…" Crowning raised a finger, pointing in the general direction of the massive abyssal. "That thing's bigger than a room. It's… it's bigger than a _block_." He stopped, his lips pursing as he was reduced to gesturing emphatically at the notably undamaged iceberg, "How did we miss?"

Gale shrugged, "You tell me, doc."

"I don't…" Crowning stopped, his gaze going glassy as he slowly stroked at his closely shaven beard. "Um…"

"That…" Gale shook her head, "that's not any of that Socratic method shit. I honestly don't know. Those things are laser-guided with GPS as back up. They _should_ have hit. The only reason they'd miss-"

"Is because of abyssal spookiness," said Crowning.

"Yeah," said the Yeoman. "And you're the closest thing we've got to an expert on that."

"I… hmm…" Crowning reached for his chin again, his gaze going unfocused as he thought. "I'll get back to you on that."

—|—|—

The Northern Princess stalked along her deck with her face buried in the machined steel of her choker. Her imps scrambled over her deck like so many miniature ants, fire hoses and shovels trailing in their wake as they frantically repaired what little damage she'd taken.

The seething sea of imps split into two scrambling tentacles, one shoveling all the kicked-up ice off the side while the other filled up the ragged crater with freezing arctic seawater. This far north, especially in the dead of winter, it would freeze solid within a few days, giving her a fresh new deck to launch her planes from.

If she had any planes _left_. The princess balled her tiny hands into fists, the padding of her thick mittens scrunching up as she shook with unrestrained rage. Her planes, her beautiful precious planes lay shattered on the ocean.

The princess felt her teeth grind against one another. Her eyes were bloodshot as she stared off at the battle. What aircraft she had left were fighting their little hearts out over the brawling mess of battleships and cruisers, but that wasn't where her eyes were focused.

She stared across the ocean at the super battleship and two dreadnoughts tearing into her horribly out-of-position escort battleships. Them, and those hateful little destroyers escorting them.

She _hated_ them. Hated them with every fiber of her being. All she _knew_ was hate for them. Her planes, her toys were _broken_ and it was all _their fault_. They broke her beautiful planes without even giving them the honor of dying in a dogfight! They broke them with flak! Those destroyers took her precious toys and stomped them into dust! They were mean and evil, and the princess felt enraged tears flow down her bone-white face. Her precious planes!

She raised one shaking mitten, her bloody eyes locked on the hateful destroyers. "Kill them!" she shrieked. "KILL THEM!"

—|—|—

"Oh shit." Naka was suddenly bolt upright, her phone clamped to her ear as… what one might describe as 'sounds' if one was in a generous mood. The noise sent shivers down the cruiser's keel. Her ears rang with what felt like the unholy child of nails on a chalkboard and small animals being crushed to death in excruciatingly slow ways. And behind it all, the furious hammerblow of a war drum. Abyssal comms chatter, or at least their twisted mockery of it.

"Waddup?" asked Ryuujou. The light carrier offered Naka the barest of glances before returning to her summoning ritual, her deck crawling with faeries frantically manhandling Zeros into position.

"I don't know," said Naka, forcing herself to listen to the horrific abyssal war drums. The tempo was picking up now. Fast, almost frantic. "Something big."

An instant later, the lone beat was joined by another ragged beat. This one far more disorganized than the first, but no less steeped in seething hate. The drums beat with furious energy, without a care in the world for harmony or grace.

The cruiser checked her phone. She might not be able to understand the abyssal chatter, but she could trace its location. Combine that with the amount and intensity of the chatter, and it gave her a certain amount of insight into-

"Oh SHIT!" Naka gulped as the direction-finding gear on her phone came happily flashed its result. "Nagato, the Princess just sent an order to the abyssal fleet you're engaging."

 _"Copy,"_ came the terrifyingly calm response, _"what's the message?"_

"She's mad," said Naka, "I think it was a designated kill order. She wants one of you _dead._ "

"HA!" boomed Musashi, her voice thundering so loud Naka didn't even have to use her radio, "THEY CANNOT KILL MUSASHI!"

"I… don't think that's her target."

—|—|—

 _Fletcher_ -Class destroyer Heermann heard Nagato's warning that the Abyssal battleships were turning to target their task force, at least in the sense that the Japanese battleship's words entered her bridge. But the words themselves might as well have not existed for the little destroyer. They changed absolutely nothing about the situation.

Heermann was never a surface combatant. Try as she might, she just didn't have the guts of her sisters. She'd strike from the smoke when she had to, but she much preferred escorting. It was so much simpler, instead of keeping a laundry list of tactics in mind, Heermann only had to remember one thing: Who she was escorting.

Right now, that was Nagato. No one would _touch_ Nagato. Even the air needed her express permission, complete with forms signed in triplicate to rustle her flowing hair. So what if the abyssals were massing against miss Nagato's division? They wouldn't be allowed to touch her charge. Not now, not _ever._

"Turning to port," signaled Nagato, her hull slicing though the water as she threw herself into a lazy turn, her batteries slewing around to focus on the least-badly damaged of the abyssal NelRods.

"Copy that," said Heermann, turning her own rudder over to keep herself perfectly glued to the bigger battleship's hip. The water churned with freezing arctic waves, burning oil slicks and floating debris. But, Heermann noted with pride, the skies were clear. She'd done her duty protecting her charge, hopefully she'd made Jersey proud!

"What are they doing?" boomed Musashi, her head thrown back in laughter. Heermann glanced from the sky to the abyssal surface force. The cruisers had formed into a tightly focused wedge, while the battleships were turning over.

The destroyer scrunched up her nose. The cruisers she could understand, but the battleships were turning far more than they had to to just unshadow their third turret. They were showing their broadsides to…

Heermann gulped. To bring their secondaries to bear. On her. The little destroyer felt her skin go white as snow as she noticed the black maw of cannons pointed squarely at her. "Miss Nagato, help," she muttered, slewing her own guns to reply.

There wasn't enough time to get out of position, and Heermann refused to even _try_. That'd mean leaving her charge undefended. What kind of destroyer would she be if she did that?

"Heermann, what-" realization dawned on the Japanese battleship's serene face a split second before the abyssal force—battleship and cruiser alight—erupted in billowing cordite blooms.

Heermann felt the water around her churn to a boil as shells splashed all around her. Splashes nearly overshadowed her masts, and the little destroyer danced around them with all she could, trying desperately to maneuver out of their firing solution without leaving Nagato undefended.

It wasn't enough. A High-explosive shell from one of the battleships caught her in the stern. Heermann let out a yelp that died in her mouth as her stern was torn from her hull. Everything from her stern-most gun mount aft was mortally wrenched from her.

Heermann screamed. Tears streamed down her face as bloody oil poured from her mutilated calves. Her skin was torn apart, her shafts spun fruitlessly against raw nerves, struggling to turn screws that had simply vanished. The destroyer clutched at her stomach, dropping to her shattered kneecaps against the roaring Alaskan ocean.

"Heermann's been hit," she heard… heard her sister say. Johnston, it was Johnston. But there wasn't any of the boasting Heermann normally heard in her beloved sister's voice. It was… cold. Empty and emotionless.

"I'm…" Heermann tottered on her bloody knees. She hated hearing Johnston so scared. She wanted to hear her sister be _her sister_. She wanted to hear Johnston before… Before whatever happened. "I'mokay," she mumbled, keeling over into the water with a pathetic splash.


	61. Chapter 45: You Know Who This Is For!

**Chapter 45: You Know Who This Is For!**

Musashi felt her booming laugh die suddenly partway up her throat. The abyssal force had turned in as one, the already battered warships bleeding yet more speed as they scrambled to bring every gun they had to bear. They were sitting targets, floating at a range where they couldn't help but hit the super battleship's impervious belt armor.

Only they didn't fire at her. They fired at _Heermann_. Heermann, the little destroyer who'd never left Nagato's side. Heermann, the destroyer who fought like a battleship against impossible odds. They fired on _her_ and tore her hull apart with a furious salvo from every gun they had. It wasn't even some freak accident. A volley that focused could only have been directed at her.

The abyssals bled their speed…showed their broadsides…put themselves in mortal danger purely to kill that little girl. There wasn't any other reason, no other explanation made sense. The battleship felt her blood start to boil. Seawater flashed to steam as crashed against her tanned upper works.

"M-Musashi?" Hoel stared up at Musashi with teary eyes, her tiny body barely controlling a quiver as the abyssals turned their wrath against _her_.

Deep inside her, Musashi felt something _snap._ She was mad. Madder than she'd ever been in her life. So mad she was…serene. She saw the world around her with perfect clarity. Time slowed to a crawl around her, droplets of salt spray glistened like jewels as they crawled though the air.

Battleship Musashi of the Imperial Japanese Navy felt something she'd never felt before. Righteous anger. She wasn't fighting to prove herself any more, she was fighting for Heermann. She was fighting to avenge the valor of a girl who stood her ground in the face of hell itself. And Musashi would have her vengeance.

"Hoel," said the battleship, her gaze locked on the abyssal battleship that fired the killing blow.

"Y-Yes?" gulped the destroyer, her knuckles white as she clutched at her five inch turrets.

"Get behind me," said Musashi. Her brows knit in fury as she spat out the words, her snow-white hair whipping in the howling arctic wind as she brought her guns around. The little destroyer didn't need to be told twice, her tiny body retreated behind the massive battleship's unstoppable bulk. Musashi barely gave it a thought as she locked her rangefinders on the slowly-accelerating abyssal.

"My name is Musashi," she said, her face twisting into a furious scowl as the battered abyssal scrambled to get back underway. "Second ship of the Yamato class. The last battleship of the Imperial Japanese Navy." She was all but shaking with rage now, her eyes locked on her target as her gunners cross-checked their solutions. "If you want a fight…here I am."

Her nine 46cm rifles thundered as one, hurling armor-piercing shells at the instrument of her little friend's death. The panicked abyssal tried a last-minute turn to dodge the shells racing though the air. But at this range, Musashi couldn't have missed even if she tried.

"This is for Heermann," breathed the battleship, her arms folding across her breast in quiet triumph, "you son of a bitch."

Her shells crashed home, slamming through the abyssal's armor and feedwater tanks like they weren't even there, their armor-piercing caps keeping them dead straight as they punched though inches of armor steel like it was so much soggy tissue paper.

One round found its mark in the forward magazine, touching off an explosion that lifted the entire forward section of the battleship out of the water with an eruption of burning decking and twisted metal shrapnel.

A millisecond later, another of Musashi's 46cm shells exploded inside the rear-most magazine, tearing everything forward of the battleship's monolithic tower mast clean off. Yet another shell connected with the stern-mounted secondary magazines. The battleship's hull plates blew out like some seagoing giant had simply stepped on it.

Before it could even finish disintegrating, sixteen 41cm shells—eight each from Nagato and Mutsu—slammed into what little was left, pulverizing the twisted mockery of a battleship out of existence. All that remained of the Heermann's killer was a slick of burning oil and a few chunks of debris smaller than Musashi's fist.

"Burn in hell you piece of shit," breathed Musashi, her anger seething though her as she whipped her head around. There was still one battleship left, and the hateful…ice _bitch_ who ordered that strike.

"M-Musashi?" Hoel tugged at the battleship's skirt, her tear-filled eyes bouncing from the battleship to where here sister's battered hull was rapidly dyeing the ocean an oily red.

"Go," said the battleship, whipping her glasses off and wiping the lens clean with the corner of her shirt cape.

Hoel didn't need to be told twice. She—and Johnston, after a nod from Mutsu—sprinted over to their beloved sister. Hoel traded her five-inch for a fire-hose and spuriously sprayed down the fires burning in her sister's shattered stern, even as tears flowed down her tiny face.

Johnston didn't even wait for the fires. The tips of her feathers let off a stream of smoke as the heat singed them. But the little destroyer never faltered. She pulled up alongside her sister as gently as she could, cradling Heermann in her arms as faeries sprinted across in firefighting gear. "She- she's still alive."

Musashi gasped. After a wound like that…a _cruiser_ would die from less.

"We'll…we'll get her stabilized," said Hoel, her voice straining in hope as she tied up alongside her battered sister.

"And we'll handle the stragglers," said Nagato, her steel-hard gaze flicking from Musashi to the abyssal cruisers desperately trying to find more distance. "Musashi."

"Hai, Nagato-sama," said the super battleship, brushing her snowy hair back as she slid her glasses back into place.

"Sink. That. Bitch."

—|—|—

Across the battlefield, battleship New Jersey felt her vision tint red. Her radar pierced though the fog banks and bodily intimidated the howling rain squalls to get the _fuck_ out of the way. She could see the icy hulk of the Northern Princess sulking in the false safety of a fog bank. She issued a kill order and didn't even have the fucking balls to stand and watch.

Jersey didn't even realize her hands were balled into fists until she felt them smash into the muscle of her thighs. There wasn't much she recalled from her time as a museum ship, but the piercing, shooting pain of a torpedo ripping her machinery rooms apart was one of them. It was more pain than she even thought possible to bear. And now little Heermann, _her_ Heermann, her beloved little destroyer was suffering all that but a thousand times worse.

All because of that. Icy. Bitch.

"Jersey?" Kongou pulled up abreast of the fuming American, her porcelain features a perfect mix of English and Japanese, with a healthy dose of fear ladled over everything.

"She hurt Heermann," breathed the Battleship, her screws biting into the water as she pushed herself up to flank. "Tenryuu!"

 _"Hai."_ There wasn't a shred of bombast or cockyness in the old cruiser's voice. Just anger. Anger diluted only by the murderous focus of a mother bear defending her cubs.

"Sitrep," growled Jersey, her screws kicking up a furious rooster tail as she plowed past thirty knots.

 _"The last battleship is moving to cut you off."_

Jersey scowled. There was no way in hell one battleship armed with four-fucking-teen inch guns could stop her, even if she _wasn't_ so fucking mad even physics itself was staying the _fuck_ out of her way. "She's sending it to its death," she said. "Buying time to fucking _fade_."

 _"Probably,"_ came the cruiser's curt reply. _"The girls and I still have our fish. We can try and stop it."_

"Negative," said Jersey, her screws pushing her all the way up to her redline…and they kept on going. "Put 'em into the princess."

 _"Gladly."_

Jersey shoved that issue to the back of her mind. She had another ship to deal with. The last battleship between her and the princess. One last guardian throwing its life away to buy a few fruitless seconds for the cowardly carrier to cut and run.

 _"New Jersey,"_ the booming voice of Musashi echoed though Jersey's radio room. The American glanced across her hull to see the massive battleship smash though a fog bank not a thousand yards off her bow.

"Musashi," grunted Jersey, "I'm not in the fucking mood."

"Neither am I," boomed the Japanese girl, her mast blossoming in signal flags and…and a forty-eight star ensign flying just below the rising sun of her battle flag. "What say you we put this bitch down. Together."

Jersey cracked a grin. "Hell fucking yeah, 'Sashi. You got those guns ready?"

"Loaded and ready to fire."

"Good." Jersey swept her gaze to the lone remaining abyssal battleship. Twenty-thousand yards off her bow and screaming towards her at twenty knots. The battleship flicked its tail out, bringing its stern quadruple turret into play as it tried in vain to match the fire power of two furious super battleships.

The abyssal straightened out into a steady course as its primitive fire control locked down variable after variable. It'd have a perfect solution soon…

But Jersey was faster on the trigger. Her radar was tracking it from the instant it came into sight. She _had_ her range. She _had_ her relative speed. She had every bit of information she needed to erase the hateful thing from the face of the planet.

"MOVE, BITCH!" she bellowed, her forward six guns barking in harmony as she barreled towards the creeping mass of the Norther Princess at almost thirty-six knots. Any other day, she might have put more effort into dealing with the abyssal battleship in an elegant way. But this… this was no ordinary day. The princess had hurt her beloved Heermann. All the battleships she could throw were nothing more than glorified speed bumps for the enraged American war machine.

"All Batteries FIRE!" barked Musashi mere instants later. Her forward turrets thundered in response, their concussive voices blowing a perfect dome though the last wisps of fog that clung to her towering pagodas.

The abyssal knew it was doomed. Its bow tucked under as it threw itself into reverse, but it was too little too late. Twelve armor-piercing shells from two of the best battleships ever built bracketed it in a cage to towering splashes. They tore though its armor, laughing at the steel and chitin they burrowed though and tearing the ship apart from the inside. Gouts of flame erupted as magazines and boilers alike were torn to shreds, cracking the ship in pieces as a fireball of cordite and oil blossomed around the twisted warship.

Jersey felt a wicked smile flash across her face. Watching the titanic fire bloom into the sky did nothing to dampen her rage. But it _did_ focus it, it forged her fury into a tool to break the Princess apart with. Piece by piece.

 _"Jersey,"_ Tenryuu panted though the battleship's radio room, _"I can't keep up… I'm sending the girls to escort you in."_

"Copy that," said Jersey, giving a nod to the four destroyers forming up into a piercing wedge around her.

"No one touches you!" said the purple haired on.

"You can depend on us!" said the short-haired brunette.

"We're with you, nanodesu," said the…other short-haired one.

The snowy-haired one just offered a salute before turning her eyes back to the sea.

"Mushi," Jersey glanced at the super battleship she was slowly closing on, "You good for fire support?"

The Japanese battleship tossed her hair back, one hand resting on her hip as her guns dropped to their loading angles. "It would be my honor, Jersey."

"Let's finish this fight," growled Jersey, her grin turning absolutely bloodthirsty as she spotted the Princess on the horizon. Its hull was covered in huge craters where Tenryuu's kiddos had landed their spread of long-lance torpedoes. Oil streamed from cracked bunkers in a vast slick. She was hurting… hurting bad. Hurting like she'd hurt Heermann…

"You kiddos do good work," said Jersey, earning a beaming smile from the purple-haired destroyer. The battleship shifted her gaze back to the limping iceberg, her grin going dead flat. "Looks like you just ran out of friends."

She pulled her stern out in a gentle turn, bringing her after turret to bear as she slowed to twenty-five knots. She was well inside her rage, and well outside the princess's. No reason to make this any easier for the abyssal than it had to be. "Now fucking _die._ " she hissed, her guns thundering in emphasis.

Musashi's shells joined seconds later, and the two battleships fell into a deadly rhythm. Their shells crashed into the Princess's icy hull, burrowing deep into her hull and blowing vast cracks though the ever-weakening pykrete. Vast chunks of the Princess's hull sloughed off as shell after shell slammed home, tearing holes in her side all the way though to her aviation hangers.

Huge spouts of flame poured out of the carrier's rent open side as aviation fuel ignited. Cracks shot down her deck and hull as water poured into her battered side, twisting and torquing her battered frame as she tried to capsize three different ways.

Finally, after almost an hour of relentless shelling, the two battleships finally broke the abyssal carrier. Musashi and Jersey's shells tore though what was left of the Princess's keel and tore her hull apart in an eruption of burning fuel oil and exploding aircraft ordnance.

"We did it." Jersey panted. Her throat was parched, her gun barrels sizzling hot, her stomach growling at her in frustration. But she'd done it. She'd vanquished the heartless bitch who almost killed Heermann. "Way to go, Mushi," she said, offering her closed fist to the Japanese super battleship.

Musashi wordlessly raised her own fist to meet the American, an exhausted smile spreading across her face. "We did it," she echoed.


	62. Chapter 46: Damcon

**Chapter 46: Damcon**

Johnston glided to a halt alongside her bleeding sister, ignoring the flaming fuel oil licking at her hull as she tied herself off next to Heermann. Hoel could hose them down, and a little fire wouldn't hurt her while she…

The destroyer screeched to a halt. Her heart pounded in her ears as tears streamed down her face. She didn't know what to do. She… she knew how to effect damage control on a _Fletcher_ class destroyer. Or at least her crew knew how to do it. Or did. Back when they were… were people. And she was steel, not a girl.

Johnston bit her lips, her cheeks puffing up as her hyperventilating breaths were trapped in her mouth. She didn't know what to do. She _didn't know what to do!_ The destroyer looked over her wounded sister, her tiny hands wringing while Hoel hosed them both down with her firefighting gear.

Heermann was… she was in bad shape. Her legs just kinda… stopped at the knees. The tattered fabric of her torn up shorts blended in with the torn steel of her wrecked calves. Oil oozed from her body, firming rainbow swirls as it forced its way past water pouring into her hull.

Oh! Okay, Heermann was bleeding… Johnston gave a resolute nod. Bleeding she could deal with, she could fix this. She furiously tore at her neckerchief, her shaking hands got the knot on the third try. Okay, stop the bleeding… tourniquets. Those work right?

She fumbled the navy-blue fabric around her sister's bleeding let, twisting it up into the best knot she could remember while Hoel did the same on Heermann's other leg.

"C'mon, sis," pleaded Johnston. A stream of faeries sprinted down her arms, jumping over to the wounded _Fletcher_ -class with welding tools, portable pumps, and every kind of damage-control gear she had in inventory.

"Please wake up," sniffed Hoel. Tears streamed down her face as she clung to her wounded sister, buoying her with her own hull to take the load off Heermann's torn bulkheads.

"'m…" Heermann mumbled something, her head lolling over as a wave crested over her messy ponytail. "Want… mama…" she whispered.

"Okay… okay," said Hoel, her faeries working triple time to lash the three _Fletcher_ sisters together. "Jersey, Heermann-"

 _"Yeah, I know,"_ came the battleship's curt response. She sounded almost out of breath, like she was sprinting as fast as her turbines would push her. _"I'll be there in fifteen. Just… keep her talking, okay?"_

"Okay," said Hoel, bending over to brush a chunk of sopping wet hair off Heermann's face. "It's okay, sis. Jersey's coming."

—|—|—

Destroyer Escort Samuel B Roberts wrung her hands in the pockets of her over sized field jacket, her huge russet-brown eyes bouncing between the spot beyond the horizon where she knew her friend was clinging to life and the much nearer spot where Akagi was recovering her planes.

The curvy flat-top didn't so much as glance in the tiny escort's direction. Her face was a portrait of concentration and focus as she steamed into the freezing wind. Her long hair billowed in the borderline-gale, a shimmering of black against the twilight sky.

Sammy didn't dare interrupt, even to ask if she could leave to check on her friend. Akagi was _her_ carrier after all. She was on plane-guard duty, any pilot who missed the deck was her responsibility. The little destroyer escort didn't want to think about the poor fairies who plowed into the freezing Bearing sea swells. Just imagining it made the girl shiver all the way down to her keel.

"Hey," Fubuki pulled up abreast of the destroyer escort, her little ponytail whipping around in the Arctic wind.

Sammy almost leaped off the ocean surface when Fubuki broke her concentration. "Oh… uh, hi, Bucky."

Fubuki smiled before burrowing her face into her winter scarf. "I though you'd go running to your friend by now."

"I…" Sammy stopped, wiping at her ruddy nose with the back of her hand. The freezing cold wasn't doing anything to help her sniffles. "I want to, but-"

"But like… what?" asked Yuudachi with one of her trademark pois. "She's your friend, you should go."

"Yeah," said Fubuki, "We can help… _Akagi-Sempai_ " the destroyer let out a dreamy sigh, her cheeks flushing red as her knees buckled under her.

Yuudachi looked at the special-type destroyer girl for a second. Then she shrugged and turned back to Sammy. "Don't worry, poi. We've done this before."

"Are-" Sammy glanced over her bow to where she _knew_ her the other taffies were swarming around Heermann, "-Are you sure?"

This time, it was Akagi who spoke. "Go, Sammy," she said with a curt, focused breath. Her eyes never left the horizon as she guided her battered planes down onto her rolling deck, but Sammy could sense the warmth in the bigger girl's tone.

"Okaythanksmissakagi!" blurted the little destroyer escort, her pigtails streaming behind her as she rapidly accelerated all the way to flank.

—|—|—

Jersey scowled into the howling salt spray as her slender bow smashed though the frigid Bearing Sea waves. Tears fell from her eyes and boiled away to steam as they kissed her superheated skin. She was running her turbines flat out, her screws kicking up a tail of spray behind her as she sprinted to her wounded Fletchers.

She was a fast ship, the fastest every to bear the title of Battleship. But it wasn't enough. She wasn't fast _enough_ to be there when her kids needed her, and she wasn't fast enough to be there to comfort Heermann after the little Fletcher got hurt.

Jersey let out a roar, water crashing around her as she slammed her foot into the surf. She wasn't fucking fast enough to help her beloved girls. _They_ took the brunt because she wasn't fucking in position. A-fucking- _gain._

And now she was throwing a hissy fit instead of doing something fucking useful to help her wounded kiddo. Fucking way to go, Jersey… The battleship scowled, tapping her fingers to her ear as her radio room got her admiral on the line. "Yo, Williams, you there?"

 _"That's afirm, Jersey,"_ came the comforting gravel of her Admiral's voice, _"What's the condition of the fleet."_

"Mushi took a few hits, sir," said Jersey. The battleship grit her teeth, forcing herself to stay brutally on-focus, "But she's got it under control. Scattered damage on the rest of us, and Heermann's…" she trailed off, wiping a stray bit of salt off her cheekbone.

 _"Understood, Commander,"_ was the surprisingly warm reply.

"Sir, we're pretty low on ammo here. We, uh…" Jersey shook her head, mentally shoving all of her worries off her plotting table and dropping a fresh set of logistics charts and maps in their place. "We're gonna have to stop over somewhere to resupply, and soon."

She paused, leaning over charts as she tried to pick out a safe harbor. "Hey, Adak Island's still populated in the future, right?"

 _"Sparsely, but yes, I'll let them know to expect you. Anything else?"_

"One thing," said Jersey as she stepped down from full power. She didn't want to build up too harsh a wake, not around a destroyer as badly mangled as her Heermann, "There's a doc who looked after me in Japan, Major…" the battleship flipped though her logbook, "Solette. Mack Solette. Think you can get him to meet us?"

 _"I'll get him on a jet inside the hour, Jersey._

"Thank you, sir," said Jersey. Her relived smile didn't last long. She felt her face fall back into a sullen scowl as she saw the her three taffies floating together in the middle of a bloody oil slick.

Heermann was flanked by her two sisters, their hulls lashed to hers to support her while she slept. Sammy was there too, her eyes brimming with tears as she slowly circled the three destroyers, fire hose at the ready if any sudden sparks should land in the puddle of oil.

"Jersey," Johnston waved at the battleship. Her feathers were singed and her already-rumpled shirt was covered in oily bloodstains. "Hey," she ever so gently nudged her sisters' shoulder, "Hey, It's mama."

Jersey would've blushed beet red if her cheeks weren't already rosy from her sprint. "Hey, kiddo," she cooed, gently brushing the wounded girl's hair out of her face.

"Mmmm," mumbled Heermann, her mouth curling into an exhausted half-smile.

"It's okay," said Jersey in the most soothing voice she could manage, "We'll… we'll get you home safe. I promise."

—|—|—

Professor Crowning let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. The drone footage wasn't the best, but it was enough. He… he never handled violence well, and watching Heermann bleed out like that was almost too much for him. "Gale."

The yeoman grunted, her half-finished cup of soup sitting forgotten in her hand as she stared transfixed at the images writ large on the bunker walls.

"Gale," said Crowning a bit more sharply than he'd intended.

"Yeah? Sorry, yeah?" The yeoman tore her eyes from the screen, meeting his with a sheepish half-smile. The kind of smile one puts on when one simply can't find any other way to deal with the situation one finds herself in.

"What, uh…" Crowning ran a hand though his beard, "What's going on?"

"You mean on the…" Gale waved to the screen.

"Yeah," said Crowning, pointedly _not_ looking at said screen.

"They're uh…" Gale shrugged, the heavy fabric of her uniform creasing from the motion, "They're rigging Heermann up for a tow."

"Uh huh," Crowning stared back with a look of borderline comprehension.

"Right, uh…" Gale pursed her lips. "Okay… towing a ship's not like towing a car. Both hulls still have to stay buoyant, and if there's any holes in the hull…" Gale winced as she waved her half-finished cup of soup at the screen, "Like… the ones in Heermann's, the waves can batter them open. It's what sunk Kongou."

"Oh," Crowning nodded, his hands burrowing into the pockets of his pants, "Can't J just… carry Heermann?"

"What?"

"They're both girls," said Crowning. "Can't Jersey-" he held his arms out in a rough imitation of a bridal carry, "You know, carry her."

"No," said Gale with a shake of the head, "Because-" she stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth hung open as her brows moved inwards by fractions. "Of… uh… reasons," she mumbled as she pushed her way deeper into the bunker, closer to the Admiral's position. "Uh, Sir?"

"Yeah?" Williams didn't look in her direction, but the slight tilt of the head was enough to indicate his attention was now solidly focused on the yeoman.

"What if Jersey carries her?"

"What?" Williams slowly pivoted on his heel to focus his attention on Gale.

"What if she carries Heermann," said Gale, pointing to where Crowning still had his hands out in bridal-carry position.

"Doc?" Williams shifted his attention to the professor. "Can they do that?"

"Probably?" said Crowning. "If they can ruffle each other's hair… Look, I'm no expert on ships, but it's gotta be better than trying to tow her though weather like that."

The Admiral nodded, his attention swinging back to the crowd of nervous sailors manning their consoles. "Jersey, what if you carry Heermann."

A pause.

 _"I can do that?"_


	63. Chapter 47: They Eat HOW Much!

**Chapter 47: They Eat HOW Much?**

"Oh fuck me." Jersey smacked herself in the forehead. With her hand. A hand that was attached to an impressively toned arm, the kind usually refereed to as 'shredded' or 'jacked.' Jersey could easily pluck up a scared little Fletcher-girl with arms like these, hell, she'd been bragging to Musashi about her own build not two days ago. And yet, she'd never even _considered_ picking up Heermann. Because she was a ship. Ships don't pick up other ships, ships tow ships.

The battleship scowled and smashed her palm into her brow with an angry grunt. She was a _stupid_ ship. "Fuck me, I'm an idiot." She made a note in her log to find out which harebrained sailor came up with such an out-of-the-box idea and kiss him (or her, Jersey wasn't a stickler) full on the mouth. "Yo, Hoel."

"Yeah?" the little destroyer shakily looked over. Her eyes were glassy and the grime on her face only made the tear streaks that much more obvious. But there was something else too. The Taffy Spark that refused to give up, not while she was still floating—and sometimes not even then.

"C'mere, I want to test something," said Jersey. The battleship planted her feet wide on the surf, her muscular thighs tensing as she braced herself against her… hull. "C'mon," she held her arms out like a pale fleshy forklift, waiting for Hoel to hop aboard.

"What're we doing?" mumbled Hoel as she dutifully shuffled into Jersey's grasp.

"I need to see," Jersey grabbed the destroyer, cradling her legs with one arm while the other wrapped around Hoel's back, "If I can carry you little shits."

Hoel let out a surprised eep as Jersey hauled her into the air. Her already huge eyes went as big as Musashi's comically over sized tits as Jersey settled the little destroyer against her hip.

"You okay, kiddo?" asked Jersey. One arm wrapped around Hoel's hips, keeping her firmly seated in the crook of the battleship's slender waist. The other wrapped around the little destroyer's back to keep her extra secure.

"Um…" Hoel craned her neck to look over the battleship's shoulder. Her cheeks puckered as she examined her new perch like a kitten examining its newest toy. "I think so."

"Good," said Jersey, "'cause you're heavy as fuck."

"Hey!"

Jersey rolled her eyes while her engineering crews frantically scurried up and down her body. So far so good. Other than the insufficiently-padded weight of Hoel's bony—or was it steely—ass against her hip, Jersey wasn't sensing any worrisome stress on her body-that-was-also-her-hull-because-fuck-logic-in-its-pretentious-ass.

"You know it's true," she said, trying in vain to find a spot for Hoel that didn't involve jamming pointy Fletcher-ass-bones right into her hip. The little girl was heavy. Heavier than any girl her size should be. But at least she wasn't destroyer-heavy.

"I'm not _that_ much heavier than your turret," protested Hoel. Her little arms folded in defiance as she scowled at the battleship she was suddenly at eye-level with.

"Yeah yeah, short stuff," said Jersey, slowly building up to a sedate ten knots. Adak Island was only a hundred-odd nautical miles away. As much as Jersey wanted to get Heermann to a dockyard _yesterday_ , she'd ideally like to do it without dropping the poor girl.

"Wow…" Hoel stared down at the water gliding by below her. "Is this what being you is like?"

"Yeah," said Jersey, a tiny smile creeping onto her face at the sheer awe on Hoel's tear stained face.

"You're _so slow._ "

The smile died. "Listen here you little shit," Jersey gave Hoel's ass a pinch, eliciting a surprised eep. The battleship ignored her and nudged her helm over into a turn. Gentle at first, then harder and harder until her twin rudders were at nearly half-deflection.

"Oooh…" Hoel screwed her eyes shut and shoved her face into Jersey's scarf. The battleship wasn't rolling as badly as she _should_ be with this much top weight, but she was definitely rolling. "I don't like this," mumbled the destroyer.

"Fuck it," muttered Jersey. The battleship coasted to a stop and gingerly set Hoel back down on the water. She had her envelope now. Ten knots and half her rudder's deflection was all she was willing to push it. At that speed, she'd show up on the island just after dawn.

"Hey, Heermann?" the battleship said. Her voice was low and soothing, almost a motherly coo as she ever so gently pulled up alongside the mauled destroyer. Jersey felt her own tears start to well up under her gun directors, but she forced them down. Heermann needed a rock to cling to, not a weeping puddle to… fucking… sing into? Maybe? Jersey was focusing too hard to bother with coherent metaphors.

"Mmmhm?" the little girl's pained murmur was almost lost in the crash of freezing water against her hull.

"We're gonna get you home," said Jersey. The battleship dipped her arms into the freezing water, gently cradling Heermann before pulling her out of the ocean as smoothly as she could manage.

It wasn't smooth enough, the mangled girl uttered the strongest cries of pain her spent body could manage, sending a cringe up Jersey's spine.

"I know, kiddo," she whispered as she settled Heermann against crook of her waist. Bloody oil from Heermann's shredded legs oozed onto the battleship's body, slowly soaking into her shorts.

The little destroyer's cries died as Jersey finally got her settled against her chest. In its place came a tiny, pathetic moan. A half-conscious acknowledgement running the blockade of agony to break out into whatever sliver of the girl's mind was still fully conscious.

Jersey felt the other battleships form up around her, their guns a palisade of steel protecting her and her injured escort. Beyond them, Naka and the destroyers wordlessly formed into a screening force. And right beside her, the horned form of a Tenryuu-class light cruiser slowly pulled up in line abreast.

"Hey," said the sword-wielding cruiser. Her voice was low and kind, not a shred of the juvenile bombast remained.

Jersey nodded, careful that the motion didn't disturb Heermann.

"Me and the girls," Tenryuu glanced at the four special-type destroyers trailing in her wake, "We make over thirty knots. We can go ahead, make sure everything gets set up right."

"Yeah, uh," Jersey blinked back what were most certainly _not_ tears. "Yeah, that's… good plan."

"We'll have it all ready for you," said Tenryuu. She drew a circle in the air, motioning for her kids to form up on her in line astern. "DesDiv six, move out."

The four destroyers peeled off to follow their minder, but one stayed behind for a few moments more than the rest.

"Jersey-san," she said. Her tiny voice quiet and soft as she stared up at the towering battleship, "You're a really good mommy, nanodesu."

—|—|—

Admiral Williams set his jaw, his stony face shifting ever so slightly as the muscles beneath his weatherbeaten skin pulled in harmony, leaving the scar trailing up from his lip in sharp relief. He wouldn't scowl, he couldn't. Not in front of so many young sailors all looking to him for the steady hand of leadership. He was The Admiral, a rock in the storm, a figure larger than life. But that didn't mean he didn't _want_ to.

Managing a battle from a glorified conference room was always a frustrating experience. It was impossible to shake the feeling that you could have— _should_ have done more to help. The experience only got worse when kanmusu were involved.

Watching a DDG full of brave men and women limp its way back to friendly waters was a heart wrenching enough experience, but at least then the human toll was hidden behind burnt metal. Williams could compartmentalize the very human casualties, shove it to the back of his mind and reduce the battered warship to an abstract piece of broken machinery.

There was no such compromises with shipgirls. They didn't just come home damaged, they came home _hurting_. The pain on their faces was impossible to ignore as they fought their way though the surf. Everything in the Admiral's upbringing told him little girls like the destroyers were to be _protected_.

It's the reason he joined the navy, to keep the world safe for little girls like Heermann to live out their lives without a thought or care in the world. Sending them into battle—and watching the results of battle writ large on their fragile little bodies—was more directly heart wrenching than the far-away pain a shattered destroyer implied.

The frustration was only intensified by his inability to even offer advice. For all his studies, Williams didn't have a fraction of the surface-warfare experience ever last one of his girls had. He was fumbling his way though the cliffs' notes while they were already finishing up their doctoral thesis. Luckily, there was one thing the Admiral could task himself with, one thing he knew better than all of them combined.

Logistics.

Naka was still transcribing the fairy damage reports into something human readable. But Williams didn't need a perfect reckoning, just a reckoning. And the Global Hawk's cameras were more than enough for that.

All six battleships were running low on shells, and they'd all suffered at least moderate damage. Judging by gash sneaking up Musashi's tanned skin, her insistence on maintaining combat speed has exacerbated her already severe torpedo damage. Akagi and Ryuujou were unharmed, but they'd lost whole chunks of their airwing.

Between repair, resupply, and aircraft reconstitution, the girls were going to have to gorge themselves.

"Yeoman," Williams glanced at a sailor sitting back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the unmoving images on his computer.

"Sir?"

"What's the population of Adak island?"

"Uh," the sailor hunched over his keyboard. His fingers flew over the keys as he called up the relevant information, "Three-twenty-six as of last year, sir."

"Shit," Williams hissed out the expletive. Less than four hundred people were going to have to feed and house seven girls who ate more than a platoon of Marines each. And that's only counting the capital ships. A destroyer's appetite might be smaller, but it was still a force to be reckoned with.

"Alright, get JBLM on the horn. We're gonna need an airlift and we're gonna need it soon."

"Sir."

Williams knit his brow, his hand coming up to cradle his chin. A C-17 would take as near as makes no difference five hours to reach Adak, Jersey'd get there in ten. Factor in an hour on each side for loading/unloading, that left him a three hour window. "Gale."

"What? Uh… sir?" The yeoman hurriedly put her stone-cold cup of soup down and jogged over to the Admiral's side. "Reporting, sir."

"Gather enough food and supplies to feed a fleet of hungry kanmusume," said the Admiral, "And get it to McChord three hours. Get anyone you need, just get it done."

To her credit, Gale didn't even gulp, she just stood a little straighter and accepted the order with the kind of stoicism only NCOs could truly produce, "Aye Aye, sir."

—|—|—

Gale's mind was racing before she'd even left the command bunker. Battleships ate by the ton when they _weren't_ almost out of ammo and/or in desperate need of repair. Nobody had any hard data on the post-battle appetite of a super battleship like Jersey or Musashi, but Nagato and her sister could down more than a quarter million calories in one sitting if they came home badly damaged. Of course, their famously toned bellies never even _hinted_ at such gluttony.

But for once, Gale was able to push her jealousy to the back corner of her mind where her _North Carolina_ -class daydreams spend their time. She had a lot of hungry battleships, plus one of the SDF's infamously gluttonous fleet carriers, to feed.

For a few seconds, the sailor considered loading up the C-17s with MREs. They were nutrient-dense, packed well, and JBLM had to have plenty on hand. But she quickly rejected the idea. MRE's were filling, but they weren't _that_ filling. It'd still take a few dozen to feed just one of the battleships, and Gale wanted to kill herself after eating just _one_ of the fucking things.

Luckily, she had a few aces up her sleeve.

First, shipgirls weren't people. They laughed in the face of proper nutrition, all the deep-fried grease in the world wouldn't do a thing to their hearts. Probably because their hearts _already_ ran on greasy fuel oil. Gale could forget about trying to pack something healthy. Fuck salads—the taffies probably wouldn't touch something that green anyway—, fuck fresh and healthy, the girls were getting hearty American comfort food.

Second, Kongou's skills at a kitchen were famous on both sides of the Pacific, and DesDiv six would slave away for days on end in front of a stove if they had a good reason. And Jersey'd probably offer to help on the grill as soon as she tamed her frustratingly-slender tummy. Gale didn't need to worry about cooking shit, just _getting_ it there.

"Yo, listen up," said Gale as she smashed though the doors of the base kitchen, drawing more than a few surprised yelps from the sailors cleaning up after dinner. "I need every fucking box of mac and cheese we have."

The kitchen fell silent as a sea of confused culinary ratings turned to Gale with a uniform look of surprised uncomprehending.

"Six hungry, damaged battleships," said Gale, ticking off points on her fingers, "a fleet carrier, a light carrier and a shitload of destroyers and light cruisers are about to descend on an island of three hundred people."

The look of confusion rapidly tinted towards sheer horror.

"Yeah," said Gale. "We've got three hours to get their breakfast shipped to JBLM. Questions?"

"Ma'am," a hulking man who—at least nominally—outranked the yeoman spoke up. "What're we serving?"

"Mac and Cheese, Hamburgers," Gale ran her hands though her hair, "Stuff like that, you know. Comfort food."

"Will do, ma'am," said the chef, already moving towards the vast refrigerated storage lockers.

"Oh," Gale snapped her fingers, "Uh, for breakfast, Heermann likes eggs and toast, Hoel likes Nutella, and Johnston likes fruit loops."

Japanese Battleship Musashi scowled as she glanced down at her stomach. Or at least in the general direction of her stomach, her exceptionally—one might even say _superbly_ —large breasts locked her view with their perfectly sculpted perky roundness. As much as she appreciated her own unbeatable figure, having such massive cannons did rather complicate the issue of inspecting oneself for damage.

The battleship could tell she'd taken damage. Her tights were all but shredded from the abyssal torpedo drops, and her insistence at running at flank speed during the battle had only exacerbated the problem. At twenty seven knots, water hit like hammers against her bulkheads, buckling them inwards on her bow

If she were any other warship, Musashi might have been worried about the loss of reserve buoyancy and the damage to her armor. But Musashi was no mere warship. She was the battleship of battleships, the greatest exemplar of the type ever to put to sea. She would not sink, _could_ not sink.

"Miss Musashi?" Hoel looked up at the towering battleship with eyes worn red from crying. The little destroyer _could_ have tagged along with her sleeping sister. But even Musashi wasn't convincing enough to get the destroyer to leave her charge.

"Yes?" said the battleship. She gave her sarashi a quick once-over to make sure none of the singed bandages had slipped—she wanted to tease, not flaunt—before glancing over at her escort. "How can I help you Hoel-chan?"

"Are you okay?" asked Hoel, her eyes wavering somewhere between the battleship's glasses and the Imperial seal on her collar.

"I… think so," said Musashi. She puffed up her chest as she straightened out. Her snowy hair floated in the wind as she stared off into the horizon.

Hoel didn't say a word, but Musashi couldn't say no to those eyes. "I'm… there's something going on inside my hull. I'm not sure what."

"Oh," Hoel cracked a timid, slightly forced smile. "Is it like... your boilers are trying to burn, but there's just no oil left?"

"Mmm," Musashi nodded.

"You're hungry then."

Musashi blinked, then experimentally prodded at her tightly-toned stomach. "Are you sure?" she asked. She'd _been_ hungry before, but that… that felt like a tingling reminder in the back of her brain to get some food in soon. Not a gnawing ache in her fuel bunkers and magazines. It felt like a pack of furious gremlins were tearing apart her tanks with nothing more than rusty files and their bare fists.

"Mmhm," said Hoel, "This is you first time at sea, isn't it?"

Musashi felt her cheeks flush. "Yes," she admitted.

"That's why," said Hoel, "You've never fought this hard."

Musashi huffed. Her hands migrated to her hips as her steel-hard gaze caught Heermann bleeding into Jersey's clothing. The American battleship had tied her scarf around the the shattered girl's head to keep her warm, and her legs were dyed an inky red from Heermann's wounds.

The Japanese super battleship blinked, her chest swelling as she took in a deep breath of the freezing arctic air. She held the breath in her lungs for a moment, forcing herself to keep a calm, stoic face. "No," she said. "I haven't. I've never had a reason to before."


	64. Chapter 48: She Was Russian

**Chapter 48: She Was Russian...**

Jake Lee squinted into the inky expanse surrounding the snowed-under island of Adak. It was just after nine, and the darkness of the sky had started to meld with the equally dark water into a contiguous blanket of dark that surrounded the lonely little island like a blanket. Except this blanket made things _colder._

The islander brought his binoculars up to his eyes and winced as the cold steel and rubber bit into his face like so many tiny knives. The shipgirls, or at least the first few, should be showing up any time now. But all he saw in the infinite expanse of uniform blackness was the curling wisps of his own chilly breath.

Nothing. Lee scowled and clapped his gloved hands together to work some circulation into them. As winters go, this one was pretty chilly, and the stress wasn't helping either. Wait-

Lee slammed his binoculars to his eyes so fast they almost left bruises around his eyes. A light… he saw a light… somewhere right about… There!

It was definitely a signal light. Two flashes, then four, then two. The identification code the Navy'd sent. Lee fumbled his gloved hands over his own signal light and haltingly sent the return signal.

The shipgirls were getting closer now. He could see the silhouette of their slender hulls knifing though the black water. At the same time, he saw the hints of girls storming though the water at a sprint.

"Hey!" Lee waved his arms as frantically as the heavy insulation of his dayglo red parka would allow. "Hey! Over here!"

The lead ship tossed a wave at him. At least he was pretty sure it was a wave, it was hard to make out anything beyond rough gestures in the gloom. A few moments later, he saw her low-slung hull disappear behind a row of fishing boats.

The four other, smaller shipgirls trailing behind her followed suit. Each one rather inexplicably sailing behind the tied-off fishing boats. Lee could imagine one, _maybe_ two of them snuggling in where he couldn't see, but there just wasn't _room_ for all five of those hulls to tie off where he couldn't see.

Before he could ponder the matter further, Lee took off running down the pier to meet them. If that man from the navy was right—and since was an _admiral_ he probably was—they didn't have a moment to loose! Lee kept glancing over his shoulder at the row of parked fishing boats, hoping to catch a mast or… any indication that there were five very dangerous warships tied off on his little island.

But when he finally rounded the corner, he didn't find anything of the kind.

A beautiful young woman with two glowing… horn… ear… things inexplicably floating next to her short hair was helping another, much smaller girl up onto the pier.

"Hey, uh," Lee rocked on his heels, his eyes scouring up and down the short, top-heavy woman. She was dressed in a cardigan, a _very_ short skirt, and thigh-highs. "How are you not freezing?"

"Scarf," said the woman. Her eyes—or eye, as it were. Lee was pretty sure he saw an eye patch on the woman's face—never moved from the little girls she was helping up onto the pier, but one finger jabbed at the fuzzy purple cloth knotted around her neck.

"But…" Lee gulped. That skirt was riding _perilously_ high as she leaned over to help yet another tiny sailor-suited girl onto the pier. A good chunk of her snowy-white thighs were exposed to the biting winds, she _had_ to be freezing, and if she couldn't feel it… "You're only wearing a skirt."

"But she has a scarf," one of the little girls, the short-haired brunette, gave Lee a look that was equal parts innocent and confused. "Why would she need more, nanodesu?"

"Mmhm," added the purple-haired one, "being overdressed really isn't ladylike."

The third girl, the snowy-haired one just turned to Lee with a long, silent look. Then she let out an almost imperceptible sigh.

Lee pursed his lips. It was _freezing_ out, and letting little girls like that wander around without coats just felt _wrong._ They weren't that much older than his little sister. Then again. They _had scarves._ "You sure? I can get some hot coco for you."

The three girls—four, now that the young woman had hoisted yet another onto the pier—glanced at each other with a uniform giddy smile. Even the stoic snowy-haired one looked interested. Then the purple-haired one spoke. "No thank you."

"Yeah, it's not ladylike to eat before your guests."

"Heermann and her sisters need it more, nanodesu."

The snow-haired girl just shot Lee a look a pint-sized resolute look.

"Good girls," said the eye patched woman with a smile. A smile that died as she turned to face Lee. "Tenryuu," she said flatly, "fufufu, you scared and all that shit."

Tenryuu waved at the cluster of girls shuffling along behind her like so many ducklings. "Akatsuki, Inazuma, Ikazuchi, Hibiki," she said, prompting a nod from each girl as her name was called.

"Jake Lee," the Alaskan jogged down the pier, angling towards the waiting convoy of pickup trucks. "We got the Admiral's message, but we're scrambling to pull it all together."

"How can we help?" asked Tenryuu in a very motherly-commanding sort of way.

"Got a lot of hungry girls to feed," Lee jogged off the pier onto the more-or-less clear path to his waiting truck. "Could use a few more hands in the kitchen, especially once the planes get here."

Tenryuu nodded. Her shoes didn't so much punch _though_ the late-evening snowfall as glide over it like it was hard as ice. "What else?"

"We're turning the Inn's swimming pool into a dock," Lee shrugged as he fumbled for his keys, "But we can't make heads or tails of the instructions we got."

Tenryuu nodded, her twin floating ear-things lagging just a split second behind. "Okay, Hibiki, Akatsuki, you're on pool duty. Everyone else, to the kitchen."

The girls all nodded resolutely, their tiny faces set with determination as they piled into the bed of Lee's all-wheel-drive truck.

"Any of you ladies know how to drive?" asked Lee as he coaxed the diesel engine to life.

Akatsuki's hand shot into the air like a canon, with Hibiki's following behind at a more sedate pace.

"Good," said Lee as he pulled the truck off onto the road proper, "I'll drop us off at the Inn," he motioned to where Tenryuu sat in the passenger seat, "Then you can use it for whatever errands you need."

"Korosho."

Akatsuki grabbed the hulking truck's dashboard like a sailor clinging to the only life raft left in the middle of a howling typhoon. Her knuckles were white and her fingers gouged deep into the plastic. She might not know as much about driving as her longer-lived little sister, but she was pretty sure one typically _slowed down_ when driving around patches of black ice.

One most certainly did _not_ use the slickness of patches of black ice to slingshot a truck around frozen roads faster than it had any right to be going. It just wasn't elegant, _or_ ladylike!

"M-maybe you should slow down?" mumbled the nameship of the third generation of Special-type destroyers.

Hibiki gave a tiny huff. Her face was the same mask of passive indifference it always was. She even looked a little _bored_ as she flung the wheel over, her sleeves whipping from the violence of the motion. "Nyet."

"Hibikiiii," moaned Akatsuki.

"We're on a clock," said the younger destroyer, her hand departing from the steering wheel just along enough to give the hand break a gentle tap.

Akatsuki winced as the truck hurtled towards a huge ice-boulder. She curled up into a ball, making herself as small as possible while the suspension groaned under her growing weight.

But the crash she'd been expecting never came. Hibiki worked whatever dark magic she'd learned from the Russians and swung past the land-going iceberg like it wasn't even there.

"Korosho," muttered Hibiki, a teeny-tiny smile flickering onto her normally stoic face.

Akatsuki was about to shoot back a response of her own, but she sallowed her words at the last second. Snippy replies just aren't elegant. And as much as she hated to admit it, Hibiki _had a point._ The little destroyer felt her face go red as her complaints back up in her mouth, puffing her cheeks out like Akagi at the dinner table. "Okay."

"Hm?" the snowy-haired destroyer glanced over at her purple-haired sister.

"You're right," admitted Akatsuki, her hands ever so slowly releasing their death-grip on the dash. "Heermann-chan needs help right away."

Hibiki nodded as she almost effortlessly drifted the truck into a parking lot. In what felt like one motion, the stone-faced girl pirouetted the vehicle around a snowbank and slid it into a perfect parallel-dock. Err… parallel _park._ "You have the list?"

"Yeah!" Hibiki pointed to the sheaf of index card-sized paper clasped in her hands. Lady Jersey's faeries had helpfully provided full blueprints of everything they needed, even if they _did_ offer it with their own teeny-tiny 'hey's. "Let's go!"

Akatsuki leapt out of the the truck, her shoes skittering across the snow as she ran towards the nearest storefront as fast as her mildly-unsteady legs could carry her. She couldn't _quite_ read the brightly-lit English writing, but she knew enough to figure out that this was an auto-parts store of some kind. Which was just what she needed.

The little destroyer burst though the doors, her shoes squeaking against the concrete as she angled towards the counter. "Gimme All the-" Akatsuki stopped, and flung up a single finger. She took a deep breath, composing herself into a proper lady. "I mean, hello good sir."

The man behind the counter, a giant mountain with hairy, musclebound arms and an equally hairy beard, just gave her a stunned look.

"How are you this fine evening?" Akatsuki spread her skirt in a proper curtsy. "My friend and I-" she motioned to the blank-faced Hibiki slowly trudging her way over the snow- "require the use of some of your motor oil."

The Goliath of a man—or perhaps of a poorly-shaved polar bear—folded his arms across his massive chest. "What?" He said. Or at least Akatsuki _assumed_ he said. She saw his furry bead move, but the sound rumbled out like a battleship's main battery.

"Oil, my good man," said Akatsuki, her cheeks starting to glow red as she swirled her skirt in a most ladylike fashion. "Texas tea? Black gold?"

"Motor oil," said Hibiki. The snowy-haired girl shot her elder sister a withering glance, "We need at least ten gallons."

"Oh!" Akatsuki glanced at the tiny notes she held clenched in her palm, "And all the metal shavings and de-icing salt you have."

The giant bear-man behind the counter furrowed his impossibly bushy brows in thought. His beard fluttered as he let out a huff. One massive paw carved a wide arc though the air as he motioned the girls to follow him into the back, "sure thing, miss."

"Thank you, sir!" said Akatsuki with another giddy curtsy.

"'s no problem," the man rumbled, "Always happy to help out a lady."

Akatsuki let out a squeal that quickly shifted into ultrasonic frequencies. Hibiki just stared stoically into the distance.

—|—|—

Inazuma carefully balanced on the non-skid tread of her borrowed stepstool, a heaping bag of instant mashed potatoes held tightly by her tiny hands. "Are you ready?"

The tiny faerie perched precariously on the handle of a towering metal pot nodded. The minute figure held up her stopwatch to Inazuma before nodding to where another gaggle of faeries were standing by by with a clipboards at the ready.

"Okay." The destroyer carefully perched the stuff paper bag on the rim of the pot. "Adding the potatoes in three… two… one!" The soft _shoompf_ of powered potatoes gliding into boiling water was met with the equally soft _click tictictictictic_ of a teeny stopwatch.

Inazuma glanced at her faerie, who flashed her an enthusiastic thumbs up. Or what the destroyer was pretty sure was a thumbs up. It was _really_ hard to tell with their teeny little hands.

"Potatoes are cooking!" she said, spinning around on her stool to catch her momboat's attention.

Tenryuu glanced up from the carrots she was chopping, face face a glowing red from the flowery pink apron she'd donned. The toothpick she was chewing didn't make her seem any less girlish and motherly, either. "Good," said the light cruiser with a smile.

"I mean, uh…" Tenryuu coughed and bit down on her toothpick as she twisted her blushing face into a determined scowl. "Meat."

"Meat?"

"Meat," grunted the cruiser while she jabbed her knife in the general direction of the freezer. "Go make some."

"Okay," said Inazuma. She hopped down from her stool and started walking over to the freezer. But before she made it there, she took a quick detour to throw her arms around her minder's tummy. "I think you're really tough, nanodesu."

Tenryuu's face contorted like a jello cube in the barrel of a 46cm cannon as she tried to grimace badassfully and beam like a happy mother at the same time.


	65. Chapter 49: U is for Update

**Chapter 49: U is for Update**

Professor Crowning yawned as he shuffled his way back to the officer's suite the Navy'd put him up in. The small set of rooms had been his office, his bedroom… practically his _universe_ for the past few months. He'd availed himself of the local bookstores to make sure his shelves were fully stacked, both with the literary greats and Naval reference books. He was still slowly working his way up from _B is for Boat._ But the Professor was eager to learn, especially when the applications were so immediately obvious.

Well, most of the time. Right now, he wasn't interested in anything more than the warm sheets of his bed. The battle off Alaska had lasted almost all day, and he hadn't left the CIC until almost midnight. He knew wasn't much he could do from the Admiral's bunker.

But… he couldn't just leave. Not until the girls were on their way to safety. He hated seeing them suffer. As much as watching Jersey get a chuck get torn out of the beautiful face of hers was, seeing destroyers in pain was harder.

Crowning was just about to open the door to his room when he heard a sound. A very small, very timid sniffle coming from inside the room. He let out a sigh, and gently pushed the door open to investigate.

A destroyer sat hunched over on his floor, her legs splayed out like someone'd just dumped the little girl out like a quivering puddle. Her head was buried in her hands, and her back hunched with each quiet sniffle. The writing across her baseball cap displayed her name and hull number, but Crowning didn't need the aid to recognize his little guest.

William D. Porter. The venerable screwup faerie given human form. "Dee?" he dropped to one knee next to the sobbing _Fletcher_ class.

"Mmhm?" Dee glanced over at the professor, and promptly buried her face in his half-zipped sweater. "'m sowwwy!" she moaned.

Before Crowning could ask _what_ she was so sorry for, he spotted it himself. Pooled at the girl's skinned knees was a shattered bowl of soup. The ceramic must've shattered when Dee dropped it, and it looked like she at least _tried_ to clean it up. But it also looked like her actions only worked the soup deeper into the carpeting.

"I… I thought after…" Dee sniffed as she glanced up. Her chubby face was streaked with tears, and her huge blue eyes begged for forgiveness, "You'd like some hot dinner… I tried my best to make it really good and _I broke it!_ "

Crowning grunted as Dee slammed her face back into his chest. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he was reduced to just grabbing Dee in a gentle hug while he caught his breath. "Easy, Dee."

" _sorry_ " mumbled the little girl.

"Did you…" Crowning glanced at the spilled soup. Potatoes, beef, barley, it looked like hearty stuff. Even as a smear on the carpet, it looked good enough to eat, "Make all that?"

"Mmhm."

"It looks really good."

"Really?" Dee glanced up again, but this time there was a tiny glimmer of hope in those tear stained eyes.

"Really," said Crowning. After a moment's thought, he reached up to ruffle the destroyer's russet-brown hair. "Maybe you can make it again sometime?"

"I… I could." Dee wiped her face with her sleeve. "Thanks, doc."

"Anytime, Dee." Crowning glanced to the puddle of throughly ground-in soup. There wasn't anything either of them could do about it. Not if he wanted to get to bed at a reasonable hour… "Tell you what… why don't we take care of this in the morning?"

"It.. it _is_ the morning," said Dee.

Crowning sighed. Technically, she wasn't _wrong_. But the professor had never really considered 'one-twenty-seven AM' to be 'in the morning.' "I mean after I get some sleep."

"Oh," Dee nodded, "Okay. If you're sure you don't mind."

Crowning felt the irresistible urge to hug the little girl,"Yeah, I don't mind."

Her face instantly brightened.

"But," Crowning clicked his tongue, "I think Kidd and Bannie would if I kept you from the cuddle puddle. Go be with your friends."

"ThankyouThankyouThankyou!" Dee actually planted a _very_ quick kiss on the professor's cheek. Before anyone could react, her face blushed a solid anti-fouling red and she bolted out of the room as fast as her little legs could carry her.

"Dee! be-" Crowning was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a shipgirl tripping down the stairs like a very adorable slinky- "careful…"

For a moment, everything was quiet. Then a high-pitched, "Imokay!" filtered down the hall.

—|—|—

The roar of jet engines and the squeaking thump of rubber against Tarmac jolted light cruiser Tenryuu's attention to the gray-painted airplane coasting to a stop on the island's massive airstrip. It wasn't anything _like_ what she'd fought against during the war. But she recognized it instantly as an F-15E Strike Eagle thanks to her _A is for Airplane_ coloring book.

That… weren't really hers. She bought them for her destroyers. As gifts. Because she's a good division leader. She most certainly does not enjoy cuddling up with a warm cup of milk and a coloring book, she was a badass after all. No, she merely had to ensure the quality of the coloring material before handing it off to her division mates. It was a reasonable thing to do, really.

Tenryuu kicked her feet down off the table she'd been resting them on. It'd take a few moments for the fighter/bomber to come to a stop, but that didn't mean she couldn't prepare. She and her girls had hit a lull the past hour, mostly because they—or rather _the island_ —had ran out of ingredients. But she had a feeling the operational tempo was about to swing _way_ back up again.

She hurriedly stuffed her… informative… mature… reading material down her shirt and tossed her scarf back on. Shipgirl or not, Alaska was _cold_ in the wintertime. And she really did look quite dashing in a nice flowing scarf. She'd wear it more often if Sendai hadn't practically trademarked the look.

The light cruiser broke out into a jog, her short skirt bouncing against her thighs as her boots pounded against the concrete. The big fighter—and it _was_ big. They seem so much smaller when they're up in the air—was slowly spooling down after what had to be a long, cramped flight.

By the time she reached the plane, its cockpit was already open. The familiar form of her favorite sparing partner—albeit in an olive-green flight suit instead of those mottled gray cammies—was gently easing down the fighter's side.

"Legs going out on you, old man?" The cruiser laughed as her friend nearly ate shit. Nearly.

"Big words," grunted Major Mack Solette of the US Army. He slowly, carefully lowered himself the rest of the way before turning to face her, "Coming from a World War vet."

"Whatever, Doc." Tenryuu shoved her hands into her pockets, her horns twitching in the freezing air. "We got breakfast inside, if you're hungry."

Solette nodded. "Yeah, just," he pounded his fist against the meat of his leg, "Just gotta figure out how to walk again."

"Fufufufu, flight that bad?"

"Eh," the Major shrugged, "Seats are crap and they lost my luggage, but at least the flight attendant's good looking."

"Hmm?" Tenryuu leaned to the side to snatch a look for herself. She couldn't make out much of the pilot's face with his helmet in the way. But he had the sternly-chiseled jaw that all fighter pilots seemed to have.

"Maybe make it a _bit_ more obvious?"

Tenryuu rolled her eye, but her expression soon faded to a dour scowl. "Look, we only have about…" she glanced at her watch, "an hour before the girls get here. Maybe an hour-twenty."

"Yeah yeah," Solette winced at the combination of muscle cramps and howling arctic cold, but he walked on none the less. "You get a dock setup?"

"Mmhm," said Tenryuu. The light cruiser fished a piping hot bowl of oatmeal out from her stores. Well, it _had_ been piping hot when she stowed it… it was still good though. At least that was the hope, "here."

Solette offered a brief nod of thanks before tearing into the semi-palatable dish.

"You sleep at all?" asked Tenryuu as she bumped open the airport terminal doors with her pump stern.

"Slept on the plane," said the ragged-looking Major, "Would not recommend."

"Well, shipgirl, so…" She shrugged, "Look, the girls want you to do a once-over on the dock setup."

"I was thinking the same," Solette said before gulping down another helping of oatmeal. "And-"

"Coffee, nanodesu?" the tiny form of a third-generation special-type destroyer walked around a corner with a comically large carafe balanced on her head.

Solette blinked, but he took the beverage without any further questioning. "Thanks, Inazuma," he said, offering a brief head pat in exchange for the glorious brown elixir. He had the feeling he was going to need every last drop.

—|—|—

Major Solette stood in the Adak Island Inn pool room with his hands sitting limply on his hips. His flightsuit was tied around his waist, letting the natural funk of several stressful hours in the backseat of a strike eagle mingle with the salty, oily air.

The pool room wasn't big to begin with. There was a small pool that should just be big enough to fit all the girls, with an even smaller hot tub—one that could _maybe_ fit three or four people—off to the side.

Adding to the cramped feeling were the vast amounts of equipment Akatsuki and her sisters had dragged in. Angle grinders, air-saws, portable band saws, and a few cutting torches were neatly lined up along one wall. Power cables and air lines joined into a fat Technicolor umbilical that ran out to a huddled cluster of generators and air compressors.

It wasn't anything like what he was used do. The Yokosuka dockyards were literally state of the art. Back in Japan, he had enough separate baths to give every girl who wanted it her privacy. He had full sets of air-powered tools so he could work without worrying about electrocuting himself.

But, if he'd wanted an unlimited budget, he'd have joined the air force. Time to make do. "Hibiki?"

"Hm?" the snowy haired girl glanced up at Solette.

"Let's get some dividers set up around that hot tub," said the Major. A plan was starting to come together in his mind. Maybe not a _great_ one, but a workable one.

"What for?" asked Akatsuki as she bolted around the poolside looking for something that'd do, her shoes—or were they screws—biting into the odd puddle like it was tread plate.

"The hot tub's going to be my OR," said Solette, mentally adding a new entry in the 'shit I never thought I'd say' list. "Heermann'll take a… lot of work. Think she'll appreciate her privacy."

"Oh, okay," Akatsuki chirped while she and her sister bounced around the hot tun with frantic energy. Solette couldn't follow any one torpedo loli long enough to figure out what they were doing, but he got the distinct impression that they were building _something._

Not that he particularly cared. If they were busy, it meant he could speak to their minder for a few moments. "Tenryuu?"

"Yeah?"

"Look, when…" Solette sighed, "This isn't going to be pretty."

"Yeah," Tenryuu nodded, her eye fluttering as she struggled to keep her detached-badass facade from cracking, "Yeah, I uh, I figured." Her gaze drifted to the four tiny girls furiously tearing duct-tape into strips, "I'll find something for them to do. While you do your thing."

"You're a good-"

"If you say _momboat_ ," Tenryuu turned on the Major, her one eye glistening with compensating bluster.

"- _flagship_ ," said Solette. He gave the cruiser a gentle pat on the back, "I was _going_ to say flagship."


	66. Chapter 50: Traffic Jam

**Chapter 50: Traffic Jam**

Dawn broke over the tiny island of Adak Alaska. And with it broke any shred of peace and tranquility the inky black blanket of night might have offered. Suddenly, the air screamed with the sound of turbofan engines as massive potbellied transports—USAF C-17 Globemaster IIIs, thank you _A is for Airplane_ —slammed themselves to the deck with all the grace of airgoing whales.

But for all their lack of grace, they came stuffed to bulkheads with goodies for the shipgirl horde descending on the unprepared island. For that, Tenryuu was thankful. The local markets were running noticeably low just feeding her and her kin- division. Her division. If just topping up their nearly-empty tanks and replenishing their torpedoes made that big a dent, she shuddered to think what Nagato and Musashi's repair feast would look like. Or Akagi's fighter-reconsutition gluttony.

But the light cruiser didn't have long to worry about her friends and their monstrous appetites. Less than an hour after the first cargo plane touched down, her new Alaskan friend Jake Lee frantically radioed in. She wasn't sure exactly _what_ he radioed in, but she caught enough words to know that the battle fleet had finally arrived.

Her first order of business was getting the Akatsuki girls on-task in the kitchen. She could count on them and their faeries to follow the recipes with split-second precision, and she'd rather they didn't see Heermann's bleeding little body any longer than they had to.

Her own girls taken care off, Tenryuu bolted for the pier. One of the natives gave her a lift—she never was very good behind any wheel that wasn't connect to a rudder—, and she made it to the shore just as Kongou and her sister were making landfall.

"Kongou, Kirishima," Tenryuu stared up at the taller fast-battleships with her hands firmly planted on her hips. Normally, she'd defer to their judgment. But now was not a normal time. She knew what had to be done, they didn't. That put her in command. "Kitchen detail," she spoke with the loud directness normally reserved for ordering her division around. There wasn't an inch of space for argument in the light cruiser's tone.

Thankfully, neither battleship argued. Kongou gave a quick bow—the best she could do while sprinting in the direction Tenryuu pointed—and offered a resolute, "Of course, Dess!" Kirishima simply put a the scarily-focused face.

Tenryuu didn't let herself dwell. There were a lot of hungry, tired girls still left to attend to. Next up was… was Musashi.

The towering woman marched towards Tenryuu with the intentional gait of someone desperately trying to pretend they weren't limping. Her clothes—such as they were—were frayed and tattered. Her bandages were dark with ash and oil, and a bloody gash tore across her tightly-toned belly.

Tenryuu gulped. How could she, a humble light cruiser, a glorified _destroyer_ with less firepower than anyone in her division, order around a batteship like _that._ But the sight of Jersey in the distance kicked Tenryuu back into gear. There was a scared little destroyer who needed her to keep her head on straight. "Musashi."

The snowy-haired battleship tilted her chin, her glasses glinting in the floodlights.

"Head to the Inn, the doc'll get you set up in a dock."

"No," Musashi puffed up her chest. Her bandages went as tight as her face as she tried to hide the jolt of pain shooting down her hull. "I, Musashi, would like to help in the kitchen."

"Damnit…" Tenryuu scowled. It wasn't like she had any _actual_ authority over the towering super battleship… but she still liked to think she had _some_ measure of control over her crazy new reality. "Musashi, you took torpedoes."

"And my crew is managing the damage," said Musashi. "Heermann needs the attention more than me."

"Fine," spat Tenryuu. "But you check in the _minute_ he's done."

Musashi bowed in response, then walked off with her back still hunched over a little more than usual. The second she thought she was out of Tenryuu's sight, her forced gait faltered into a limp.

Tenryuu couldn't have helped if she wanted, not with only fifty-one thousand horsepower in her turbines. In any case, she more battleships to attend to.

Nagato and her sister trudged out of the water, both wearing the same expression. They were tired, they were hungry, they were hurting. But above all, they fumed with focused fury.

Tenryuu wouldn't be able to order them to go soak in a tub if she was the Admiral Himself. After a quick once-over to make sure there wasn't severe damage to their hulls—not that she was expecting any—she sent them off to go help with cooking.

A few moments later, Naka marched up to Tenryuu with a mixed bag of former IJN destroyers in tow. The Sendai-class cruiser had her face stuck in an obviously forced smile, and her voice was hoarse—probably from singing to keep the little destroyers occupied—when she reported in.

Tenryuu pointed Naka and her little kindergarten at the kitchen and moved on to the next mobile diaster she had to deal with. Carriers.

Ryuujou snapped off a salute while she awaited orders. Akagi, however, just started wandering towards the dining hall.

Tenryuu couldn't blame her. The fleet carrier had lost a huge chunk of her airwing in the battle. She had to be going insane with hunger by now. She wouldn't have been any use in the kitchen anyways. Akagi's 'cooking' always ended up in her belly before it actually reached the oven. The light cruiser just nodded at Ryuujou to follow Akagi's lead before turning to her next task.

Her last and hardest one of all.

Battleship New Jersey slogged her way up the icy pier with her clutch of destroyers and destroyer escorts in tow. Her face was a mask of resolved fury. Fury so intense it could only be expressed as utter tranquility. The eye in the middle of a raging hurricane.

Her mirrored shades glinted in the dawn glow, but they did little to hide the tear stains streaking down her chiseled features. Every step she took thundered against the pier with the weight of a thousand souls waiting… begging for Heermann's life. She seemed to move in slow motion as she made her way to Tenryuu with her little destroyer held against her breast.

Heermann wasn't even moving. Only the tiny wrinkles in Jersey's blood soaked shirt with each shallow breath suggested the tiny destroyer was even alive. Her face was buried in her flagship's soft chest, her little arms wrapped around her neck so tight her knuckles were white.

The twisted stumps that'd been her legs hung against Jersey's hip, oozing blood and oil against the battleship's pale skin.

Tenryuu didn't say a word. She couldn't. It could've been any one of her girls. She couldn't _bear_ to think about what she'd feel. What Jersey had to be going though right now. Instead, she just motioned for Jersey to follow her to the docks.

—|—|—

Jersey was past rage. She was past fury and anger. She swam in an emotion she'd never felt before. One she desperately hoped she'd never feel again. Despair. Heermann… her little Heermann was bleeding out in her arms _again._ Because she hadn't been _there_ when she needed her. _Again._ Heermann fought her tiny little heart out, she fought harder than a battleship. She'd never left her post, she'd stayed with her charge until the very end. Again.

And Jersey hadn't been there to protect her. _Again._ The battleship wanted to curl up in the tiniest, darkest corner she could find and cry until she just couldn't cry anymore. She thought this time around would be different. She'd had her second chance to redeem herself… and she blew it. She'd failed at the one thing she was built to do.

She'd let her girls down. She'd let her admiral down. She let Iowa down, and Mo, and Wisky… She'd let _Crowning_ down. He trusted her, he'd uprooted his whole life to be with her in Washington… and what did she have to show for it? A scared little girl with her legs blown off. A girl who was a better battleship than she'd _ever_ be.

Jersey didn't even bother to try hiding the tears streaming down her face. It took every shred of effort she had left just to march along the snow-lined paths. She knew that Tenryuu was guiding her to the docks, at least on an intellectual level. But the big battleship's universal ended at the inert figure in her arms.

Heermann was sleeping, if you could call passing out from the pain and bloodloss sleep. Her sisters marched along in mute procession, a silent vanguard ushering Heermann to… To the docks. Where she'd get _better._ Jersey _refused_ to think of any other possibility.

Tenryuu stepped though a door and held it open. Her back went straight as an arrow, her face pointed straight ahead as her hand slowly came up to meet her brow. On her shoulders, a dozen faeries—all in immaculate black dress uniforms—mimicked her actions.

Jersey couldn't bear to meet their eyes. The solemn gesture of respect burned like white phosphorous against her skin. Heermann deserved it. Hoel deserved it. Johnston deserved it. Sammy deserved it. Every last man, and ship in Taffy 3 deserved it. _She_ sure as hell didn't. Not after today.

The big battleship shuddered at warm, salty air from the heated pool crashed against her hull. She could taste the oily water as she marched across the converted pool. She saw the curtained-off hot tub at the back of the low-ceilinged room. Just a few more steps.

Heermann stirred in her arms, and Jersey let out a soft coo. "Just a few more steps," she muttered. Her scratchy voice was barely above a whisper as she stepped up onto the poolside.

Heermann squirmed and burrowed her face deeper into warm softness Jersey's bloodsoaked shirt. Jersey felt the little destroyer quiver as jolts of pain shot up her keel. The healing air of the dockyard steam might be coaxing the destroyer towards recovery. But right now, all that was doing was making her conscious of her torn-off stern.

Jersey wanted to say something. Something to make the pain better, something to calm the quivering destroyer, but her words died in her throat.

"Commander," the doctor, the Major from Yokosuka who'd looked after her after her escort run, held out his arms. He looked weary as hell. His grubby flight suit was tied around his waist, and his t-shirt was stained under the arms.

"Major," Jersey managed to choke out.

"This way," the Major motioned to the hot tub. A comforting hospital bed it wasn't. Power tools lay in rows around the side, and a bench vice had been hurriedly bolted to the tiled concrete surround. "Don't leave her."

Jersey couldn't if she tried. The battleship slowly stepped into the glassy-calm water, her shoes punching holes in the shimmering film of oil and sparkling metal filings. She felt salt soak into her pores, and for a tiny fraction of an instant, she felt at home.

Then the tiny girl in her arms let out a shallow wimpier. She was starting to heal, but her hull was torn to bits. Her stern had been twisted off like someone flexing a paper clip back and forth until it cracked. The tattered metal was too badly mauled, she was healing back _wrong._

"I'm sorry," mouthed Jersey, but words refused to form.

"Jersey," The Major guided Heermann's leg into the vice as gently as he could manage. "If there's… if there's a way to dull a shipgirl's pain, I don't know what it is."

"Do what you have to do," breathed Jersey.

The Major gave a resolute nod, and Jersey felt a tiny hand rest on her shoulder. She glanced over, and Sammy gave the battleship a tiny nod.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," said the Major. "I'm-" his words were lost in the roar of a portable band saw revving to speed.

Jersey wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Gritty off-white coolant poured over the mangled stump that'd been Heermann's calf as the Major slowly brought the whirring blade down into contact. Metal sparked, and Heermann let out a pathetic scream—the loudest her exhausted lungs could manage.

But the Major didn't stop. His hands were steady as a rock as he guided the saw though her tattered body with laser like precision. He hated his job, Jersey could see it in his eyes. But he wasn't going to falter. He wouldn't let Heermann down like Jersey had.

"Shhh… shhh…" Jersey did her best to coo a calming tone in her girl's ear. She hugged the destroyer tight. So tight she could feel every jolt of pain shooting up the little girl's tired muscles in her own hull. "I'm sorry."

It took almost a solid minute for the Major to finish the first cut. It took him another minute and a half to get Heermann's other leg into the vice and cut off the twisted, blackened metal.

"This isn't going to be pretty," he stated. There wasn't a hint of inflection in the Major's voice. He was doing his job, forcing his emotions into line while he finished off his task. He must _hate_ it. But it had to be done.

Jersey nodded, and she swore she felt Heermann mimic the gesture with a tiny nod of her own.

"Hold her still," said the Major. A loud whirr echoed off the poolroom tile as his angle grinder spun up. Nobody said a word while he worked. Heermann's whimpers were quiet enough that only Jersey, with her body pressed to tight against the destroyer she could hear her turbines hum, could hear. Each tiny sound resonated like hammer blow in her heart. A damming reminded of her abject failure.

It took almost twenty minutes before the Major'd cleaned up Heermann's wounds to her faeries satisfaction. Then… finally then the girl's legs could be lowered into the healing water. She passed out the instant her wounds dipped below the surface, her tiny, tense form suddenly going very still against Jersey's bloodsoaked breast.

The Major slumped back against the poolroom wall, his head clasped between his hands.

The last thing Jersey remembered before she fell asleep was the warmth of her destroyers huddling around her in the cramped hot tub. Then she was adrift on a frozen sea.


	67. Chapter 51: Frozen Sea

**Chapter 51: Frozen Sea**

Jersey stood in the middle of a vast frozen sea. It wasn't like anything she'd ever experienced. The sea wasn't just _cold_ , it was frozen. Waves ground to a halt in the middle of their swells. Droplets of spray glistened in the air like frozen jewels. Even the air seemed to crack and shatter around her.

The battleship winced as she took a breath. The air was cold. So cold it bit into her throat like a million tiny knives. She felt the moisture in her throat leeching out with each breath of the frigid, bone-dry air. Her boilers were roaring away at maximum pressure, but she still felt the cold tear at every shred of exposed skin. It penetrated though her layers of clothing like a million tiny knives.

"What?" the battleship had to pant to get the word out. Her lips were chapped and raw from the cold, and her breath flashed to a glittery cloud of ice the moment it left her mouth. Literally. Jersey heard the cracking music of ice popping into place. The cloud shattered like glass when she put her fist though it.

"Fuck." The word was all Jersey could think of as she looked around. She buried her hands under her arms, desperately trying to warm them as she looked around for something… anything to get her bearings with.

There wasn't a thing. The sky was a uniform midnight blue. There wasn't a star, wasn't even a single cloud disturbing the unnervingly-smooth blue shroud. She couldn't even see the sun, the sky just… glowed.

The surface was no more inviting. An ocean of ice extended around her as far as her stunningly acute eyesight could reach. Ice. Nothing but a sea of pool-table flat ice.

Even her compass betrayed her. It'd show a bearing as steady as a rock one second, then wildly spin to a totally different heading the next. There was no pattern, no sequence the big battleship could determine. It didn't even match with what she'd been trained to expect near the poles. It just _didn't work._

Jersey let out a roar and hurled the useless chuck of brass into the icy surface. It landed with a pathetic _tink_ and skittered a few yards along the glittering ice before coming to a halt on its side.

"Fuuuuuuck," Jersey collapsed against the ice. Her nose was bright red from the cold, and she could feel her fingers starting to go numb as she cradled her head in her hands. She couldn't survive like this, not for any length of time. When night fell, she'd freeze to death before sunup.

If there even _was_ a night in this impossible place.

The battleship shivered and buried her nose in her scarf. Time to think… she was an American. She could figure her way out of a problem. What was that line from that movie? 'Failure is not an option'? Well it fucking well wasn't. Her friends needed her. Her nation needed her.

And she had one last trick up her sleeve. "Hey," Jersey's voice was shaky and halting as she struggled to bite down the freezing air. "Can those things land on ice?"

The tiny figure of her Kingfisher pilot clambered up onto the Battleship's chest. Her thick fur-lined coat turning her already-indistinct silhouette into a tiny furry blob huddling in the relative warmth between Jersey's puffer vest and her breast. The pilot's tiny figures darkened in thought, then she issued a minuscule nod to her battleship.

"Okay," Jersey rubbed her hands together to stave off frostbite as best she could. "Start…" the battleship glanced around. The ice extended around her for miles without so much as a hint of a landmark. "That way." Jersey jabbed her fist in a random direction.

Her faerie offered a tiny salute before scurrying down the battleship's deck towards her aircraft catapults. Her radar might be state of the art, but even it was limited to the horizon. Her floatplanes could see further than she ever could. They'd cover more ground in an hour than she would in a day. It wasn't much… but it was something.

Almost five hours later, Jersey collapsed. Her planes had given her a new perspective alright. The ice field didn't stop. Eight hundred miles in every direction, and nothing but uniform white. It didn't even… it didn't even curve away at the horizon like it should.

It was fucking _flat_. Football field flat. Ryuujou flat. Fucking Bonneville salt flats flat. It was the infinite fucking plane of uniform goddamn density. And she was stuck in the middle.

"Fuuuuck," The battleship could only wispier into the frigid air. It was as still and silent as the grave, but it was so cold it scoured her lungs raw. That was it. Her last trick and it failed. Jersey kicked at the ice with all the strength she could muster. She was a battleship. She was very _very_ good at what she could do.

But her skills were terrible limited. She couldn't hunt submarines, she couldn't-

Wait. Jersey rubbed loose ice shards from her brow, her gaze punching though the air like canon shells.

Someone was watching her.

He was too far to make out, but he was _definitely_ there. Her radar confirmed it. A single contact in the sea of nothing, just under six nautical miles out.

"Hey!" Jersey bellowed at the top of her raw lungs. "HEY!"

The figure stood in the still air, an unmoving blot of black in against the infinite white.

Jersey gritted her teeth and _exploded_ into a sprint. Her shoes slammed against the ice like jackhammers as she built up to her thirty-five knot flank. She could see him, he was _there._ He was _right there._

The battleship panted as freezing air tore at her lungs. Each breath was like gulping down ground glass, but she forced herself to move. She had a plan, she had a direction… her lifeline might be perilously thin, but it was enough. It had to be.

"HEY!" Jersey waved at the figure as she sprinted. The figure didn't react. He didn't even _move_. Jersey was running flat out, but her rangefinder still placed him thirty-five thousand eight hundred and fourteen feet out. Exactly. No matter how hard she ran, the distance didn't change.

"HEY YOU FUCK!" Jersey boomed at the top of her lungs. She strained for every last shred of steam she could scrounge. Maybe if she could make thirty-six knots… Maybe if she could-

Her toe caught on a frozen swell, sending the battleship hurtling face-first across the ice. Her momentum carried her a good hundred yards while her face carved a gouge in the featureless ice.

"Owww…." Jersey let out a tiny moan as she slowly worked her face out of the crater it'd dug for itself. She could feel blood flash-freezing as it oozed out of the dozen minor scrapes her little accident had earned her as she wiped the snow out of her face.

Then she saw it.

"Oh….. shiiiiii-"

—|—|—

"-iiit!" Jersey's eyes snapped open like the breach blocks of her mark seven rifles. Her turbines were roaring a million revolutions a minute, and she could feel her fingers quiver as adrenaline flooded her system. But she was right where she should be: sleeping in a gently burbling hot tub with three sleeping destroyers—and one tiny destroyer escort—cuddling around her.

Heermann had prime position. Her little head was perfectly cradled between the battleship's breasts. Her body rested on Jersey's tummy, and her stumpy legs hung off her side. The destroyer's stern wasn't repaired. It wasn't even _close_. But Heermann wasn't bleeding any more, and her tiny face looked tranquil and calm. She'd fallen asleep, she hadn't passed out from exhaustion and pain.

Hoel, Johnston, and Sammy were all tied off alongside Jersey in the cramped little hot tub. All three of them were still in their sopping wet uniforms, and they'd all somehow found a way to keep at least one arm on their battered friend.

Jersey smiled. Her girls were content. It wasn't… they deserved so much more. But it was enough, at least for now. That left just one more pressing issue. The whole… fucking… mind fuck with the ice.

Jersey scowled. It must've been a dream. Shipgirls can dream now, apparently. She'd consider that fucking weird if her whole… experience on the ice hadn't given her a brand new appreciation for what the word really meant.

She made a note in her log to ask… someone about it later, but quickly scribbled it out again. It was just a fucking dream. People have those all the time, and even if they _can_ remember anything, a fucking dream isn't a prophecy.

Then again… she should probably at least let Crowning know. He'd nerd the fuck out over some shit like that. Probably tell her that she's got some fucking repressed sexual desire for ice. Or maybe winter? Old Man Winter, maybe? Fuck it. This spiritual bullshit was creepy.

Jersey was just about to hunker back to sleep when a loud roar rumbled out from deep in her machinery spaces. Right. Food… she needed food. Her fuel bunkers needed topping off, and her magazines were all but expended.

The pain in her belly didn't _quite_ compare to the ravenous, all consuming hunger she'd felt after bring the convoy into Japan, but it was close. Actually, no. Fuck that. This was worse. Jersey could _feel_ her quartermasters planning their mutiny if she wasn't resupplied. Soon.

Jersey bit her lip as her stomach did somersaults around the cramped confines of her slender waist. She was _starving_ , and the lingering smell of cooking bacon wafting though the air didn't do a thing to sate her furious appetite. But… she had a wounded taffy using her as a bed. And she'd be _damned_ if she-

"Hey, mama." Heermann offered Jersey a sleepy smile and _slowly_ inched forwards to nuzzle her flagship in the neck. "'s mornin."

Jersey felt her blood run cold. "Hey… kiddo," she ran her hand down the little girl's back. "I- fuck, I didn't wake you did I?"

"'sokay," purred Heermann. Her sleepy slur was somehow even sweeter than the genuine smile on her face as she lazily rolled into the water. "I felt your tummy go _weeee_."

"You did, didn't you." Jersey frowned and shot her tummy a displeased look. If she ever figured out how to drag parts of her anatomy to a Captain's Mast, that would be the first to go.

"Go get food," Heermann stared up at Jersey with those big destroyer eyes.

"You sure?" said Jersey as her belly let out another grumpy rumble, "I won't leave you, kiddo."

"Goo…. shooo…" Heermann lazily waved her hand though the sweet-smelling water. "Eat your vegta- vegga- vegetables, mama."

Jersey smiled. "Sure thing, kiddo." The big battleship leaned over to plant a quick kiss on Heermann's forehead before extricating herself from the hot tub. At least with all four taffies clinging to one another in an adorable little raft it was easy to sneak under them without disturbing them too much.

The battleship carefully pulled herself up out of the water. Her clothes dried almost instantly as they breached the waterline, but the sticky bloodstains on her legs and shirt remained. She'd… she'd have to see if there was anything her size she could borrow… "You sure you don't want me to stay, kiddo?"

"Mmhm," mumbled Heermann.

"Okay." Jersey gently ruffled the little girl's hair before ducking out around the jury-rigged privacy screens. And almost face-planting into another girl.

"Shit." Jersey staggered back at the last second, "Sorry." She blinked, sizing up the girl she'd nearly plowed over.

She was a carrier, the flat-topped hull told her that much. But she _wasn't_ Ryuujou, her deck was about the only part of her that _wasn't_ curvy as all hell. Even the lacquered black armor over her breasts only accented the round-faced girl's topweight. It made sense, though. If this was who Jersey thought she was, she had two stacked hangers.

"Akagi, right?" asked the battleship.

"Mmhm," the carrier nodded with a tiny hint of a smile on that sweet face of hers. "I brought something for your girls." She nodded to the tray in her hands.

Three unopened boxes of fruit loops, a mountain of fried eggs, another slightly square-er mountain of toast, and a full jar of Nutella were all somehow crammed onto the little plastic tray. There was even enough room leftover for three glasses and a bottle of milk.

"Yeah, um…" Jersey scratched at the back of her neck. Why the hell hadn't she thought of that? A rumble from her stomach reminded her quite succinctly. She was hungry as _fuck._ "Yeah, they're still asleep. Just leave it by the tub."

"Of course," said Akagi with the closest approximation of a bow she could manage while still carrying her tray.

"Hey, uh," Jersey shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts. "Akagi?"

"Yes?" The carrier gently set the tray down and, after a quick re-arrangement to make sure the girls could reach everything easily, turned to face Jersey.

"I'm hungry as _fuck,_ " The battleship glanced down at her belly, "The hell's chow at?"

Akagi's face beamed with a friendly smile, "Right this way."


	68. Chapter 52: Akagitimes

**Chapter 52: Akagitimes**

Fleet carrier Akagi of the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force smiled demurely as her new American friend pulled her lanky, stunningly built body out of the makeshift repair dock. The raven-haired carrier rested her hands on the semi-decorative piece of her flight deck hanging over her crimson hakama skirt. Partly because it was the proper, ladylike thing to do.

But mostly because grabbing her belly and holding in tight was the only way the starving carrier could think of to keep her raging appetite in check. Her stomach was bone dry, and she could feel it gnawing away at the insides of her fuel bunker between vicious cramps. She might've earned her reputation as a glutton ten times over, but Akagi never ate just for the pleasure of eating.

Her air wing needed to be reconstituted and resupplied after nearly every sortie, and planes weren't cheap. It'd taken every shred of willpower to walk into the mess hall and then walk out again with breakfast for the destroyer girls. It didn't help that the Americans had seemingly pulled out all the culinary stops. For a carrier used to feeding herself on nothing but naked rice—with perhaps a splash of curry sauce or some pickled radish to give it _some_ flavor—the smells of cooking meat and fresh bread had been almost overpowering.

But she was a carrier of the Japanese Navy. She would uphold the proud tradition of CarDiv one. And she wouldn't abandon her guests. "Are you ready for breakfast, Jersey-san?"

"Uh," the towering American glanced down at herself. Her shorts were stained red-black on one side, and her shirt was covered with the crusty stains of soaked-in oil and rusty blood. She pursed her lips for a second while she carefully tugged her shirt off her chest. The soaked-though fabric hesitated for a second before finally peeling off the American's… distinctly American figure.

"If you wish you change," Akagi squeezed at her belly, her abdominal muscles clenching with all their strength to try and contain another furious growl from her mutinous stomach. Her face flushed as she heard a low rumble slip out despite her earnest efforts. "I can show you to the-"

"Oh FUCK," Jersey barked as she almost doubled over. Her hands clapped to her belly as her knees buckled under her. Her stomach let out a roaring rumble so loud Akagi saw the dock's water ripple.

"Jersey!" the carrier jumped to the battleship's side, ignoring the equally-loud roar her own stomach was generating.

"FUCK!" Jersey's mouth hung open as she struggled to get her wind back. Her hands were clawing at her stomach and her eyes were screwed shut as her tummy cramped uncontrollably.

"I'm…" Akagi offered a hand to the far stronger American. _She'd_ probably never known a day in her life where she wasn't so well supplied she literally didn't know what to do with her bounty. Being under supplied had to be a rude awakening for the American, especially after waking up with her magazines all but empty. "Breakfast first?"

"Hell yeah." Jersey grunted as she half-hauled herself back to her feet. Akagi's offered arm _helped_ but there was only so much the fleet carrier could do for a ship of Jersey's displacement. "Which uh…"

Akagi's hand jolted out like a lighting bolt. "Follow me!"

Jersey didn't need to be told twice. The towering American exploded into a sprint. Or what _would_ have been a sprint for any other battleship. For her, it was more of a quick jog.

"Where're the others?" Jersey jerked her head towards the empty main dock pool.

"I think they're changing," said Akagi. She liked to talk when she was hungry. A good conversation could take her mind off the roaring cramps in her empty belly.

"Changing?"

"Mmhm," Akagi nodded as she jogged alongside her new American friend. "Nagato-San thought that, since we're on American soil, we should follow American customs."

"Liiiike?" Jersey shot the carrier a sidelong glance.

"Wearing bathing suits in the dock," said Akagi as she plowed her way though a set of double-doors. To be honest, the carrier didn't see any real reason to cover herself in the docks. After all, the only people who'd see her would be fellow shipgirls, and of course the medical personnel attending to them. Her body was a perfectly natural thing, or as natural as a kanmusume could be.

But, the Americans were feeding her country, she'd gladly wear a swimsuit if that was the cost of such generous aid. Of course, it _did_ help that the swiming wear Ryuujou had helped pick out looked so fetching. Akagi could hardly wait to try it on.

"Is Mushi-" Jersey caught herself. Evidentially the conversation was doing its job on her end as well. The American… still looked utterly miserable, but she wasn't clawing at her belly anymore. "Fuck it, I don't even wanna know."

"That may be wise," said Akagi with a demure little smile. A smile that turned into a full-on cherisher-cat grin when the pair walked into the dining hall.

Akagi'd grown quite fond of Western entertainment, _Top Gun_ and other films of its era in particular. Jersey's sculpted jawline and tough, angular face would've been perfect right up alongside Iceman or the T-800. And it _melted_ into a gooey puddle of unrestrained glee the instant her ice-blue eyes laid sight on the bounty filling the dining room.

"Pancakes!" Jersey bolted for the nearest pile of the fluffy hot cakes with a smiling fleet carrier following along in tow. The two girls quickly filled their trays with mountains of oven-fresh pancakes, several cows worth of sausage, and more bacon than Akagi had ever seen—let alone _smelled_ in her life.

"This is truly amazing," said Akagi. Or at least that's what she wanted to say. With her mouth bulging to capacity with a half-dozen pancakes and plenty of syrup, the best she could manage was, "'s guh!"

Jersey nodded in response. Her pale American features weren't _quite_ as chipmunked out as Akagi's, but the carrier _did_ have the full discipline of the Kido Butai helping her fit every last morsel into her mouth at once.

For almost an hour, the two girls didn't say a word to each other. Every second they weren't swallowing was a second spent piling more syrup-soaked pancakes, griddle-fresh eggs, or piping hot coco into their starving bodies. The two girls matched each other nearly bite-for-bite.

Jersey's utter lack of table manners only barely letting her keep up with Akagi's superior Japanese discipline. The girls only started to slow down when Akatsuki and Inazuma walked out in their aprons to refill a plate of sausage.

"Akatsuki-chan, Inazuma-chan," Akagi waved at the little girls, "Thank you very much for the meal."

The girls were about to bow in response when Jersey raised her voice.

"Hell yeah, this shit fucking _rocks._ "

Akatsuki's cheeks blushed red while Inazuma just let out a quiet "nanodesu." Akagi would've brought a hand to her forehead if that didn't mean a break from her much-needed resupply.

The two destroyers glanced at eachother, then quickly scurried back into the kitchen. A few seconds later, they came back with two more third-generation special-type destroyers (and one throughly-confused looking light cruiser) in tow. Before anyone could react, the whole of DesDiv six piled onto Akagi in a smiling hugpile.

Akagi smiled and gave every one of them a gentle pat on the head. Even Tenryuu, much to the old cruiser's chagrin.

Jersey wasn't so subtle. She picked up all five girls in a crushing hug, causing Tenryuu to let out a surprised 'eep!' that she hurriedly covered with a scowled cough.

"Seriously," The battleship carefully set the girls down, "Thank you. All of you."

"It uh…" Tenryuu rubbed her increasingly red face, "It wasn't a problem."

"It's only ladylike to look after your guests!" said Akatsuki as she did the best curtsy she could in her over sized apron.

"You can rely on us anytime!" said Ikazuchi.

"It was a pleasure, nanodesu."

Hibiki just shuffled over to give Jersey a gentle hug and stealthily slipped a tiny metal flask into the battleship's pocket.

Jersey shoved a pancake in her mouth to hide her blush while DesDiv six and their minder bustled back to the kitchen.

"They really are sweet, aren't they?" said Akagi.

"Mmhm," Jersey gulped down her latest bite. "Hell yeah they are." She paused for a moment. Her gaze drifted to the far corner of the room as she silently chewed her latest morsel of sausage and syrup. "Hey… 'kagi?"

"Mmm?"

"You ever… have a dream?"

Akagi dabbed at the corners of her mouth. "A few, I think. There's only been one I remember."

"Yeah?" Jersey was suddenly leaning over the table. Her ice-blue eyes bored into the carrier's with the kind of focus she normally only expected from Kaga. "What was it?"

Akagi thought back. "I was… in the middle of a huge bowl of ice cream."

Jersey blinked.

"And I had to eat my way out with a tiny spoon," concluded the carrier. She let out a tiny little laugh, "It's funny, I don't think I've ever had ice cream."

Jersey blinked again, then her head slowly fell against the table. "Fucking useless," she grumbled.


	69. Chapter 53: Who the hell wears THAT?

**Belated Battleship Chapter 53: Who the hell wears THAT?**

Jersey felt a small smile creep onto her face as she slouched back in her chair. She didn't really feel like smiling, not after the whole… disaster with little Heermann, but it was hard notto smile with a belly full of warm pancakes and fresh bacon. Well, notfull. She'd only been eating for an hour. And judging by the considerable amount of sloshing Jersey could feel deep within her tummy-slash-fuel-bunkers-slash-magazines-slash-stores-because-shipgirl, she wasn't even close to her preferred stomach-bustingly stuffed state.

But on the other hand, her insides weren't trying to maul her and stage a communist uprising because of the starvation diet she'd forced them to undergo. That was good. Jersey hatedcommunists, especially when they lived inside her belly. Of course, there was a very good reason Jersey and Akagi had brought their—let's be real here—gluttony to a temporary halt.

Together, the battleship and the carrier could put food away almost as fast as Tenryuu and her kiddos could cook it up. If the adorable girls and their equally-adorable minder were going to get some breakfast, Jersey and Akagi would have to take a break.

"So," Jersey drummed her hands against her stubbornly-slender waist. The battleship pursed her lips as she eyed up the carrier who'd brought her beloved nation to its knees. By all rights, Jersey knew she should be seething with anger just looking at her. But she wasn't. Actually, she found the girl's porcelain-smooth to be adorable in a beautiful sort of way.

"Hmm?" Akagi dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. Jersey wasn't really sure why, she had syrup stains all over her white… asian… shirt… thing. For all her gluttony, the girl couldn't eat her way out of a pancake if she had a fucking map.

"You uh," Jersey motioned to the massive pile of cleaned-off plates—and noted with pride that hers was a bit bigger. "Enjoy you pancakes?"

"Very much," Akagi dipped her head in a polite bow, her cheeks all but glowing as she offered the American a smile. A real, solid smile, not those demure little grins some of the girls gave when they were really just tired of your shit and waiting for you to shut up. Jersey was all to familiar with those. "I've never had food so… rich."

"This is nothing, honey," said Jersey. For a second she just smirked at the Japanese carrier, then a thought crossed her mind. "Wait."

"Hmm?"

"These are fucking pancakes," Jersey waved at where a stack had been on her sparkling plate, "You can get these in Japan."

"Well…" Akagi pursed her lips. It almost looked like she was deep in melancholy thought, then her tongue darted out to lick away a spot of syrup clinging to the corner of her mouth. "The supply situation in Japan is… rather strained."

Jersey knit her brow, but motioned for the carrier to continue.

"With… my appetite," Akagi waved to the massive stack of plates she'd managed to accumulate, "I can't bear to make things worth. I usually just eat rice."

"Shit, really?" Jersey's stomach recoiled in horror at the very thought of living without her beloved hamburgers.

"Mmhm," Akagi shrugged, "Sometimes I'll treat myself to a few pickled radishes, maybe a few donuts." The carrier shrugged, "If I had a good sortie."

"Hell…" Jersey clapped a hand to her face. "Hell, girl. We'll have to get you some real food."

"Rice is-"

"Rice is not real food," said Jersey. "Pancakes, steak, shit like that is real food." She let her head hang until her chin bumped up against the warm—if somewhat sticky—fabric of her blood soaked scarf. Now with added stickiness from a few tiny beads of syrup.

"I wouldn't know," said Akagi with a sad shrug.

"Shit, uh…" Jersey shrugged. "You ever come to the states, we're getting burgers."

Akagi thought for a second, then she smiled. "I'd like that, Jersey-san."

"Oh, you will," said Jersey. The battleship glanced over to where Tenryuu and her little kiddos were happily devouring their own—massively smaller-portions of sausages and pancakes. Akatsuki was taking small, careful bites and dabbing at her chin after seemingly every mouthful, while Tenryuu and Ikazuchi just scarfed down the delicious fluffy goodness as fast as their mouths would allow.

Jersey was pretty sure she saw Tenryuu using her sword to cut up a stack of pancakes bigger than her stupid-huge-jap-boat-boobs. Hibiki just looked on with a resigned little sigh.

"Ay!" Jersey waved at the light cruiser and her destroyer kindergarten. And did not overbalance out of her seat in the process, she caught herself just before that happened.

"Ufufu?" Tenryuu let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and an honest question. It was hard to tell with her mouth stuffed to capacity—and quite likely beyond.

"You gals did a hell of a job," Jersey flashed DesDiv Six and their sword-wielding minder a thumbs up.

Tenryuu swallowed with a loud gulp, "Thanks, this American stuff's not bad."

"Well… get back do it." Jersey waved to the half-eaten stack of pancakes still sitting on the light cruiser's plate. She was about to say something else to Akagi when she noticed a tiny figure standing next to her. A tiny figure holding a steaming carafe of coffee over her head like a delicious little hat.

"Coffee, nanodesu?"

Jersey smiled, "Sure thing, munchkin." She quickly traded a gentle head pat for the delicious black blood of life. "Akagi?"

"No thank you," the round-faced carrier held up her hand in a polite gesture of refusal. Not that Jersey really minded, the more coffee she could get into her system the better. She ran best when her blood was at least thirty percent caffeine. She didn't even bother with a cup. The battleship just spun the top of with a flick of her thumb and gulped down a solid third of the dark liquid in a single gulp.

It tasted… a little salty and judging from the grittiness, it was more than a little burnt. "Hey, Inazuma?"

"Hmm?" the tiny destroyer was stuck between blushing out of the limelight, and blushing because a battleship was addressing her.

"This is fucking perfect."

"You're welcome, nanodesu!" Inazuma beamed from ear to ear for a moment. Then she quickly regained her composure and darted behind her momboat's skirts to beam in relative privacy.

"You have a way with destroyers," observed Akagi with a quiet chuckle.

Jersey froze for an instant while her mind processed the carrier's words. She knew Akagi didn't mean it like that… but damn if it didn't cut a little deep. "Yeah," said the American with a forced little grin, "Guess I am."

Judging by the dark cloud that passed over Akagi's face, the carrier knew she'd struck a nerve. But to her credit, she didn't push she issue any further.

Jersey took another long gulp of coffee, but this time she held it in her mouth just long enough to absorb the full spectrum of awful coffee taste. It was glorious in its badness. The blackened, bitter grit tasted like home. The only thing it needed was more caffeine. Then it'd be perfect. Maybe if-

"BREAK~ FAST~ TIME~!" A thunderously loud, bouncy voice boomed though the dining room like a demented bunny rabbit on crack. Jersey hadn't spent much time in Japan, but she knew that voice by heart. How could she not, after having it hammered into her brain like a metaphorical bulldozer being operated by an equally metaphorical seabee.

"Damnit, Kongou." Jersey cradled her head in one hand and tried to force a scowl onto her smiling face. "I-"

Even if Kongou hadn't rammed an oven-fresh strawberry scone into the battleship's mouth the instant it opened, Jersey still wouldn't have been able to get another word out.

Kongou was bouncing, literally bouncing though the dining room with her usual boundless energy. Only this time she was dressed in very… snug white bikini with bright red trim.

It wasn't particularly scandalous, but it also wasn't particularly good at keeping Kongou's… boungous from bouncing every which way as she skipped around the room. Also, she was wearing a frilly pink apron. For some reason.

"Uh…" Jersey felt the scone fall out of her mouth and land on her bloodstained breast with a quiet thump, but there wasn't a thing she could do about it. Her brain was struggling just to keep her boilers running right now.

As if Kongou bouncing all over the place in a skimpy little bikini wasn't enough, Kirishima was following right behind in an identical swimsuit. At least the younger battle cruiser wasn'tquite so jiggly as her older sister, but… it was still a lot for Jersey's mind to handle. But she was an American, an American that lived though the sixties at that. She could get a hold of herself!

And just as she told herself that, in walked Mutsu and Nagato. Nagato at least managed to look businesspeople in her char col-and-white one piece. She still looked impossibly stacked, much to Jersey's grumbling chagrin, but she had her usual focused half-scowl on as she migrated towards the serving area.

Mutsu did no such thing. Her swimsuit might have the same color scheme as her sister, but hers was a bikini. And she fucking knew how goddamn hot she looked… And she was fucking flaunting it! Jersey had to screw her eyes shut and focus very hard on that bit of gossip she'd picked up on just to keep her sanity.

Mutsu's Richardson's girl. Mutsu's Richardson's girl. Mutsu's Richardson's girl.

Jersey was just starting to feel in control when she heard the door slam open. Or possible a battery of naval rifles going off mere inches from her ear. The sounds were nearly in distinguishable.

"I, MUSASHI, HAVE ARRIVED!"

"Oh fuck me," grumbled Jersey. She knew she shouldn't look, but she couldn't not.

The Japanese super battleship had traded in her impractical-ass bandages and skirt for an equally impractical-ass black bikini. With boob pockets. For some fucking reason. Jersey was in shock, the Japanese woman had found an outfit that looked like it was actually closer to boob-spillage than her usual stupid-ass titty-bandaids.

Of course, she was also wearing a pair of 'shorts' that would've made even Jersey's prude rage start acting up, but noticing them would have required the battleship to tear her icy eyes from Musashi's… musashis.

"Fuck it." Jersey mimed flipping the table with a resigned grunt. "I'm done."

"Jersey?" Akagi glanced at the American with an innocent little look. Because of course she would, little miss flat-top over there wasn't that far behind Musashi in the top weight department. "You haven't finished your breakfast."

"I'll eat a big lunch," said Jersey as she gathered her plates while carefully keeping her back to the stupid top-heavy Japanese battleships. "Besides," she carefully made her way to the… dish… area, "Gotta get changed."

"Oh," Akagi winced a little as she glanced at Jersey's blood-encrusted shirt. "Well," she glanced to were Kongou and Kirishima were bouncing around the kitchen like pinballs. "I'll join you. It's the battleships' turn anyways."

Jersey scowled. "Yeah, uh… you uh… go right ahead." She bit her lip, "Gotta do something first.

Thankfully, Akagi didn't ask what that something was.

—|—|—

Yeoman Gale hummed a tuneless little song as she marched her way up the shallow concrete steps to the base gym. Her ipod was blasting her favorite workout mix. Her shoes were practically bouncing off the concrete with each step. She looked damn good in her snug yoga capris and snug—yet tasteful—tank top. And the crisp mid-December air felt more bracing than cold. It was a good day for a workout.

Actually, what it was was a good day for a swim. Gale had a really cute sky-blue swimsuit burning a hole in her closet, one she was finally feeling confident enough to wear around. Not that she'd ever be able to compete with the curves of a certain North Carolina class, but still. She looked fucking adorable in that thing.

But Gale hadn't been able to hit the pool in months. Partly because having to babysit Poi was stressful, frustrating, and sapped her motivation almost as much as it fed her desire for ice cream by the gallon. But mostly because after the base pool'd been converted into a shipgirl dockyard, there wasn't any place for her to swim.

If the girls were hurt badly enough to need the docks, they certainly needed their privacy. Gale didn't mind giving it too them, especially since it gave her one less area where she had to keep her composure around… Wash. It was hard enough keeping a level head on her shoulders around the innocently-smoldering North Carolina class when she wasn'tdripping wet and wearing a swimsuit.

Gale shuddered as thoughts started creeping into her mind. The kind of lewd thoughts not befitting a member of the US Navy, especially when they involved a superior officer. The Yeoman forced herself to focus on her last safety briefing, or as she and her friends had named it '101 places not to stick superglue.'

Gale was focusing so hard she almost missed the downcast face of one of her oldest—and arguably sanest—friends on the base.

"Hey, Jen!" Gale broke into a trot as she caught up with Yeoman Jennifer Bowers. The taller sailor was marching dejectedly down the gyms steps, a cup of sickly green… plantish slime held loosely in her hand.

"Oh, hey Sarah," said Bowers with a very obvious forced smile."Gonna hit the gym?"

"Yeah," Gale bit her lip. The cold was getting a bit… nippy against her bare arms, but it wasn't anything she couldn't suck up. Not when her friend was looking so glum. "You, uh, you doing okay?"

Bowers looked like she as going to agree for a second, then the fragile mask of her smile shattered and her shoulders slouched even more. "So… you know how I was trying to drop those last five?" She patted at her stomach.

"Yeah?" Gale winced. She had a good idea how this was going to go.

"So… I ran into Wash the other day at lunch."

"Oh… fuck," Gale winced even harder. Wash liked to eat a light—at least for a shipgirl—breakfast. Said it helped her wake up and say on-task during the day. But that meant her lunches were the kind of gluttonous feast that no one who's name didn't rhyme with "Mersey" could finish.

"Yeah," muttered Bowers. "It's uh… Motivation, I think."

"Fuck, okay…" Gale rocked on her heels. "She's a ship."

"I know, but-"

"No," Gale silenced her friend with a single finger across her lips. "She's a ship. She's not a girl."

Bowers blinked.

"You remember that time the gas line broke and dinner was an hour late?"

"Mmhm," Bowers gave a timid nod.

"Wash missed her lunch that day," said Gale, "Poor thing had to sortie on an empty stomach, so when dinner was an hour late…" Gale shook her head. It was hard not to cringe at the thought. "She was… she was literally shaking. I'm pretty sure I saw her crying when she didn't think anyone was noticing."

"Damn," breathed Bowers.

"Yeah," said Gale, "I don't think she stopped clutching her stomach for hours after that. So, uh… don't feel bad about how much they eat. Feel bad about how miserable they get when they're not fed."

Bowers let out a little chuckle. It was barely louder than a wispier, but Gale knew it was genuine. That alone set her own smile going. "Nice, uh, nice speech there, Sarah."

"What can I say?" Gale shrugged, "I spend a lot of time around the doc."

Bowers chuckled, "I've noticed… if I didn't know you were gay…"

Gale rolled her eyes, "Eat shit, Jen."

Bowers just motioned to her blended-plant-smoothie-thing. "He is pretty cute th-"

Gale let out a hiss as she slapped her finger across her friend's mouth once more. "No."

"Bu-"

"No." Gale shook her head. "He's Jersey's man."

"Bu-"

"Shhhshshhshh." Gale narrowed her eyes, "I have fifty bucks on them."

Bowers threw up her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, fine. Geez."

Gale smiled. "Hey, we're still on for DnD tonight, yeah?"

"Should be, yeah," said Bowers. "Dee wanted to join."

Gale winced. Bringing Dee to a game that relied heavily on the rolling of dice, and thus luck sounded like a terrible idea. An idea on the same tier as 'let's superglue googly eyes to my dick'. "Maybe…" The sailor drummed her hands against the meat of her thighs. She wasn't even to Jersey's Iowa-class legs… but damnnit, she was getting there. "I could run a one-shot? See how it goes?"

"Mm…" Bowers shrugged. "Well, uh…" she glanced down at her belly, "I'm going to go cry in a shower until my abs stop hurting."

"Don't drown!" Gale waved at her friend as she trotted back up the stairs. Getting over one's… initial reaction to a shipgirl's appetite was a frustrating thing to have to do. But… hopefully Bowers was at least going in the right direction now.

Gale's thoughts settled into the pleasant realm of planning out a quick adventure she could run for Dee. One that ideally wouldn't be ruined by the well-intentioned but klutzy-as-fuck destroyer's abysmal luck. It's like the girl's life was a series of natural ones. Well, except for that one time.

With her mind swimming in the might and magic of her favorite tabletop game, Gale managed to make it all the way to the entrance to the women's locker rooms without thinking about the very real—and much more annoying—magic bullshit that permeated her.

But she was an NCO of the United States Navy. Her life was suffering. And today, that suffering took the shape of a Clemson-class destroyer girl sprinting out of the locker room as fast as her tiny little legs could carry her.

Gale'd recognize Borie anywhere. She was the only girl of her class at Everett, and she was a pretty memorable one at that. Except she wasn't wearing her usual outfit. In fact, it almost looked like-

"IIIIMMM! NAAAAAKEEEEED!" Borie yelled at the top of her lungs as she streaked past Gale into the Gym lobby.

Gale was about to let out a resigned sigh when yet the omnipotent shipgirl bullshit decided her life wasn't screwed up enough.

"Damnit, Borie, NO!" Who should come running out of the locker room than Wash herself. The battleship was better dressed than the streaking little destroyer, but not by much. Her creamy skin was still wet from her bath, and the only thing she wore was a rather revealing coral-blue bikini.

Gale really didn't want to stare at a higher-ranking officer, but it was so hard not to. She'd only ever seen Wash wearing her uniform—or at least most of it. And that uniform included a snug compression bra that kept every… um… 'thing' neatly contained.

Wash's swimsuit though, did nothing of the kind. Every step the sprinting battleship took sent her chest—and it really was a nice chest. That sports bra did her bust line no favors—bouncing with the kind of perfect harmony that was more elegant than erotic. The way her waist-length hair flared out around her like a wake just framed the motions of her sculpted body like it was a piece of fine art on display in some expensive gallery.

Gale was so entranced watching the way water droplets moved along Wash's bouncing… areas that she completely failed to realize she was standing right in the battleship's way.

Wash realized it mere seconds before Gale. The battleship's eyes went wide as her heels dug into the floor. Her arms swung forward as she desperately tried to slow herself, but it was too little too late. Wash slammed into Gale at close to full speed, and the two women collapsed into a heap, skidding together at least a dozen feet from their combined inertia.

When Gale's mind finally rebooted into action, she let out a roaring laugh. Or tried to anyways, her laugh was mostly muffled by the North Carolina-class chest surrounding it. Of all the cliches to happen to her… it had to be this one. And it had to be with freaking Wash too.

"I…" the battleship's eyes were as wide as dinner plates as she stared down at Gale. Her mouth quivered between half-open and slammed shut, and the color was slowly draining from her already creamy-pale face. "I'm sorry," she stammered.

"'s fine," mumbled Gale as she tried to pull her self out from under the battleship's staggering weight. "Just an accident, ma'am."

"I… I know," mumbled Wash as she pulled herself to her feet. "I'm…" Wash trailed off as she trudged back to the docks.

Gale blinked. Oh… shit. SHIT! The collision. The reason her nose—gorgeous as it was—was ever so slightly off. The only time Wash ever lost a crewman was when she accidentally rammed Indiana. "Fuuuuuck," Gale hissed the word out through gritted teeth and clawed at her temples.

"You okay, ma'am?" asked a very concerned, but still very naked Borie. The little girl crossed her arms as she stared down, her round face utterly brimming with concern.

Gale let out a long sigh. "Yeah…" It was a lie, but there wasn't anything she could do to fix this problem. Not right now. Trying to talk to Wash right now would just make things worse. "Also, Borie?"

"Yeah?"

Gale hauled herself back onto her feet. "Put a damn shirt on."

Borie bit her lip as she stared up at the sailor. "Do I have to?"

Gale stared with the full force of an upset NCO.

"Fiiiiiine."


	70. Chapter 54: Yarr

**Chapter 54: Yarr...**

Jersey felt her turbines hum a million revs a minute as she stared at the unremarkable hotel-room door. The muscles in her thick legs twitched under her massive weight, and she couldn't keep her lips from quivering with each breath. She brought her hand up to knock against the painted wood, but stopped at the last second.

For what felt like years, the battleship stood motionless, her hand hovering an inch off the door while she cursed her own stupid mind. There were a million things she wanted to do. She wanted to get out of these blood soaked clothes. She wanted to keep eating until she was truly full, not just adequately supplied.

She wanted to do… she wasn't even sure what it was. But after seeing Task Force Hammer in skimpy swimwear, the battleship _knew_ she wanted to do… something. But every time she _tried_ digging though her log to figure out what it was, all she got back were files so full of redacted ink she could use them as night camouflage.

And those were only the handful of items at the top of her list. She wanted pie, she wanted find someplace quiet to curl up and… and fucking cry herself to sleep like a helpless little shit. But fuck all of that, she was a fucking battleship of the United States Navy. And there was one fucking thing she _had_ to do.

And it was waiting right behind that door. She just had to… work up the fucking balls to _knock._

"Okay," breathed the battleship. She slowly brought her hand up into position. "Okay… here we go…" Her knuckles were mere fractions of an inch from the door's surface when an exhausted chuckle sounded from inside the room.

"'s open, you know."

Right. Shit. What now… Jersey winced as her turbines sirred well past their red lines. She'd spent so much time working up the courage to knock, she hadn't even _begun_ to plan for what'd happen after that. "Uh…." she said.

Before she could say anything more eloquent, the door swung open to reveal an exhausted US Army Major. Not just _any_ Major, _the_ Major. The one who… who saved little Heermann. "Morning, Jersey."

"Uh…" Jersey gulped at the air while her brain tried frantically to reboot. "Uh…," She shook her head, "Um… how, uh… how'd you know I was here?

The Major shook his head with a tiny half-smile. "You walk like a stampeding elephant. I heard the floor creak while you were making up your mind."

"Oh," Jersey hung her head. She thought she was being nice and subtle… but apparently not. "Uh. Wait, shit."

"Hmm?" the Major glanced up at the towering battleship. He was… really a mess. A few days stubble was sprouting on his face, and he had the distinct sent of a man who'd spent several days in the same flightsuit.

"Uh, just…" Jersey shoved her hand into her pocket. Stupid stupid… she _should_ have just carried it in her hands… that's the normal way to do it, right? After a few seconds of frantic rummaging, the battleship pulled out a plate heaping with fresh pancakes and sausage. "I, uh… I didn't see you at breakfast, so I thought…"

For a second, the Major just glanced from the piping hot meal to the battleship's vest pocket. Then he shrugged and took the offered plate with a slight nod. "Thanks, J."

"Actually, uh…" The battleship realized she was wringing her hands together like a schoolgirl in front of her first crush, and quickly stuffed them into her pockets. "Major… sir… Solette… what the fuck do I call you?"

"How about Mack?" said Solette as he tossed a sausage link into his mouth.

"Mack… okay," Jersey nodded while she processed that new bit of information. "Okay, Mack. Look, what you did for Heermann-"

Solette did his best to hide a wince.

"-It can't have been easy." Jersey pursed her lips, a scowl forming on her face as her icy-blue eyes started to melt. "But, uh… Fuck this is hard for me to say, but it's something… It's not something I could have done."

"Look, Jersey, I-"

"You saved my little girl," said the battleship. "That's something I'll… I'll never be able to repay."

Solette coughed, and suddenly found his breakfast to be the most interesting thing in the world. "I, uh… I'm a nurse practitioner," he said as he poked at his meal, "It's what we do."

"Still… thank you," The battleship bit the corner of her lip. The Major was busy examining his food instead of accepting her thanks… he was distracted… she had her opening. The big battleship leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on the Major's forehead.

"Jersey?" Solette blinked. Jersey's face instantly blushed deeper than the Kremlin in October.

"Uh…" Jersey gulped. Then she swung on her heel and _bolted_ with all the explosive speed a quarter million horsepower could produce. "I'llBeInTheDocksIfYouNeedMe!" she yelped.

—|—|—

"What's up doc?" Yeoman Gale took a loud bite out of a carrot and did her very best to maintain a more-or-less even face. She failed. Miserably. The confused look on Crowning's face when he turned to look at her pushed her over the edge, and Gale let out a snorting laugh that sent chunks of half-eaten carrot spraying across the professor's room.

"You doing okay, sailor?" Crowning's face was utterly stoic, except for the slight inquisitive tilt of his eyebrow.

"Uh.." Gale wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, scrubbing away any loose carrot chunks that might have been clinging to her face. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

Crowning's other eyebrow slowly crept up to join the first.

"I was eating when I got your text!" Gale held up her hands—and her half-chewed carrot—defensive. "You know, healthy snack?" She shrugged, and gave her belly a pat—a belly she was pleased to note was a little slimmer and significantly tighter than it had been a few months ago. "C'mon, it was funny."

"Yeah," Crowning finally let his stoic facade fall as a wide grin spread across his face, "It was."

"Told ya!" Gale pumped her fist in triumph. "But uh… seriously, what's up?"

"Well, I _was_ trying to figure out why our summonings have petered out, but then-" the professor waved at the mountain of mashed potatoes, cooked ham, and awkwardly-sliced apples sitting on his desk next to an unopened bottle of Captain Morgan- "Dee, Bannie, and Kidd insisted on making me lunch."

"Well that was nice of-" Gale stopped mid sentence. Did… did she just see what she thought she just saw? "Is that?"

"Rum, yes," Crowning stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "Kidd insisted I take it."

"And suddenly the world makes sense," said Gale. Then she blinked. Kidd was a _Fletcher_. She looked like a very precocious little twelve year old with a Jolly Rodger tied around her head like a bandanna. She did _not_ look twenty-one. "Where'd she get it?"

Crowning could only offer a timid shrug.

"Are you going to finish it?" asked Gale, her voice effortlessly sliding from confusion to honey-flavored request. Rum wasn't her favorite form of alcohol, but she'd be doing the ignoble family of junior NCOs a disservice if she turned down free booze. Besides, if she was going to DM for _Dee_ of all people, she'd more than water in her.

"Do you want it?" sighed the Professor.

Gale nodded so vigorously her bun smacked against the nape of her neck. "Really a lot."

"Never really was a rum man myself," said Crowning as he handed over the unopened bottle.

"Fair enough," said Gale as she slipped the bottle into one of her pockets for safekeeping. "What'cha working on?"

"Well," Crowning motioned to a white board set up opposite his desk. The names of every kanmusu summoned, from Akron all the way back to Kongou, were jotted down along a time line in handwriting that managed to be utterly illegible and perfectly readable at the same time. "I've listed down every girl who's shown up."

"And…" Gale toyed with the tip of her nose as she stared at the list. There was a pattern there, she _knew_ it. The girls came in spurts, a few battleships or heavy cruisers, then a cluster of destroyers, then more heavies… The tonnage jerkily snaked up and down like a thoroughly drunk wave. "What'd you figure out?"

"Nothing, actually," said the professor. The corners of his mouth twisted in a scowl as he stared down the emotionless writing. "The interval's different every time."

"Did you try checking the dates?"

"Yup." Crowning nodded, "Went back though a thousand years of Japanese history… some of the girls came back on famous anniversaries, but not all of them."

"Dammit." Gale let out a low hiss as she stared at the inscrutable time line. She was never good at this kind of thing. "Oh!"

"You see something?" Crowning bolted to the board.

"Oh, uh… shit, no," Gale shook her head. "I just, uh, I got the results back from the lab."

Crowning slowly turned on his heel to look at the sailor. Then he blinked.

"The… the analysis of the metal that washed up?"

Another set of blinks.

"From that Dreadnought Jersey munched in the straight. I swear I told you about that."

"No…" trailed off the Professor. "I think I'd have remembered something like that."

"Oh, well…" Gale shrugged, "They found a few chunks of the damn thing and rushed them over to the U-Dub for testing. It uh…" She rocked on her heels and chewed her lip for a second, "It's really melodramatic now, but as far as they know, it's just… steel."

"Nothing special about it?" said Crowning. He was listening, but Gale could tell his eyes were focused on something a million miles away.

"I mean… it was Vickers-hardened, but yeah. Just normal steel."

Crowning rested his chin on his hand, and for a moment he was silent in thought. "Gale?"

"Yeah?"

"Could I borrow… say three or four pounds?"

Gale scrunched up her face. "Why do you ask?"

Crowning smiled, and then he told her.


	71. A Certain Lady Part 9

**A Certain Lady Part 8**

 **By Old Iron**

USS Albacore was debating just how much worse fleeing the scene would make the situation.

The feasibility of escape was not an issue. Neither battleship would be able to hunt her down in any capacity and she was more than adept as surviving on her own. It kind of went hand in hand with being both part of the neglected branch of the Navy and the solo operations that went with submarine doctrine.

"You might have broken into the Admiral's home." Hiei parroted Albacore's admission of hypothetical criminal activity with no small amount of hardness to her voice. Was is just her, or were these Americans beginning to affect her more and more lately? She'd had to bring out the serious far more often than not as of late.

Albacore swallowed audibly.

"I'm waiting for an answer, sailor." Hiei's voice was beginning to dip into frosty. Even to the point where Arizona was giving her a sidelong glance. It was alright. She didn't really understand yet. But the admission meant the submarine hadn't been completely on the level with them. If at all.

"I-I needed supplies. I was completely dry." She set her jaw and made the decision to face the music. She had already completely blown whatever story might have been in the works to cover herself. One slip of the tongue had put her down the sights of two battleships. "There was a girl there... Ah, her name was Jane-"

Albacore very nearly froze when Hiei's guns twitched. Not just one either. Every single piece of weaponry attached to the fast battleship seemed to react to the name. From whatever peashooters that her crew might have held to the deadly naval rifles that gleamed in the wintry moonlight. The once dimmed spotlights were now focused solely on her once again with a blazing glare.

Even Arizona seemed to regard her with a judging eye.

"J-Jane. She caught me raiding the fridge and asked if I was looking for a snack. Then she offered to... bake a cake..." Only now, when she was actually recounting the incident to someone did Albacore realize just how absurd it sounded. "She even recognized me by my hull number and the fairies. I thought it would be alright until I found out she was close to some Jap cruisers. I-I almost panicked. So I asked if she had a head and made a break for it. I... might have also taken a pair of the Admiral's pants as well."

"You mean to tell me that you were scared off by a little girl because she was talking about some Japanese cruisers while baking you a cake in the middle of the night?" Hiei somehow managed to keep a perfectly straight face as she spoke. It became all the more difficult when Albacore looked like she was about to start shaking with a combination of fear and outrage.

"It's true! I woke up in a pool and there was this Sendai there and I didn't know where I was and there were all these moon-runes everywhere and I was starving-and-and-!" She wouldn't crack. She absolutely wouldn't. She was a Gato-Class submarine. One of the most lethal submarines armed with the most potent set of submarine tactics ever put to sea. She was used to being made fun of and working with even less than the bare minimum. This... This Japanese battleship wouldn't get to her. And especially not in front of USS Arizona!

"Lieutenant. I don't think now is the time for your brand of... amusement." Arizona cut in softly, but not so weary as she had sounded earlier. Despite the fact she was still trailing a slick of blood and oil from her back.

"Hmm... Probably too soon. Yeah. Definitely too soon." Hiei's frigid demeanor vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. She cracked a grin of genuine amusement at the thunderstruck look etched on the illuminated Albacore.

"W-What?" Albacore's voice held together despite her current mood.

"Lets get moving. I really don't want Ari bleeding out before I have a chance to let her have it for being reckless. Brave, but reckless." Hiei dimmed her lights as she began putting on speed. "And Albacore?"

"Yes, ma'am?" She began following alongside the two battleships, her mind awhirl with even more unknowns than before. First it looked like she was in trouble, then it looked like she was going to be shot on the spot, and then the Jap was cracking a grin at the prodding of an American martyr. And now they were going to head back to base without a care? What was going on?!

"Jane happens to be the Admiral's one and only child. If she was trying to make you feel at home and even bake you a cake, then you're alright. She's a good kid. If she really thought you were trouble, then she'd have told Jintsuu." And if Jintsuu had gotten involved, then Albacore might have found herself pinned to a wall until sunup. Possibly with some of that stern shaved off. Which also might have meant Arizona wouldn't have received her life-saving torpedo support. So it all worked out in the end. Hiei's expression turned to a pout as she realized something. "...I didn't get a cake when I showed up. Aaah... I'm really envious now!"

"I am certain she will be willing to bake you one. She is a... kind child." Jane seemed to follow Arizona around like a puppy during the short times they had chance to be in contact with one another. But everything she had been able to gather during those limited moments led her to believe the child was indeed a gentle soul. A cake did not seem too high an order.

"It's the principle of the thing. Mutsu and Jintsuu got cakes when they were assigned to the Admiral." Hiei would have crossed her arms in a playfully irritated manner were she not supporting Arizona at the moment. "And I know just how good a kid she is. She's got a strong spirit. And plenty of it, too."

"Are... things always like this?" Albacore managed to interrupt before Arizona could reply. This was simply too bizarre.

"More than likely..." Arizona replied somewhat flatly. "At the very least the members of Admiral Richardson's fleet do not shirk their duties despite their apparent flippancy."

Hiei merely laughed.

"I am going to take this one step at a time. This is way too weird to take in all at once. Even ignoring the fact I have a human body and am sailing next to two battleships who happen to be Hiei and Arizona." She'd need a nice, long sit down to really sort all this madness out. "...How angry will the Admiral be?"

"About the intrusion into his home or the fact you stole from him?" There was a frown on Arizona's bloodied lips. She understood why, but she didn't quite approve of having to resort to larceny in order to get by. Then again, she was a battleship and had never experienced the hardships inflicted upon submarines.

"Both, ma'am."

"He'll be angry. But he's almost always angry. So keep that in mind. But I don't think he'll be really angry." Hiei readjusted her grip on Arizona as Albacore drifted a little closer to them. "But I think he'll let you off the hook given the circumstances." She didn't bring up the fact that he would have no idea about Albacore's existence unless Jane specifically told him about the encounter. But considering he was probably sleeping in the CIC, if he was sleeping at all, it was far more likely he was still in the dark.

...She probably ought to report in and give him a SITREP.

"Isn't that still angry?" Albacore was not exactly feeling reassured at the moment. But she was fairly certain that wasn't truly the intent behind Hiei's words.

"Yup!"

Arizona sighed as she watched Hiei try and fail to stabilize the submarine. If she was a woman with a more lighthearted demeanor, she might have found it funny. Hole in her torso aside.

"Albacore, the more you worry the worse it will be regardless of the Admiral's mood. And Lieutenant, maybe we should report in." Perhaps Admiral Richardson would be able to at least convince Hiei to be quiet. Yes, the Lieutenant meant well and had proven to be a genuinely... interesting individual. But she was truly beginning to wear on her nerves at the moment. A small part of her wished that it had been the Lieutenant Commander here instead. If only for her remaining sanity.

"I was just thinking the same thing!" Hiei began fishing around for her phone, which thankfully hadn't been damaged in the fight. But it was still hard to reach with one hand.

Albacore remained mostly silent, opting to do what she could to calm her frayed mind in the meantime. It wasn't exactly easy. But she could try her best. She always did.

Eventually the sound of the waves was broken by the ringing of Hiei's phone.

"Lieutenant Hiei, tell me exactly what the hell took you so long." Richardson's voice came out sounding not unlike a growl over the speakerphone.

"Sorry, sir! Had a few unexpected developments." Hiei's joking demeanor vanished despite the grin tugging away at her lips. Albacore looked even more baffled than before and not more than a little nervous again.

"Unless these developments are critical to yours or anyone else's current mission, stow them until after you tell me your current status and the results of the battle."

"Understood. Arizona took major damage, to include a destroyed turret and a penetration to her boiler room. Her damage control is taking care of it and she's out of danger. However I'm helping her back to base and I want her in the docks for a full repair as of yesterday." She winced at the sharp hiss from the other side of the phone. She could easily imagine the flurry of emotions flying across Admiral Richardson's face. "I suffered only superficial damage to my superstructure. All Abyssals sunk, sir."

"And the port?"

"Almost a total loss sir. The decision was made to withdraw rather than remain on scene." Hiei glanced at Arizona, noting the grim expression on her face before continuing. "However it appears the Abyssals were attacking without any specific direction. So it could have been a lot worse."

"I'll give you that at least. Fuck..."

All three warships could clearly hear the exhaustion in his voice.

"Arizona, for nearly getting yourself killed, I'm tempted to tie you down and beat the stupid out of you." Albacore's eyes widened in horror while Arizona balked. "However because you didn't get yourself killed, I'm instead going to have Hiei lecture you at the docks about a little thing called self-preservation. You'll be there for a while, so she can take all the time she wants."

"I have a few choice words for her, sir." Hiei didn't need to look at the American battleship to see the glare on her face.

"Good."

"...Do you have any report from Yokosuka?"

"Yeah. Scratch a whole fuckton of Abyssal steel. We took a lot of damage, almost lost a destroyer, but we sent them off to the breakers with prejudice and change. Goto put together one hell of a strike force." There was a considerable note of relief in his voice. "And yes, Mutsu came out of it just fine. Couple scratches from what I've heard, but nothing more. Everyone's worried about Heermann though. But she's a Taffy. And if the Center Force couldn't sink her, then there's no way the Abyss will take her."

"That's some high praise from you." Hiei laughed as she recalled what she'd read of and been told about the Battle of Samar. "I'm glad Mutsu's safe. It'll be nice when she comes home. I'll make a big dinner. Enough for all seven of us!"

"...Seven?"

"Ah. Oops..."

Albacore blanched as Arizona reached out to take the phone from Hiei with a mostly functional arm.

"Admiral, this is Lieutenant Arizona. I have something to report." She took the silence and a prompt to continue. "I was almost sunk during the battle. However I was saved by the actions of USS Albacore, who engaged and ultimately sank an enemy battleship at immense risk to her own life."

"Arizona, are you telling me that _USS Albacore_ is with you? SS-218? Gato-class and the one who fucking killed _Taiho_ and _Tenryuu_? Am I interpreting that correctly, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir. I have no reason to doubt that, sir." She was not familiar with the exploits of the submarine looking at her with wide eyes. Not to any degree beyond the hazy mention of what might have been said by sailors near her grave. But at the same time, there was also no proof contrary to that point before her.

"Holy shit... We have another one..." There was a hint of something that almost sounded like happiness in his voice. Almost. It could have been a bit of static from a jumpy connection. But all three swore that the Admiral almost sounded happy at the news. "Can you put her on?"

"Yes, sir. She's right here."

Albacore stared at the device being held out so she could better speak into it for a moment before swallowing her nerves.

"Hello, Admiral. USS-Albacore, SS-218, reporting."

"Welcome to the fleet, Albacore. We're pleased to have you."

Albacore could have cried.

"Th-Thank you, sir."

—|—|—

"Ma'am, USS Arizona and USS Albacore, reporting as ordered." Arizona stood at attention before Admiral Richardson's desk, which was for once mostly free of debris and clutter. Next to her stood Albacore who was mirroring the stance quite well. Had they not been officially summoned, the battleship might have cracked a smile.

"At ease." Mutsu did not glance upward from her immediate task of writing in a large, thick book as both warships relaxed into a parade rest. The Admiral's XO idly ran a finger down a column with a hum as she mentally tallied the numbers she'd added in her tidy script to Richardson's scrawl. It wasn't often she had to take over for both the Admiral and for Jintsuu, but today was a rare case. It had been brought to the Admiral's attention that he'd been neglecting the light cruiser and had been commanded by all present to take the overworked Sendai-class out to a movie. Jane had been particularly vocal about righting this injustice.

A re-screening of the original Star Wars was playing, thus leading to the man having been bodily dragged from this very office by both Jintsuu and Jane. It had been quite funny to see and Hiei had still been laughing long after the duo had left. Adding to that the fact Richardson had nearly forgotten his wallet.

After a few more lines, she shut the book with a satisfied nod. Everything was in order.

"Sorry about that. You two got here a bit faster than I was expecting." She cast an appraising gaze upon the pair of Americans, neither of whom even blinked. "First off. I want to congratulate you on your performance so far. You've both done a fine job and I speak for the Admiral and the rest of the fleet when I say I expect you to continue. I don't think I need to tell you not to get cocky though. You're smart girls."

Arizona and Albacore both nodded and stood a little straighter than before.

"Secondly. I have to warn both of you that unless you take some time off to get some R&R, I will be forced to take... drastic measures." Mutsu's teasing smile threatened to break past the stern exterior she was projecting. Richardson had given her carte blanche to do what needed to be done, so she may as well have a little fun while doing so.

"Drastic measures, ma'am...?" Albacore seemed more than a little nervous at the ominous words. When a superior used those terms, it rarely turned out well. At least she just needed to take a little break to avoid it. Nothing big. And if taking a break to her was running some patrols on her own time or some maintenance, that was her own time wasn't it?

"Mhm~" Mutsu stood from her seat, revealing more of the well pressed and form fitting uniform she had adorned herself in. Arizona might have praised the Japanese dreadnought for wearing something decent for once had said dreadnought not apparently stolen it out of Admiral Richardson's laundry. The name plate pinned over the left breast clearly read Richardson and it was also plainly obvious that the shirt had not been tailored for someone so top-heavy. At least one button looked as though it would pop off and go flying across the room as if it were fired from a cannon. "And in accordance with General Orders as set by Admiral Richardson..."

Mutsu walked around the desk with her hands folded behind her back, giving off an air of easy calm as she came to stand directly in front of Albacore. She had to exert a massive amount of willpower to not hug the submarine who very nearly flinched as they locked eyes.

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Albacore, failure to obtain proper rest and relaxation within the next 24 hours will result in the absolute restriction of consumption of any baked goods prepared by Ensign Jane Richardson."

You could hear a pin drop as the color drained from Albacore's face.

"M-Ma'am... Is that. I-Yes, Lieutenant Comma-"

"Ma'am, I believe those measures are far too drastic." Arizona's voice was just short of a menacing growl, like that of an angry bear who wasn't quite ready to maul you for poking your nose into her den. "Albacore has been an invaluable asset and such a punishment is both cruel and unusual for this kind of preposterous offense!"

"Lieutenant?" Albacore appeared openly stunned at Arizona's blatant defense of her.

However before tensions could rise any further, Mutsu finally cracked and loosed a very unladylike snort of laughter. She was forced to turn and support herself on Richardson's desk else she fall to the ground with peals of laughter.

"This is no laughing matter!" Arizona's grey eyes flared in anger as she broke stance and stormed towards Mutsu.

"D-Do-" The Nagato-Class had to take a moment to recover herself, drawing in deep breaths and wiping her mirthful green eyes before continuing. Somehow not bursting the shirt she wore as she did so. She smiled mischievously. "Do you honestly think I would do that to her? Or go through with what I had planned for you?"

Arizona merely growled as the fury began to loosen its hold.

"It was a joke?" Albacore piped up cautiously. She hadn't been part of the fleet much longer than Arizona, but she wasn't so used to being included in all the ongoings. Despite everyone's efforts. Mutsu and Hiei's sense of humor was something she was still trying to adjust to.

"Of course~" Mutsu covered her smile with a gloved hand and leaned closer to Albacore. "My my... I didn't think I was so feared."

"No, ma'am. I'm still not used to your idea of a joke." She frowned before her vision was filled with paper. A single sheet of white printer paper, but paper nonetheless. Her frown remained as she grasped the sheet and read it.

"Oh, you'll learn in time." She stood fully upright as Albacore's expression turned to one of amazement and joy.

"A day pass?" Such a treat was being given to her? Given!

"Signed and approved by Admiral Richardson himself. Good for a full 24 hours and repealed only in the event of an emergency." With a flick of her wrist, Mutsu procured a second sheet seemingly out of thin air and offered it to Arizona. "Of course, one for you as well. Unless you'd rather suffer the penalty game~"

"Do I even want to fathom what you had planned for me?" Arizona took the offered gift with a gloved hand of her own and read it over thoroughly.

"Fufu..." Mutsu raised a finger and spoke in a mocking imitation of their Admiral's rough, irate baritone. "Arizona, failure in an equal timeframe will result in the confiscation of 'Mo' and all escort vessels of similar displacement. These restrictions will remain in effect until the situation has been remedied."

"Wh-You!" Arizona had turned a shade of red nearly matching that of her hair. It was no secret that barring intervention by Jane, she was unable to sleep without the aid of myriad stuffed escort vessels. The flagship of which being a plush USS Missouri she had been gifted at Christmas. While she loathed sleep, such things made it far more palatable. It certainly helped that the stuffed battleship was adorable and very squishy. She narrowed flinty eyes. "You shall not take them from me. And you are beginning to take on the worse traits of Admiral Richardson if I may speak frankly."

Mutsu merely laughed merrily.

"Lieutenant, maybe we should just go? Some time off shouldn't hurt and there's still a lot we haven't seen of the modern world." Albacore tugged lightly on Arizona's sleeve to draw her away from Mutsu. "Besides, it's not like we won't be able to sortie at the drop of a hat now." Deploying as a shipgirl was faster than deploying as a ship by orders of magnitude. Combat-wise, it was probably one of the things she liked most about her new form.

That and her hips. She was damn proud of her hips. Both in and out of battle. And not a soul would be able to convince her otherwise.

"Oh, go have fun you two. Paint the town red." Mutsu began ushering the two out the door-more Arizona than Albacore-with a sense of humored urgency. "There's plenty to see off base. And I recommend taking the bus. You'll see a lot more~"

Which was certainly true. But Mutsu far preferred the possibility of driving out to pick up a pair of warships who had gotten on the wrong bus than that of either American trying their hand behind the wheel and causing an accident. Neither had gotten the lay of the land or proper time driving. So she felt her suggestion both justifiable and a better experience overall.

"I-oh very well." Unable to withstand the insistence from two fronts, Arizona gave in and began making towards the door under her own power. It wasn't like she was completely against the idea of some time off. Duty demanded she remain vigilant. But one could only maintain such a stance for so long before weariness became a critical weakness.

"Fufu. If you hurry, the next bus is stopping by the civilian entrance in half an hour." Mutsu was glad Arizona had given in as easily as she had. Part of her was worried she'd have to strong arm the battleship into taking time off.

"Then let's get going." Albacore turned her focus to Arizona and nodded. "I'll go get ready and meet you there, Lieutenant." Without another word, she all but vanished from view. So she was a little excited. Who wouldn't be?

"My my~ Someone's in a hurry."

Arizona simply pinched the bridge of her nose.

—|—|—

"This is... quite pleasant." Arizona swept her gaze over the multitudes of people going about their business from her seat outside a coffee shop, idly noting a few people taking their own glances back in her direction. She took a long draw of her not-quite-military-grade coffee as she allowed herself to relax.

"Mhm. Good weather. Good food. Good company." Albacore stretched, feeling a few lengths of her keel snap back into place with a satisfying series of pops. She rested her chin on the palms of her hands and glanced at the redhead seated across from her. "I was a bit surprised you had something like that though, Lieutenant."

"This?" The battleship blinked as she turned her attention back to Albacore. She looked down at her attire with momentary confusion. It was of simple design. A relatively plain haze grey turtleneck with a calf-length, navy blue skirt. The trim of the skirt bore the only real embellishment of her attire with a running trail of pale grey geometric patterns. Of course she still wore her red and gold handkerchief. Only this time opting to use it as a means of tying up her shoulder-length copper hair. A pair of tan gloves, white flats, and tasteful stockings completed the ensemble.

"Don't take it the wrong way, but I thought you would have had nothing but, well... uniforms to wear." She figured she was entering dangerous territory, but she thought it would be a shame if someone like Arizona didn't show off a little. Practical only went so far. At least in her eyes it did. At the very least it seemed that the old-fashioned battleship had good taste in clothing, if a bit too reserved and... dull for her tastes.

"Hmph. I did at one point." Arizona set down her drink and crossed her arms under her generous bosom. "I had planned on purchasing some casual wear. But I kept putting it off. It reached a point where the Lieutenant Commander pointed out that if I were to wear nothing but my uniform, I would make people uneasy. This is a recent acquisition."

Albacore giggled and Arizona frowned.

"You _do_ have some feminine charm then." Albacore pointed at Arizona in an almost teasing manner. Almost. She wasn't Mutsu, but she was very good at finding and exploiting cracks and chinks in armor. It came with having to make the most out of nothing or worse than nothing in bad situations.

"I have plenty of charm, thank you." Arizona's defensive retort came with an indignant huff. "Simply little to none suited for this... era." She nearly sent a withering glare at the garments Albacore had chosen, but decided against it. They were having a fun enough time as it was. And the light pink blouse with denim vest Albacore had chosen was rather cute. But those pants were just too indecent for her sensibilities. Those low-riding, hip-hugging pants which had originated from Admiral Richardson's stock of standard issue NWU's... The submarine rarely seemed to wear any sort of legging that wasn't in some way pilfered from the Admiral's dresser and then worn in a manner not originally intended. Either by outright modification or the near constant rolling down of the waistline.

If only she could convince the girl to wear proper undergarments and not her swimsuit instead, she might be able to make a measure of progress...

"Oh, I don't think so." Maybe if she could convince Arizona that there were options available, they could spend some time shopping and not just milling about. Maybe a movie even! That'd be fun. Though it'd be really embarrassing to run into the Admiral with Jintsuu and Jane on their time off. "Maybe you just haven't run into the right people? We haven't been around for very long after all."

"I suppose... But it still find it highly affronting when I see so many people baring so much skin and flaunting what ought to be reserved. I believe people should carry themselves with the dignity of their station." Arizona nodded before taking another sip of her still piping hot drink. "Particularly those of rank."

"I see..." Albacore would have winced at the jab, unintentional or not, but she was slowly getting used to the more eccentric sides of her fellow ship spirits. Arizona's just so happened to be a bit more noticeable than the others' from what she'd seen. And it wouldn't do her much good to point it out. The battleship was, in some ways, like an old battle-axe set in her ways. An attractive battle-axe. But still very much a battle-axe.

"The Lieutenant Commander in particular I wish would do something about her state of dress. That skirt is utterly scandalous." Arizona would even hesitate to call it a skirt. She had seen intimates on display at some of the stores they had passed which were more decent.

"It's not too bad. And she really knows how to dress nicely when she wants to. I mean, it could be a lot worse." Albacore gestured to a young woman across the street. "She could dress like that if she wanted."

The young woman in question was dressed in a way even Albacore thought was too much. She was practically spilling out of her clothes, which seemed to be intentionally arrange in such a way to draw in the eye and tease just enough without bursting and revealing everything. It was almost embarrassing. What's more, she could tell that was exactly the intention of the wearer. Draw in as much attention as possible without actually revealing too much of anything. The flirtatious and positively lewd demeanor only added to the effect.

It was one thing to dress in a provocative manner. Even she might try for something rather risque if she found a good reason for it. But that was... yeah.

"That's-! Has she no self-respect?" Arizona's reply was more akin to a snarl as her grey eyes all but popped from their sockets in outraged shock. The prudish rage boiling in her voice nearly hit critical mass when she noted how the 'fabric' covering the hull was one wrong twitch away from a criminal offense.

One moment.

Back up just a second.

Hull.

"...Lieutenant. Is that?" Albacore had to make sure she wasn't seeing things. But she was pretty sure that at the same time she was seeing a scantily dressed and ludicrously stacked young woman with long blue hair, she was also seeing an utterly massive Japanese submarine with a _very_ distinct number painted on it.

" _That_. Is a submarine. No, you are not seeing things." The battleship drained the remainder of her drink and set the cup down on the table with some force. Enough to rattle everything else sitting upon it.

"Um, Lieutenant?" She had heard of Arizona's infamous 'prude rage', but had never been subject or witness to it. Usually by some miracle of timing and said battleship giving her a little more leeway than the rest of the fleet. It probably had to do with her rank. Probably. But considering the towering fury exuding from the woman, it looked as though she would finally have her chance.

Arizona stormed across the street, somehow avoiding any and all traffic along the way, and all but shoved the leering men and women out of her way.

Japanese Type-B1 submarine I-19, known more commonly by the name Iku, had been having a grand time. Her first day off from a long and lonely reconnaissance mission and she was positively swimming in the attention of the crowds. Men and woman, young and old, simply couldn't help but catch an eyeful or try to snap a discreet picture with their phones. Sure, they weren't those drop-dead sexy cruisers or battleships, but right now she was just happy to have some attention.

Then her fun came to an end.

"Wha-!" A squeak of surprise and terror escaped her painted lips as she found herself hoisted up by the collar of what passed for a shirt by very, very legal definitions.

"I-19... Just what do you think you are wearing?"

Iku all but froze in place as she was forced to look into a pair of furious gold flecked grey eyes. But still she managed something of a flirtatious smile in the face of the angry super-dreadnought.

"Ufu... Just some hunting wear~?" Had she not been suspended in midair, she might have rolled a shoulder seductively. When it came to teasing, battleships were her favorite prey. Not quite as difficult as a cruiser but the reactions were so much more entertaining. Especially the more straight-laced ones. "Interested~? Your friend can join in too. It's not a fleet if it's just the two of us~"

Albacore felt a chill go down her spine as finally joined Arizona.

"Hunting wear." Arizona's cheeks flushed ever so slightly at the implication, but retained her angry visage. She raised her free hand until it was horizontally level with the top of her head. "I have had it up to here. Between the Lieutenant Commander parading about in the Admiral's clothes and the fetish-wear I see most of you wearing. No. Absolutely not. No more."

"Ah... What?" Iku's expression had taken on one of genuine befuddlement. That wasn't the reaction she had been expecting. And she'd seen plenty of reactions to her seductive play. She cast her confused gaze to Albacore, who only shrugged in equal bafflement.

"Come hell or high water I will see you wear something decent by the day's end. I refuse to allow a proud member of the Japanese Navy to sit around like a trollop to be ogled!" She brought the increasingly nervous and confused submarine close enough that there were mere inches separating their face. "I am taking you shopping."

"Bu-!" Iku wasn't exactly enthused about being abducted under the pretense of obtaining a new, and theoretically more decent, wardrobe. But from the sound of it, she wasn't going to be given a choice. She didn't want new clothes! She wanted to wear these. They made sure people paid attention to her!

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Albacore, your presence would be most appreciated." Arizona did not wait for a confirmation before tossing the Japanese submarine over her shoulder and storming off.

Iku simply looked at Albacore helplessly as she made a rather good impression of a sack of potatoes. Albeit a very attractive sack of potatoes, but potatoes nonetheless.

"She's... very old-fashioned?" Albacore offered a rather lame explanation to Iku as she fell in behind Arizona. It wasn't much of an explanation, she realized. Hiei had been laid down earlier than Arizona had and was far more in touch with the modern world than the American battlewagon. But Hiei was also a Kongou-Class. And all of them were...eccentric.

"I'm being abducted. Stolen away. Sub-napped!" So much for her day off. And there had been a deliciously large number of attractive officers today! "Old-fashioned isn't an excuse! Put me down!"

Albacore waved helplessly to the gawking onlookers as they walked off. However there was a part of her that noted Iku didn't really seem to be putting up much of a fight despite her vocal protesting. Maybe she was actually enjoying this? Having fun even?

"Heeeelp~!"

...She was definitely having fun.


	72. Chapter 55: Swimming Wear

**Chapter 55: Swimming Wear!**

Jersey's turbines were running a million revs a minute. Her boilers were screaming along well past the red line, and she could _hear_ her heart pounding against the walls of her skull. She wanted to… she wanted to… Actually, she wasn't sure what the _fuck_ she actually wanted to do. The one-two punch of Nagato and Musashi's swimwear had knocked her off any kind of consistent heading, and the rushing tide of emotion from her confession to the good Major had her teetering on the edge of capsizing. She was running around like her ass was on fire and she didn't have the first idea what she actually _wanted._

She… she also had to get out of these stanky-ass clothes. Days at sea followed by hours of carrying a bleeding, crying destroyer on her hip had caked her outfit with blood and oil. Her scarf was ruined, and her shirt felt more like articulated armor than fabric.

She needed a fucking shower. A nice… warm shower where she could work past all the shit mucking up her ability to act like a fucking adult.

Jersey tore at her scarf as she stomped off towards the shower hall. Her fingers moved with ever quickening haste as she fumbled with the zipper on her vest. Her sneakers squeaked against the shower room tile as she stormed past the few lockers set up. She could practically taste the warm saltwater. She just had to… she had to-

Do…

Something.

Jersey blinked. Her hands were suddenly frozen to her half-off vest as she stared at the mind-breaking sight in front of her.

Akagi stood in the middle of the shower room. Her round face was all but glowing with that friendly half-smile that never totally left her face. More significant, however, was the red-accented midnight-blue swimsuit she was 'wearing.' As swimsuits go, it was on the conservative side. The one-piece hugged her carrierly curves without crossing the line between 'feminine and ladylike' and 'LOOK AT MAH MUSHIES!'

"Jersey-san!" Akagi's face beamed in a smile, and she offered the frozen battleship a polite bow. "Do you like it? Ryuujou helped me pick it out!"

Jersey gulped. It really was a very nice swimsuit. Hell, she might even call it _beautiful._ But there was one minor problem—it was clearly designed for someone of Ryuujou's proportions. Akagi's fleet-carrier hips strained at the snug material, to say nothing of her… stacked hanger decks. She looked less like she was wearing it and more like she'd been stuffed into it.

"Uh…" the battleship stated.

"It's my first time wearing something like this," said Akagi as she slowly turned in place to show off all those carrierly curves. "What do you think?"

"Uh…" the battleship explained.

Akagi's smile dimmed back to its usual low-idle.

"No, uh… fuck," Jersey couldn't pull her eyes away from the bulge around Akagi's… chest… area. That swimsuit was doing her mind no favors. She was stuck in a loop and she knew it. She just had to… somehow… force herself out of this death spiral. She needed a shock to the system.

So the battleship New Jersey, the most decorated battleship in history, smashed her face into a locker with as much strength as she could muster.

The bullheaded battleship's forehead carved a Jersey-shaped dent in the thin sheet metal with a metallic crash, and Akagi let out a tiny gasp as she darted to Jersey's side.

"Jersey?"

"'m awright," Jersey grunted. As ideas go… it wasn't in her top ten. Maybe her top fifteen though. At least she wasn't thinking about Akagi's stupid stacked-ass hangers all squished up against her arm like-

The battleship blinked, then she glanced at where Akagi's… where Akagi was standing.

Fuck.

Akagi didn't seem to notice, and she just stared back at the battleship with honest concern.

"American tradition," mumbled Jersey. "Look, you look fucking hot, but uh…" she nodded towards the door to the swimming pool-come-dockyard. "You mind giving a girl some privacy?"

"Oh" Akagi let go of her arm, and offered another little smile as she backed towards the door. "Of course."

"Thanks," said Jersey. While she still had at least some control over her body, the battleship used that inertia to start the process of getting naked. The one downside of her superb all-or-nothing armor was the extensive layers of clothing she wore over her vitals.

First her vest and long sleeved shirt came off. Then her shoes and baggy navy socks. _Then_ her tank-top, running shorts, and anti-fouling red compression shorts. Getting an Iowa-class naked took _work._

Jersey was just reaching for the band of her sports bra—navy blue, of course—when a thought slid unbidden into her mind.

The last time she'd been healing up after a battle, she'd been so badly hurt she couldn't even raise her hands over her fucking head. Had to get little Sammy to help. It would've been adorable, especially with her innocent refusal to look at Jersey's naked body or even _say_ the word 'bra.'

Would've been. If Sammy was anyone else. Anyone else than the Destroyer Escort who fought like a battleship while Jersey fought like a fucking… dead manatee.

"FUCK!" Jersey barked at the top of her lungs, her fist wildly flinging though the air to cave in yet another locker. She felt the thin sheet steel crumple around her hand, wrapping it so snugly she had to yank her hand back out of its embrace.

The battleship tore at her clothes as she bolted for the shower. She didn't recall turning the water on, but she must've at some point. She felt the hot water pound at her naked skin like a dozen tiny fire hoses. Water streamed down her naked body in sheets, washing away the caked-on blood and masking the sound of her tears.

Jersey was… spent. Any semblance of control she had died when the first drops of water hit her skin. Her legs collapsed under her and Jersey fell against the shower floor in a heap. Her shoulder heaved as she sobbed into her hands. Her hair clung to her back and fell over her face like a curtain, and her quiet sobs vanished into the hammer of water on her skin.

—|—|—

The battleship didn't know how long she'd been crying when she felt… something. She something on her radar, a ping on her radar a… feeling in her gut.

"Hrm?" Jersey mumbled as she pulled her hands out of her face. Her eyes were bleary and borderline bloodshot, but she could just make out the shape of Kongou sitting quietly next to her.

The Japanese girl was still in her skimpy white bikini, but for once, Jersey didn't feel a shred of jealousy or… whatever the fuck she'd been feeling. It helped that the battleship wasn't bouncing around like a fucking pogo stick on crack.

In fact, she wasn't doing anything at all. She was just… standing a silent vigil over the crying American.

"Hey, Kongou?" Jersey's voice wasn't much above a raspy whisper as she glanced over at her Japanese counterpart.

"Dess?" Kongou's soft accent was as ambiguous as ever, but twice as warm. Just the sound of it made Jersey feel like someone was draping a blanket fresh out of the dryer around her.

"How uh…" Jersey sniffed, "How long've you been sitting there?"

"Not long."

Jersey blinked, then she slowly slumped over to rest her weight against Kongou's side. "Thanks."

Kongou brushed Jersey's sopping hair back with a quiet nod. "I know what it's like," she said.

"No," mumbled Jersey. "No you… you fucking don't."

Kongou took a breath, held it in, then slowly let it out again. Her features never wavered from the calm, almost _motherly_ expression she wore as Jersey's tirade built up steam.

"Miss fucking _perfect."_ Jersey screwed up her ruddy face, the bridge of her nose crinkling like an accordion as she seethed. "Tea-Tea-Teitoku-Dess! You don't know what-" The American's rage bubbled over into another wave of furious tears, "You were _there!_ You were the _first one back._ You fucking answered the call before anyone knew to fucking _ask._ Do you-"

Jersey wiped at her eye with the back of her hand, "Do you know how many fucking _months_ they spent trying to summon me? I- I-" The battleship's rage died in a patter of shower-water and tears. Her shoulders slumped and she fell back against Kongou, sobbing into her chest with what little energy she had left.

Kongou cradled the massive American as best she could, her steel-gray eyes heavy as she held Jersey close. "You stood by," her voice was calm and steady as a mountain, but warmer than the Pacific in summer, "While destroyers fought with valor and courage. I stood by…" she shivered, "powerless while my country raped whole cities."

Jersey sniffed, her ice-blue eyes slowly turning to meet Kongou's. "Wh-what?"

"Nanking," said Kongou. "Bataan." She spat each word out like it was a nail driven clear though her soul.

"That's…" Jersey bit the corner of her lip, "That wasn't your fault?"

"And Samar was?" said Kongou.

All Jersey could do was look away.

"You will _never_ forgive yourself." Kongou's voice dropped to a quiet breath that barely carried over the patter of water. "Others might… but not you."

Jersey's head barely moved as she nodded.

"But," Kongou's whisper didn't get any louder, but it seemed to drive every other sound back with the mere passion behind her words, "That which is Just and Right can still prevail. There's an entire ocean out there thirsting for freedom." Kongou squeezed the American's shoulders ever so slightly, "And we'll need your firepower to save it."

Jersey glanced up, this time with a timid smile on her face. "Thanks."

Kongou nodded, her own face starting to glow with a smile of her own.

"Don't uh…" Jersey coughed, "Don't tell the others, yeah?"

"Of course not, Dess," said Kongou. "Now… maybe we should get you dressed?"


	73. Chapter 56: How Do You Even Spell That?

**Chapter 56: How Do You Even Spell That?**

Battleship Musashi smiled as she reclined back in the pool. The warm, salty water lapping at her body felt like a cross between a warm blanket and a soft lullaby. The mountains of hearty American breakfast food stuffing every nook and corner of her fuel bunkers and magazines tamed even her monstrous appetite. She was content, more so than she'd ever been before.

For the first time in her life as a kanmusu, she'd earned her rest. She'd fought, and fought hard. Fought for a noble cause. She'd stood up against a demon of the deep, and she'd vanquished it with her mighty cannons. Musashi'd never felt this kind of contentment before.

Her muscles ached, and the torpedo gashes on her flank stung, but it was a pleasing kind of pain. The honor-mark of a job well done. Hard work for a noble cause.

But… it was a cause that'd drawn its cost. Valiant Heermann's wounds were the most obvious example, but Nagato, Mutsu, and even Musashi herself all bore the bloody marks of battle. And so did the American battleship, although in a far more subtle, more insidious manner.

Musashi fancied herself a samurai. The noble fighting spirit of Japan given form in steel and flesh. As much a student of human nature as of violence. Her long seclusion had given her time to hone the art of perception, albeit mostly by joining—and subsequently getting banned from—online forums and message boards.

She hadn't wanted to speak up, nor would she have been able to find the words, but she knew the American was hurting. The way she set her jaw, the way she narrowed her brows to hide her icy eyes. And the quiet sobs that had been slipping out of the shower room for the past hour.

But, thankfully, the sobs had stopped soon after Kongou wordlessly volunteered herself to comfort the American. Musashi was thankful for that. She might be the best battleship ever built. But Kongou was far more… perceptive, and as the first Kanmusu to return, she knew far more about managing one's fragile humanity.

Still, Musashi knew she had to do something to help the wounded American. And luckily, she knew just the thing to do.

But no plan survives first contact with the enemy. The moment the towering American walked out of the shower—with a much smaller Kongou close by her side—Musashi's brain crashed to a screeching halt.

She'd never actually seen the American in anything other than her usual outfit. And while Musashi couldn't argue the obvious strength of the American's long, sinewy legs, she'd never imagined the rest of the American's body would look like… well… that.

Jersey's baggy red swim trunks at least hid the hips that even Musashi was envious of,, and the American's American-flag bikini top didn't cover anything that Musashi didn't herself have in spades. But… but Musashi hadn't imagined a battleship could be so fit.

The Iowa-class's bare stomach was a symphony of rippling muscle, her eight boilers chiseled out in stunning relief, her shoulders looked machined from STS steel, and her arms looked strong enough to tear a small country in two.

Musashi expected Jersey's body to look something like Nagato's not… that. The Japanese battleship subconsciously arched her back until her main batteries were on proper display. She couldn't back down in face of a challenge like that!

But Musashi still had a mission to complete. A mission to cheer Jersey up however she could. The Japanese battleship rose out of the water as she stood in the pool. She planted her hands on her broad hips as she stared down the American—who was giving her a look somewhere between boredom and confusion.

"Dillon," grunted out Musashi in a… passable Austrian Accent, "You son of a bitch!"

Jersey screwed up her face. Her brows knit together and her cheeks came up as her icy eyes narrowed into a squint. She had the look of a woman who'd just caught a freight train with her face, and her mind was visibly trying to reboot from scratch.

Somewhere in the background, Naka slapped a hand to her face with a low sigh.

"Okay," Jersey shook her head before focusing on Musashi's glasses. "First off, your Arnie fucking sucks."

Musashi shrugged. She was content that it was at least recognizable.

"And second off… it's almost fucking two-thousand-sixteen." Jersey planted her hands on her hips, her insane American abs twitching just slightly as she tried to keep form laughing, "How the hell do you still know who Arnie even fucking is."

"I'm well-watched," Said Musashi with a haughty smirk, her chest puffing out to match the American's show of force.

"Fucking fair enough," Jersey shrugged as she stepped into the pool. Musashi suppressed a gulp as she stared up at the American's stern face. Without her heels to make up the difference, Jersey towered over the Japanese super battleship.

For a second, the two battleships just stared at each other. Then Jersey thrust her hand in the air. "What's the matter?" she said in a significantly better Austrian accent.

"CIA's got me pushing too many pencils," said Musashi as she slapped her hand into Jersey's.

The two battleships stared each other down as they arm-wrestled in mid-air. Musashi's 150,000 horsepower plant was putting up a valiant fight, but it just couldn't compete with the sheer power of Jersey's turbines. The American had half again as much power without running her engines at design overload.

"Huh? Had enough?" said Jersey with a lopsided smile. The muscles in her arm rippled as she slowly—methodically—drove the Japanese girl into the surf.

This was never going to be a battle Musahsi could win, she knew that going in. But she'd made Jersey smile, which was a victory in itself. "I, Musashi-" the battleship puffed out her chest, her face gleaming in a defiant smirk.

Suddenly, Musashi switched directions. Instead of pushing against the American's might, she jerked her arm with it. Jersey had barely enough time to let out a yelp of surprise as she toppled off balance before she smashed into the water with the grace of a cargo container full of Chinese toaster ovens.

"-AM VICTORIOUS!" Musashi threw her arms up in the air like she'd seen in that American boxing movie.

"C'mere you little shit," laughed Jersey as she thrashed around in the water. Graceful she was not, but she managed to get her arms around Musashi's waist and bring her down with a thunderous crash.

"NO!" Musashi clapped a hand to her breast, her face contorting in imagined pain as she bobbed along on her back, "I AM VANQUISHED!" She thrust her hand at Nagato, who was reading a very damp copy of Fleet Review like nothing had happened. "NAGATO! AVENGE ME!"

The super dreadnought didn't even react as she slowly turned the waterlogged page.

"Fine," Musashi pouted. "KONGOU! AVENGE ME!"

"No Problem, Dess!" Said Kongou as she bounced into the air like she was made of springs and rubber. "BURNING!" She tucked her limbs into a tight cannon ball, "SWIMMING POOL!" She spun head-over-heels as leftover momentum from her jump caught up to her, "LOOOOOOVE!"

"Aw fuck," grumbled Jersey.

Seconds later Kongou plowed into the water with the force of a hyper energetic battleship girl, drenching every girl present from head to toe.

Then, the world went suddenly still.

Nagato flipped a page on the soaking wet mush that at one point had been a magazine.

Mutsu giggled in her usual coy way.

Kirishima adjusted her glasses.

Then the little voice of Heermann echoed though the pool room. "THAT WAS AWESOME!" cried the little destroyer, her hands thrust in the air as she stood in her hot tub.

Jersey laughed. An honest, hearty laugh from somewhere deep inside her boilers. "Hell fucking yeah, it was!" she said, aiming a lazy splash at Kongou's inexplicably perfect buns.

But before the splash fight could begin in earnest, all present were distracted by the single most important element in modern warfare.

It was Napoleon who said "An army marches—or sails—on its stomach." Never was that so true then with Kanmusu. Not only were their appetites as vast as the seas they sailed, their mood—and thus combat effectiveness—marched in lockstep with the quality of the food filling their bellies.

And so when Tenryuu and her kindergarten marched in with lunch, every girl froze in place at the succulent smells of warm meat and fresh coffee.

All five of them wore frilly pink aprons—though by the scowl on Tenryuu's face and the shell casing clenched between her teeth like a cigar, the old cruiser was trying her darnedest to pretend she wasn't wearing any such thing.

Inazuma had an implausibly large jug of coffee balanced carefully on her head, while Ikazuchi had a similarly-huge jug of tea balanced on hers. But as delicious as their offerings might be, they didn't hold Musashi's interest for long. Good—or at least strong—tea and coffee were among the few luxuries that were never denied to the Kanmusu of Yokosuka.

No, it was the heaping trolleys of food that Akatsuki, Hibiki, and Tenryuu pushed that truly made the battleship's mouth water. She'd never even imagined such a bounty. Hamburgers—she recognized them from her exhaustive study of American movies during her isolation—filled every square inch of the trays.

Burgers bigger than… than her own chest, if she was being honest. Burgers piled high with that looked like an entire cow each, not to mention enough lettuce, onions, tomatoes, and bacon to feed Akagi for a month.

"Oh my," mouthed Musashi as her eyes slowly widened at the sight. She didn't know that much food even existed.

Akagi tried to say something similar, but all that came out was a little rivulet of drool as she stared wide-eyed at the feast.

Even Mutsu had dropped all of her usual teasing coyness to stare hungrily at the impossible bounty. Her hands idly stroked and cradled her exposed belly as her mouth hung slack. She might not have an appetite on par with Musashi or Jersey, but she was still a battleship. She burned through food like was drenched in cordite, and she saw action far more often than either of the super battleships.

"Lunch," said Tenryuu with a scratchy growl, "Is served."

"Enjoy, nanodesu!" added Inazuma.

The Japanese girls were still frozen in place as they regarded the impossible bounty on display. Musashi pinched herself in the meat of of her dark-skinned thigh. This was a dream, it had to be. That much food simply couldn't exist in the natural world. Not all in one place. Not on such a short distance.

Across the pool, she saw Mutsu, Akagi,and even Nagato doing the very same thing with various degrees of subtlety.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" said Jersey with a smile. The battleship waded to the side of the pool, her muscular form shedding water like the bow of a battleship smashing through an arctic wave. "Dig the fuck in!"

Nobody needed to be told twice.


	74. Chapter 57: Um oops?

**Chapter 57: Umm... Oops?**

Heermann rested her arms on the rim of the hot tub and smiled. She honestly couldn't be happier. Her sisters—and little Sammy too!—were snuggled around her like a whole fleet of soft teddy bears. Her belly was full of fresh warm toast and her very favoritest food: scrambled eggs with plenty of pepper and just a _dash_ of salt.

Even the wounds on her legs had dulled away. Gone were the shooting pains she'd felt every time the tattered steel twisted the wrong way. Instead, the stumpy remains of her shins just… tingled. The teeny torches and grinders of her faeries tickled the insides of her skin as they went about preparing her for a step-stagger weld.

It felt like someone was touching her with a feather, but in a kind of way where they could pretend they weren't touching her at all the instant someone with authority noticed.

But the thing that made her happiest of all were the antics going on over in the swimming pool. Miss Musashi and Jersey were busy brawling in the water. But not in the violent kind of way battleships normally brawled while they were in the water. It was a playful brawl, like the kind that Heermann and her sisters would get up to—at least when Gale wasn't looking.

Jersey was having _fun_! Heermann couldn't help but giggle as she saw her very favoritest momboat thrashing miss Musashi around the water! Heermann didn't remember much from… from the time after she was hit. But she knew her Jersey had been really sad. She didn't know _how_ she knew, but it was just a feeling.

Something in the big battleship broke in the Bering sea. But now it was fixed! Jersey wasn't fretting over Heermann's stumpy legs anymore, she was… she was being herself.

It made Heermann's day—probably her whole _week_ —when the little destroyer saw Jersey's face split into a smile. She loved her momboat's smile. It wasn't pretty or elegant, but the lopsided grin that pushed Jersey's cheeks up so far she was almost squinting was just the cutest thing Heermann'd ever seen! Jersey didn't wear it often, but she looked so _happy_ when she did.

Things only got better when Tenryuu—her _second_ favorite momboat—and the Japanese destroyers came in with lunch.

Unlike her sisters, who ate nothing _but_ traditional American food, Heermann's service with the Argentinians had given her a more refined palate. But she was still an American at heart. She loved burgers with every fiber of her heart. If she had a heart. She still wasn't quite sure where the 'girl' ended and the 'ship' began.

But that was a question for another time. A time when there were not burgers. Mmmm…. burgers…

The Japanese girls—except Naka and the destroyers who'd been stationed in Washington—froze at the sight of that much hearty food. Musashi stared longingly at the trays. Mutsu cuddled her belly while her eyes started to tear up. Akagi stared slack-jawed at the trays and drooled.

Jersey, however, had no such hesitation. "C'mon!" she barked as she waded over to the pool side. She planted her hands on the smooth coral-green tile and pulled herself out of the water with a grunt, sending sheets of oily water cascading of her muscled back.

Heermann smiled at that. She might not be a battleship, but she could still be proud of all the perfect American Engineering that went into her flagship.

"Dig the fuck in!" barked Jersey as she piled up a small mountain's worth of burgers onto a tray.

The formerly-frozen Japanese ships in the pool erupted into a flurry of action. The pool churned white as every girl scrambled to the poolside with all the horsepower their plants could manage. There was some other stuff going on too, but Heermann was more preoccupied with watching Jersey walk over with lunch.

"Jersey!" Heermann threw her arms up in happiness at the sight of her beloved flagship—and the burgers in her arms.

"Are those for us?" Hoel pointed to the mountain of burgers-with-everything.

"You're the best!" cheered Sammy.

Johnston didn't say anything. She was too busy staring slack-jawed at the way Musashi's swimsuit supported—or _failed_ to support—her main battery. At least until Hoel elbowed her in the ribs. "Ow, hey!"

"I did nothing," said Hoel with an angelic little smile.

Sammy's hand crashed against her face like an overweight pigeon encountering a skyscraper window for the first time.

Jersey blinked, frozen halfway through the process of setting her tray down next to the pool. "Little shits," she scowled. Or at least tried to scowl. That lopsided Jersey-smile stubbornly held its grasp on her face, so her attempt at scowling just made it even more lopsided.

"You love us though." Heermann reached out to hug Jersey's arm as tightly as she could.

"Oh, I love _you_ , Heermann," Jersey leaned over the pile of burgers to heard her flotilla into a hug, "And you," she roped Hoel into the pile. "And you," Sammy giggled as she got added in too.

"What about me?" Johnston's feathers slumped into a pout that matched her screwed up little face.

"Nah," Jersey winked, "You're just a little shit."

"Aww…" Johnston hung her head in mock shame.

"A _gullible_ little shit at that," said Jersey, "Get your perverted ass over here!"

"YAY!" Johnston darted over to join the group hug.

And then she had an idea. The kind of idea that could be shared with her sisters with nary more than a significant glance. The kind of idea that would get them all in _sooo_ much trouble. But would be _sooo_ worth it.

This was going to be _epic_.

"NOW!" barked Hoel.

At her command, the three Fletchers—plus little Sammy—pulled with all their might. Jersey was already leaning over the lip of the hot tub, they just… need… to… overbalance… her…

Heermann panted. This was harder than it looked. She was straining away with all her might, but Jersey wasn't even budging.

"Girls?" said the battleship.

"Yeah?" Johnston's face was beet red as she strained to topple the battleship into the tub.

"I displace fifty-seven thousand tons."

"And?" asked Hoel.

" _All_ of you only displace seven thousand," said Jersey. The battleship made a show of casually taking a bite from her burger while her flotilla still struggled in vain to send her toppling into the water.

"Darn," said Heermann. It would've been so funny!

"We'll try it again later, don't worry!" cheered Johnston.

"Maybe White could help?" suggested Sammy.

Hoel sighed as she slumped back into the water. "I wonder what she's up to right now."

—|—|—

Fleet Carrier Kaga stood with her hands on her hips. Her fingers were carefully placed to present the appearance of her usual stoic calm without putting any pressure on the ragged flesh around her slowly-healing torpedo wounds. She might wince in pain every time she accidentally brushed her bruises, but she was a carrier of the Kido Butai. She would not—could not—show weakness. Especially not in front of the impressionable light carriers.

And so Kaga stood on the water, her eyes lidded as her scouts whirred across the surface, her ears attuned to the tiny hum of radial engines echoing against the tiled walls.

This had been a swimming pool once, a pool that Kaga could barely fit into—at least if she was in her rigging. Now, it was the base ASW training pool.

The modification had been extensive—and from what Kaga understood, quite expensive. The tiled surface of the pool had been covered with thick, rubbery mats to absorb echoes and muffle the engine noise of any lurking submarine. The water had been dyed a dull—and nearly opaque—ocean blue to further mask a submarine's shadow. Dotted thought the pool were obstacles and man-made sandbars, giving submarines places to hide, and places where the shallow bottom would force them to the surface.

But the expense had been well worth it. Days at sea—braving the ever-present threat of abyssal ships all the while—could be compressed into a few hours in the safety of the training pool. And all under the watchful eye of an instructor.

Kaga let out a hot breath. She'd found Iku lurking in the acoustic shadow of an island nearly half an hour ago, and her planes had been hammering the lewd girl's location with depth charges ever since.

Kaga scowled to no one in particular. It grated on her to spend so much time—even with the compression of operating without rigging—prosecuting a submarine that likely sunk after the first attack. She was a fleet carrier, she had more crucial things to take care of. She wanted nothing more than to break off and find something useful to do.

But Kaga refused to bow to the temptation. White's training had hammered the virtue of patience into the fleet carrier's soul. She would stay on-station until she _knew_ Iku no longer presented a threat.

"Kaga-san!" Shigure, one of Kaga's escorting destroyers, tugged at the carrier's loose sleeve. "Hydrophone contact."

Kaga followed the slender line of the destroyer's finger. Whatever the destroyer heard, it _wasn't_ Iku.

"Spotting a strike," said Kaga. Normally, she'd have simply vectored a few planes from the group already harassing Iku to sniff out the new contact. But White had—somewhat arbitrarily—declared that Kaga's fore elevator was jammed in the up position. She _couldn't_ keep that many planes in the air, forcing her to improvise.

It was a skill she was still honing, but the fleet carrier was determined to practice until she could improvise with clockwork perfection.

Kaga felt faeries scramble along her deck as a flight of B6Ns were brought up to the flight deck to be fueled and armed. Kaga would've preferred to streamline the process by fueling and arming her planes in their hangers, but she fought back her instincts. She would not forget the lessons of Midway.

"Preparing to launch." Kaga drew her bowstring back with a quick yank. There was none of the graceful artistry she normally displayed; she simply pulled the string back far enough to get her plane in the air, then let fly.

Instead of letting the string flip around to her wrist, Kaga's fingers raced it to her bow, catching it moments after it sent her first arrow hurtling into the air. There was no time to do things gracefully, she need only do them _fast_.

Kaga caught the string with the thick leather of her glove and fished an arrow from the bundle held in her left hand. The deck-park technique White had shown her had almost made up the speed lost by fueling on deck. Almost.

Kaga was seconds away from letting her second B6N fly when she heard a frantic chatter coming from her faerie CAP. The carrier's eyes jolted to the miniaturized Reppus.

A flight of equally-tiny Avengers—backed up by a trio of Wildcat fighters and a giggling White Plains—screamed towards her with all the fury of their full-sized selves. During the war, this kind of situation would've sent even the level-headed Kaga into a panic.

But not today. Today, Kaga knew what to do. The carrier tossed her arrow into the pool. A fueled, armed torpedo bomber was nothing more than a very dangerous hazard if it was caught on deck. Instead, she reached for one of the fighter-arrows she clutched in her off-hand. The benefits of deck park; she _always_ had a few spare Reppus on hand.

"Not today, White-sama," smiled Kaga. She felt her faeries scrambling to their battle stations. AA gunners manned their tiny mounts, while aviation crews secured ordnance and purged her avgas lines with inert gas. Kaga would not fall prey to—as White so eloquently put it—an "explosive fart."

"Is that sooo?" White giggled as her planes bore down Kaga with all the speed their tiny little engines could manage.

Kaga just nodded as she let her fighter-arrow fly.

—|—|—

Kaga sat motionless in Akashi's waiting room. Her back was straight as an ar- as a ramrod. Her features were perfectly still as she fumed in the most stoic manner possible. Sweat beaded along her eyebrows and flashed to steam against the burning heat of her hands rested calmly in her lap, and her gaze was locked dead ahead.

"I'm not mad you know," said White with a smile so huge it threatened to leap off her face. The little carrier was as sweet as ever, even with an arrow embedded deep into her shoulder. If anything, she looked _happier_ than she normally was.

Kaga let out a quick breath through her nose. The tendons in her neck went taut as she was forced once again to acknowledge her mistake. "I don't want to talk about it."

—|—|—

 _Uploaders Note: Yes, the author was making a reference to that Kaga and young!Zuikaku picture there._


	75. A Certain Lady Part 10

**A Certain Lady Part 10  
**

 **By Old Iron**

"Is she always like this?" Iku had a look of apprehension as she resignedly followed Battleship Arizona through row after row of clothing. Security hadn't saved her, but they had managed to convince her American captor to let her move under her own power. Thankfully without fanfare or complication.

"Not really. Not this bad at least." Albacore walked alongside the beleaguered Japanese submarine with her hands laced behind her head. On occasion she would eye a rather cute article and catalogue it for later. She had a paycheck and easy access to decent supply lines now. No need to steal these despite the temptation to do so. And shopping was quite fun. "Most of the time she just grumbles and moves on."

"So how did poor Iku get dragged away from her fun?" She crossed her arms under her tremendous bustline. "It shouldn't be any American ship's problem what I wear when I'm not on the clock. Hmph."

The pouting expression would have been cute on almost anyone except I-19. But with her current choice of attire and rather dangerous hull, it came off as more erotic than anything else.

"I told you, she's... really old fashioned. Kinda like those old..." Albacore held a hand out and made a rolling gesture with it. "Um, I can't think of it. Ah... I suppose a battle-axe or a cranky mother-in-law?"

"Like those old biddies in bad romantic comedies?" Iku glanced upwards as she drew circles with a finger.

"Exactly!" Albacore grinned and snapped her finger at the Japanese girl. She might have the utmost respect for her superiors, Arizona in particular, but she was not above having some innocent fun at their expense.

Both submarines giggled, either intentionally ignoring the battleship or simply enjoying a moment of kinship. Likely both.

Arizona frowned as she continued leading the pack. Honestly, if they intended to talk about her in such a manner they could at least wait until she was out of earshot. She was under no illusions that her peculiarities were more tolerated than anything else. Or poked fun at. Usually poked fun at.

By Lieutenant Hiei.

And the Lieutenant Commander.

"If you two are intent on continuing your conversation, I will fetch some items for you to try out. However they will be chosen at my discretion." If she were a more humor laden warship, the end of her words might have been spoken with a grin. But sadly her magazines were completely bereft of that particular ammunition.

"I'm actually curious what you'll choose, if you don't mind me saying Lieutenant." Albacore was genuinely interested. She had a pretty good idea, but she'd never seen Arizona go so far to dress someone up like she was intent on doing to Iku.

"Hmm... Iku's not really happy about this, but she's curious too." Her bubbly tone was joined by a teasing grin and a smoky gaze. "Iku wants to know what the legendary Arizona thinks will look good and proper on this poor, innocent submarine who doesn't know any better~"

Albacore tried to hide her snort of laughter as Arizona's eye twitched. That response sounded so much like Mutsu it was almost too much. Even the lilt at the end was close to being a dead-ringer. If only she'd had a camera ready. It would have been perfect.

"Continue laughing, Albacore, and I might find something suitable for you as well. Perhaps then the Admiral might not have to purchase so many spare pairs of pants." Arizona turned and marched off, her crimson hair bobbing about. She didn't have to witness it to know Albacore had placed a death grip on her pants and wasfavoring a rather unpleasant expression. Oh, she would still pick something out. That much was a given. But she'd grant Albacore the same leeway she usually did and choose an article that was more in line with the sub's tastes. Not scandalous, but more... decent at least.

"So... you got into Admiral Richardson's pants? Fufu~ Even Kongou hasn't gotten that far with Admiral Goto." There was a mild tone of wonder in Iku's voice as she teased Albacore. She grinned. "Well, there's no proof at least." And if there had been any to find, then she sure as can be would have found it.

"I just happen to like wearing the Admiral's pants. He's my Admiral and I like having something close by. It just so happens to be his pants." She crossed her arms over her chest and walked over to a rack of blouses. They weren't exactly sized for her, but Jane might like them. They were closer to the girl's size after all.

"Fufufu~ If that's what helps you sleep at night. Or do you wear them to bed too? Tucked away and fast asleep, wrapped up in your Admiral's warm embrace and his musky scent. Knowing tha-ow!" Iku winced as Albacore delivered the most stereotypical chop to the forehead possible. Okay, she deserved that. But the expression on Albacore's face had been priceless. All flustered and cute.

"First off: I'm a subthief, not a lewdmarine. Secondly... He's more like my dad. If I had a dad. I think. We don't have that weird tension stuff going on and I sure don't make doe eyes at him. And Jane treats me like I'm her sister or something." When it came to deciding roles in the family, as she couldn't really think of any other term that didn't involve fleet in some capacity, Jane didn't take very long at all. It probably helped that she looked more like a teenager than an adult. The littlest Richardson treated her with a lot more familiarity than she did with the battleships or Jintsuu.

"You know, that wouldn't sto-wait! No! I'll be good!" Iku laughed as she frantically waved her hands in front of her, trying to ward off the now irate Gato-class. She did not want to test the Mark 14's success rate. Especially not at a mall.

"Hmph. Lewd." Albacore lowered her fist and turned to pick a rather nice looking green blouse off the rack. Way too small, but the design was nice. Maybe there was something larger. She held it in front of Iku to get an idea of size. ...Much larger. "Are you always that... flirty?"

"Hmm~? Maybe a lighter green?" Iku wasn't really fond of colors that didn't really pop out. Not unless she really wanted to dress to impress or had to pull out the formal wear. "I just like attention."

"And acting like that is how you chose to get it? Come on! I've read the reports. You're one of, if not _the_ best scout in the Pacific theater. You found Northern Princess! You shouldn't need to do that."

"I'll always be lewd. I like it like that. But I also get really, really lonely out there." She swapped out the blouse for one with a bright blue coloring that matched her hair, eliciting a grin and a thumbs up from Albacore. "United States Navy doctrine is really effective, but it's also really lonely. I'm used to being attached to a surface group. My sniper's soul doesn't burn brightly enough to keep me warm on patrol."

"Huh..." Albacore paused as she thought about Iku's confession. "I guess no one ever thought about that. It's normal for me. So you act extra lewd to get all the attention you can to make up for it?"

"Mhm. And Iku is slightly worried at how well Albie is opening her up. Iku's virtue may be in danger!" She gasped mockingly while striking a blatantly provocative pose.

"What virtue!?" Albacore laughed as she threw a shirt at the lewdmarine of lewdmarines.

"Oh no! Iku's not so good at solo action. Save me, Arizona! Iku needs your mighty hands to subdue this repressed submarine!" Iku pointed behind Albacore to a woman who bore not one single likeness to the American battleship. It did however, succeed in making Albacore go slightly pale and turn around to check.

"Why you..." Albacore rounded on Iku when it became quite clear that Arizona was nowhere to be seen. "I'll repress you!" Iku didn't have a chance to defend herself as she was soon set upon by a wrathful Gato-class.

"Help, help, I'm being repressed!"

"...What are you doing?"

Arizona's icy voice brought both laughing submarines to a halt faster than the eye could see. They craned their necks to look up at the furious expression on the battleship's face. And was she ever.

"Um... We..."

"Iku can explain!" Iku tried to scramble to her feet, but only managed to stumble about and grasp at the nearest source of support. There was the rushing sound of fabric followed by a pained yelp as she she fell back to the floor.

"Lieutenant? That's..."

"Oh my~"

Arizona stood there, arms full of clothes and her dress skirt handily pulled down around her ankles. The waistline held fast by I-19's firm grip.

"A-Antifouling red, ma'am?"

"Those are battle panties!"

" _SINK!_ "


	76. Chapter 58: Showboat's a Dreamboat

**Chapter 58: Showboat's a Dreamboat**

Sarah Gale stared at the unassuming dormitory door and fumed silently to herself. A few inches of cheap pressed wood was all that separated her from the woman of her dreams—and… more than a few fantasies that she would _never_ discuss with anyone. The Sailor had a plan. She had the perfect venue, and she'd even pieced together the perfect outfit! A cute semi-casual outfit that hit the perfect balance between sexy and proper. She _had_ a plan.

She just had to _execute_ it. Luckily, she'd ran every possible scenario before she walked over. She just had to knock on the door and say 'Hey, Wash. You like music, right?' Just… had to knock. On the door.

Gale scowled as her hands refused to move from wringing one another at her belly—a belly which, even after all her dieting and excessive wasn't quite as trim as a certain North Carolina-class battleship's perfect little waist.

"Fuck," breathed Gale. She was twenty-freaking-five. She'd had her share of girlfriends. Hell, she'd even had her share of _hot_ ones. Like Hannah Nishizumi… that girl had been _smoking_. But Wash _wasn't_ hot.

Or, she _was._ She was hotter than any woman Gale'd ever seen. But she was _also_ gorgeous. A work of art in motion, a poem of steel and courage, a… a… A queen given human form.

Wait. Fuck. No, queens are already humans. Wash was… a… sea… spirit. A nymph? Or a Dryad? Something like that. Gale was halfway though making a mental note to ask Crowning about the distinction when she realized she was distracting herself from her real reason for being here.

Asking the battleship of her dreams on a date.

Gale took a deep breath, and quickly adjusted herself. She might not have anywhere near the chest that Wash—or even Jersey—had, but she'd be damned if she didn't deploy what forces she had in the most advantageous manner. The Navy'd taught her that much.

The Yeoman forced her scowl into a sweet—mildly seductive—smile and wrapped her knuckles against the door. "Wash?"

"Come in," came the honey-sweet tones of Gale's dreamboat.

"Hey, Wash, youuuuuuuu…" Gale's voice trailed off as she pushed the door open. She wasn't expecting that.

Wash sat next to her bed with a thick red-jacketed book resting on her lap. Her legs were crossed just so, letting her splinter-patterned skirt ride up to show her snug-fitting shorts. And… those _legs._ Wash might not be an Iowa-class, but she could still push _well_ more than a hundred-thousand horsepower though her shafts. The glimpse of bare skin between the battleship's shorts and her stockings was so intoxicating Gale almost missed the most noteworthy thing about her appearance.

Wash was wearing _glasses._ A neat pair of reading glasses were perched halfway down her ever-so-slightly crooked nose. Her face glowed like the moon under normal circumstances, but this was just… wow.

"Can I help you, Yeoman?" asked the battleship. Her sculpted alabaster face split in a warm smile. The kind of honest, genuine smile that couldn't _help_ but get a girl's heart racing.

"Uh…" explained Gale. Her heart was racing along well beyond normal, but her brain had totally stalled out. Every time she'd almost gotten her mind back in gear, she'd notice something else about the battleship. The way her cheeks puckered when she smiled, the way her eyes gleamed like honey, the way her scarf draped around her neck. And of course, the way her shirt puckered around those sixteen-inch rifles. "WannaGoConcert?" blurted out the sailor.

Wash blinked, her skirt ruffling ever so softly as she closed the book she'd been reading. "Sorry, what?"

Gale gulped and forced herself to slow down. She'd taken acting classes—in middle school, but still—she could speak to an audience. "Sorry, uh… the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's playing down in Seattle. You, uh…" Gale had to bite down the urge to call Wash 'your majesty', "You want to go?"

Before Wash could answer, a tiny figure wearing an even tinier pirate flag for a hat bounced up from the battleship's bed. "Can we come?"

"That sounds like fun!" said another girl. This one was had deep red hair and was munching on a potato. A whole, raw potato. For some reason.

"PleaaaaAAAAAAA!" Yet another tiny destroyer-girl bounced up on the bed. But instead of simply perking up, she launched herself towards Gale's feet, her hands clasped in supplication. Unfortunately, she miscalculated her trajectory and face planted a good yard in front of the Yeoman's boots with a quiet "imokay."

"Relax, girls." The batteship smiled as she bent down to help the downed girl to her feet. As she did so, Gale got a look at the book she'd been reading. _Winnie the Pooh._

The sailor cringed as realization dawned on her. She was reading them a damn bedtime story! This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't how anything was supposed to go. She just wanted to fade away into the depths and slink back to her room, like one of the infamous Japanese lewdmarines.

"Sorry," chimed in all three destroyer girls, although Dee's voice was a little muffled as she held her hand to her nose.

"If you'd like to come along," Wash let out a tiny little laugh as she fixed some of the more egregiously out-of-place bits of Dee's hair, "you should ask miss Gale."

"Oh," said the first destroyer-girl, Kidd. "Miss Gale, can we come?"

"Please?" asked the second, O'Bannon. She even held out her half-eaten potato as an offering.

"I promise I'll be good." Dee's nose was red, and Gale could tell she was quivering on the edge of tears, "But if you don't want me-"

"No!" Gale didn't even recall saying the word. It just reflexively lept out of her throat. She'd been left out of too many things in her time. And… well, she couldn't just _ignore_ destroyer-eyes. It wasn't like they'd be interrupting things anyways. If Wash really _did_ want to go on a date, she wouldn't have let the destroyers ask to tag along.

But… whatever. It was a long shot in the first place. "No, you girls can come," said the sailor. "I gotta get extra tickets then."

"It's not too expensive, I hope?" asked Wash as the battleship gracefully reached into her pocket.

"Nah," Gale shook her head. "I mean… it's you guys. You're war heroes."

Wash's cheeks very slowly turned a brilliant crimson while the rest of her face remained as regally calm as ever. Dee smiled while Bannie and Kidd lept off the bed for a mid-air high-five.

Gale blinked. "Yeah, uh… yeah, the Navy'll pay for you."

"'cause we're!" cheered Kidd.

"Heroes!" finished Bannie with another powerful high-five.

"Dee, get in on this," added Kidd.

Wash just gave Gale a resigned shrug.

"Yeah, okay," mumbled Gale. "I'll uh… I'll e-mail you the deets?"

"I'll be waiting," said Wash with a smile.

"Okay…" Gale trailed off as she backed though the door. She made sure to close it on her way out. Even if Wash had turned her down for a date, she'd done it in a very subtle, polite way. Gale couldn't get mad at her for that. Especially when she had one more option open to her.

The sailor slipped her phone out of her pocket and sent a simple text message to her best friend on the base.

 _From: Sarah Gale  
To: Jen Bowers  
Bring ice cream_

—|—|—

At least on paper, Major Mack Solette of the US Army Nursing Corps was refreshed and ready for duty. He'd showered—and after almost two days of letting his own stink ferment in a rumpled flight suit, he _needed_ a shower. He'd shaved and changed out of said disgusting flight suit and into a fresh set of ACUs. And they were _fresh_.

Someone—Solette's money was on Tenryuu. The old chunniboat had a soft spot the size of Musashi's ego—had laundered his fatigues while he'd been enjoying the relatively warm water of the hotel shower. Not only was the speckled-gray fabric _clean_ , it still had that fresh-out-of-the-dryer warmth.

Top top things off, the major had a belly full of pancakes courtesy of none other than the Battleship _New Jersey_ herself. He'd barely made it halfway though the towering plate before calling it quits. For all her prowess on the water, Jersey apparently didn't have the faintest idea how much—or little—normal people ate.

Solette stifled a chuckle at the thought. He'd seen first-hand the limitless appetite of Nagato and Kongou. But according to the rumor mill, Jersey could eat them both under the table without breaking a sweat. And walk away without even the tiniest bulge around her belly.

And he'd _seen_ her bare midriff before. Admittedly, he'd been slightly preoccupied with helping her engineering crews mount a new range finder. But _damn_ , he'd seen _Green Berets_ who weren't as shredded as that girl's abs. No wonder that professor had the hots for her. He just felt bad for any female sailors who had to put up with her.

But that was a thought for another time. Solette turned to his mirror to make sure his uniform was sitting properly. At least, that was his intention. But try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to meet the eyes of the man in the mirror.

The man who'd taken an angle grinder to a scared little girl. Hell, he _knew_ he had to do it. But still. Little girl. Angle grinder. Just the thought of someone doing _that_ made his blood boil.

"Fuck" breathed the Major. If he wanted a cushy job with no moral quandaries, he'd have joined the Air Force. Right now, he had a follow up to take care of. He took a final second to make sure the velcro-backed patches on his uniform—including the unintentionally-lewd "1st Shipgirl Maintenance Command" patch Akashi had come up with—were solidly stuck in place. Satisfied, he opened the door.

And was promptly hit by a speeding freight train.

Even if the force of the blow _hadn't_ knocked every shred of wind out of him, it wouldn't have mattered. His body launched across the room, bounced off the mattress, crashed against the table—sending the leftover pancakes flopping all over his chest—and finally came to a rest against the carpeted floor. All before his mind had even realize he'd been hit.

Solette tried to say something to register his surprise in a manner befitting his rank and station. But all that came out was a small "Guh."

"Thank you!" squealed a loud, yet distinctly small and girlish, voice from somewhere around his midsection.

"You saved my sister!" said another voice. One very similar yet somehow even _more_ thunderously bombastic.

And then, suddenly, Solette felt someone plant a very, _very_ timid kiss on his chin.

"Uh…" Solette couldn't manage anything more lucid. Not until his mind _finally_ caught up with the situation at hand.

He was on his back covered with pancakes, syrup, and destroyer girls. Johnston—and the feathery headdress she always wore—was snuggling into his belly like her life depended on it. Beside her was Hoel—he'd recognize that fiery ponytail and sleeveless top anywhere. By the look of it, the Fletchers were frantically struggling to be the one to hug him the most.

Completing the trio was the very small form of Sammy. Unlike the others, _she_ was standing off by his side while her face slowly attempted to blush into infrared.

"Girls," Solette brought his arms around the two Fletchers in a hug. Mostly from lack of anything better to do. "You mind?"

"Hmm?" The two destroyers glanced up at him. Their eyes glistened jewels, and their faces all but glowed with unrestrained thankfulness.

"I kinda need to stand," said the Major.

Hoel blinked.

A second later, Johnston blinked.

Sammy slapped her hand to her blushing face.

"I don't follow," said Hoel.

"Oooh, syrup!" Johnston lapped up the puddle of pancakes and maple syrup splattered all over Solette's jacket with a contented smile.

Sammy's other hand joined the first in cradling her face.

"Mind letting me up?" asked the Major.

"Oh, sure," said Hoel.

"But first!" Johnston smirked. Then both Fletchers pushed up to plant kisses on his cheeks. Kisses that, in Johnston's case, were very _very_ sticky. Somehow, Solette didn't really mind.

"You're good people, Major!" said Hoel as she rolled off his stomach onto the floor.

Johnston grunted something along those lines, but the chunks of pancake and syrup hanging out of her mouth muffled her exact words.

"I'm sorry about your food," said Sammy.

Solette waved off her concerns with a glimmer of a smile that he just couldn't make go away. "Don't worry, kiddos. Those are just leftovers."

"Duh Guh!" said Johnston with a furious thumbs-up.

"Can say that again," said Solette. He frowned as he glanced at himself in the mirror. His jacket was throughly splattered with syrup and pancake shrapnel, though the damage was at least confined to that one article of clothing.

"How's Heermann doing?" Solette shrugged off his jacket as carefully as he could. Uniform regulations be damned, he wasn't wearing something that sticky around. Besides, he was an Army nurse taking care of Navy sailors. Who were also warships. Nothing here made sense.

"Better," said Sammy. The little destroyer escort stuffed her hands into the pockets of her wildly over sized jacket. "Her chief engineer said your work was, uh, 'not totally awful'."

Solette shrugged. Given how utterly protective of the Sovereign Nation of Engineering most chiefs—or at least most faerie chiefs—were, 'not totally awful' was high praise.

"She's really feeling better!" Hoel's face twisted into a playful smirk. "Good enough to start a splash fight."

"That she cheats at," Johnston's feathers slumped against her head as she grumbled.

"Because you cheated first," said Hoel.

"Did not!"

"You used your fire hoses," Hoel rolled her eyes so hard it looked like she was trying to unscrew them from their sockets.

"That's not cheating!" said Johnston. The little destroyer jolted forwards towards her sister, the feathers of her headdress bristling. "Doc! DocDocDocDoc! Tell her that's not cheating."

"It _is_ though!" said Hoel. "Doc, tell her it's cheating."

"Uh…" Solette blinked. He wasn't used to destroyer-girls being so… animated. "I'm gonna…" He raised a finger to make a point, then promplty discarded the idea. "Go."

—|—|—

"So, how's my favorite patient doing?" asked Solette—sans sticky syrup-covered jacket this time—as he knelt down next to Heermann's hot tub.

There were other girls present of course. Akagi happily floating on her back with a massive tub of ice cream balanced against her tummy. Musashi and Jersey were bellowing at one another while they fought the most spirited splash fight the Major had ever seen. Every so often, Mutsu would send a wave their way, then just smirk coyly until the super battleships resumed their endless war. Naka was off doing… something with the Japanese destroyers, and Nagato was staring at a soggy mass of pulpy paper with all the determination her boilers could muster.

But Solette didn't really _care_ about the other girls. Not right this second at least. As much as he—sometimes—enjoyed their antics, he had more important things to deal with.

"Wait?" Heermann leaned forwards in her hot tub, her sinewy little arms resting on the tiled rim. "I'm your favorite?"

"Well," Solette shrugged, "Yeah."

"Yessssss!" Heermann pumped her little fist in the air, her face splitting into an enormous grin.

"You going to answer my question?" asked the Major, but he already had an idea how she was going to answer. Destroyers were small, fast ships. They only had room for one emotion at a time, and they tended to throw themselves into whatever it was. If Heermann was this happy, she couldn't be in _too_ much pain.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Heermann blushed as she straighted herself out. "I'm feeling a lot better!"

"How's your pain?" asked Solette. The question was always hit-or-miss with shipgirls. He'd seen Inazuma crying from a skinned knee. But he'd also seen Kuma run headfirst into a wall fast enough to crack the cinder blocks, and _she_ just laughed it off.

"Um…" Heermann bit her lip and puffed out her cheeks. Her brows knitted together and the bridge of her nose crinkled. "Um… it… kinda tickles?"

"It tickles?" Solette couldn't muster up any kind of emotion to work into his voice.

"Mmhm!" said Heermann. "Like… like someone's poking me with a feather. But from the inside, you know?"

"I… really don't." Solette shook his head, "Can you let me see?"

"Mmhm!" Heermann flopped onto her back and rested her stumpy legs on the side of the hot were the twisted gashes hemorrhaging more bloody oil than her body should have been able to hold. In their place was smooth, shiny flesh. And also smooth, shiny metal. It was like looking down the inside of a metal tube. Or a warship's hull, for that matter. There was even a-

Solette blinked.

Yup. There was even a batch of tiny faeries wearing welding gear busying themselves inside Heermann's legs. One of them even flipped her mask up to wave hello.

"I will never get used to that," muttered Solette as he returned the wave.

The faerie just flipped her mask back down and went back to work.

Solette shook his head. "Heermann?"

"Mmhm?"

"Can I talk to your chief?"

"Oh, sure!" the destroyer reached into the pocket of her rolled-up pants. A few minutes later, her hand came back bearing a tiny figure in grungy coveralls. A figure which was then deposited atop Heermann's head like a teeny, grumpy hat.

"Chief," Solette offered a salute.

The faerie responded with one of her own. Or at least the best approximation a faerie's tiny, stumpy limbs could manage. And than she launched into a full report of Heermann's condition. Complete with diminutive illustrations annotated entirely with variations on the word 'hey.' Solette wasn't sure how, but he understood every word the engineer said.

It was a very surreal experience for the Major. For all intents and purposes, he was being lectured to by his patient's immune system. It was… actually, a lot easier than having to diagnose things the old fashioned way. If _people_ had faeries, his job wouldn't pay _nearly_ as well.

—|—|—

Admiral Williams paced across the worn-down carpet in his video-conference room, his scowl deepening with each step. There were many things he hated about ordering kanmusu into battle.

He hated sending girls young enough to be his daughters—or granddaughters, in the case of some of the destroyers—into battle. He knew it was necessary, knew they'd endure more punishment than any human ever could and come back ready for more. But he hated it all the same. He'd joined the Navy to keep the ravages of war _away_ from children, not to send them into its bloody maw.

He hated the very war he was fighting. The abyssals struck where they wished, when they wished, without any pattern or reason. If they had a command structure, a logistical base, or _any_ kind of supply lines he could strike, they were shrouded deep behind the curtain of their own seas. There wasn't any 'soft underbelly' to this monster. His only option was to fight it on its own terms.

But most of all, he hated that he was all but useless. He was a sailor of the Information age. Combat networking, joint operations, and all the trappings of warfare in the age of the missile were his bread and butter. Years at the academy and decades of duty had honed his skills to a razor edge. But those skills were useless against abyssals. Useless in the age of the Big Gun.

He couldn't use _any_ of the sensor platforms at his disposal to help his girls. He couldn't even offer them advice. All of them—even down to miss Poi herself—knew more about gunnery tactics than he ever would. Giving them advice was like an Ensign lecturing a Master Chief.

But there was one thing left for him. One singular task that only an Admiral could perform: Organization. There weren't enough girls to cover every inch of shoreline. Finding out who to put where was the delicate game that Williams and his compatriots across the oceans had been playing for months.

He only hoped they were winning.

But before he could pace too deeply into brooding territory, the giant flat screen dominating the wall flickered to life.

"Admiral Goto," Williams offered a salute to the ragged-looking Japanese man. Technically, the two men held the same rank. But Williams only commanded a single ocean. Goto defended an entire nation.

 _"Williams,"_ Goto returned the salute with a tired salute of his own. By the look of it, he hadn't slept much in the past few days. His chin was speckled with the scruff of several days without a shave. His eyes were lidded and surrounded by dark, weary circles.

Behind him, the command cruiser Ooyodo peeked out from behind a wall of monitors. Williams could only see her from the glasses up, but he could sense the concern radiating from her outwardly-stoic being.

"The Princess is dead," said Williams. Goto had to know by now, it'd been almost two days since the battle. But a little good news never hurt anyone. Especially one hanging so close to the end of their rope.

 _"I heard,"_ A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of Goto's mouth, but only a hint. _"Your girls did excellent work."_

"As did yours," said Williams, "Which brings me to our agreement."

 _"Straight to the point,"_ Goto sighed. _"If I could offer you my ships, I would. But the security of the home islands must come first."_

Williams slouched back into a chair. The Admiral was right. But it didn't make him any happier, "Admiral, we can't win this war unless we can take the fight _to_ the abyssals."

 _"Which is why I'm sending you everything I can spare,"_ said Goto. He leaned over towards Ooyodo and muttered something in Japanese the microphone didn't quite pick up. _"I've asked my secretary ship to join us. She knows my girls better than all of us."_

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, another window popped up on the flatscreen.

The image was noticeably lower quality, probably one of the waterproof laptops the girls were issued, but it was enough to make out the striking figure of battleship Nagato. She was clad in an… equally striking two-tone swimsuit, and judging by the blurry shapes behind her, she was missing out on quite the splash fight.

But the battleship's face was nothing but a mask of calm duty as she snapped off a salute. _"Konichiwa, teitoku,"_ she said, "and good evening, Admiral Williams."

Both admirals returned the battleship's salute.

"As I was saying," said Williams, "We'll honor our agreement." He flipped open a notebook, skimming though the pages until he found what he was looking for. "We need heavies and you need escorts."

 _"I'm listening,"_ said Goto.

"White Plains is too slow for any battle group." Williams scanned though his notes, more as a formality than to refresh his memory. "Sammy and England aren't built for surface combat either. And Borie, for all her bluster, is too old to fight with the Fletchers." The admiral glanced up from his notes. "I propose rolling them into a dedicated escort division, along with whatever ships you can spare."  
 _  
"I recommend adding Musashi to that division,"_ said Nagato as a splash crested over her back, damping her raven-black hair to her skull. The battleship huffed, her nostrils flaring minutely as she shook her hair back to its normal shape.

 _"What's your reasoning?"_ asked Goto, suddenly leaning towards his computer with a glint in his eye.

 _"Sirs,"_ Nagato coughed, _"At breakfast, Musashi ate significantly more than myself and Mutsu combined. Sortieing her with any kind of regularity would be ruinous. But we can't simply confine her. Not now that the world knows of her return."_

 _"Can't station her overseas either,"_ grumbled Goto. _"Sending our greatest battleship away… morale would never recover."_

"So stick her on convoy duty," said Williams with a smile. Clever battleship. "She's still 'defending Japan', but we'll pick up her tab when she's stateside."

Nagato nodded.

"So," said Williams, "Who else can I have?"

 _"Blunt as always, Admiral,"_ said Nagato with a smile.

 _"Not many, I'm afraid,"_ said Goto. _"Nagato, Mutsu, and their escorts are to steam for Japan the moment they're able. You'll have to make do with Kongou and Kirishima."_

"Understood," said Williams. As much as he'd love to have the two super dreadnoughts at his disposal, the trade made sense. Kongou and her sister were exceptionally fast ships, but they carried painfully little armor.

They had to pick a fight on _their_ terms, or use their speed to disengage. Nagato and Mutsu had the belts to stand their ground no matter the circumstances. The super dreadnoughts could manage defense, while Kongou and Kirishima lived for fast, slashing offensive actions. "What about-"

Goto cut him off, _"I know what you're going to say, and no. Akagi will be returning to japan the moment she's able."_ The Admiral let out a ragged sigh and rubbed at his temples. _"The situation's deteriorating over here. I can't even offer you Ryuujou anymore."_

Williams sighed. Honestly, it was a miracle he'd gotten the carriers long enough to sink the Northern Princess. Japan's carriers were the strongest part of a frustratingly fragile defense.

—|—|—

It took almost a full two hours for the two admirals—and one battleship—to finally haggle their way though dividing up the kanmusume.

Goto had other duties to attend to, so he left Nagato to advise the American in organizing his girls into useful fighting elements. It took the two of them almost another two hours to come up with a TOE that had even half a chance of working. But, at long last, the two had worked out something that looked winnable.

Williams tapped his pen against the hardwood table and scanned over the throughly-annotated legal pad one last time. Every decision he'd made made sense. Or at lest it did when he made it. Now it was time to check that he hadn't inadvertently walked himself into something moronic.

Starting from the top, he had…

KANBATDIV 1  
-USS New Jersey (flag)  
-JMSDF Kongou

KANBATDIV 2  
-USS Washington (flag)  
-JMSDF Kirishima

Two-ship divisions weren't ideal, but they were the best he could do with the ships he had. Divvying up the Kongous had been the hard part. Wash and Kirishima's night battle was legendary, and Williams had worried about bad blood.

He still did, but Nagato had insisted that Kirishima found the engagement more… romantic than horrifying. It worried him that that made perfect sense. In any case, Nagato had said in no uncertain terms that keeping Jersey and Kongou around one another was essential for their sanity, though she neglected to explain further.

At least the destroyers were easier to manage. They'd practically organized themselves into neat three-ship elements. Apperently it was in a destroyer-girl's nature to find two like-minded shipgirls and become best friends.

KANDESRON 1  
-USS Hoel (flag)  
-USS Johnston  
-USS Heermann

KANDESRON 2  
-USS Kidd (flag)  
-USS O'Bannon  
-USS William D. Porter

KANDESRON 3  
-JMSDF Naka (flag)  
-JMSDF Yuudachi  
-JMSDF Fubuki

Looking at the list, Williams couldn't quite tell which squadron would cause him the most headaches. The taffies were… the taffies. Their antics went without saying.

But Kidd had gotten a reputation of running around the base with an entrenching tool 'looking for treasure'. And always being able to produce a bottle of Captain Morgan no matter how implausible the circumstances. And the less said about Dee, the better.

And then there was Poi.

At least Tenryuu's DesDiv six promised to be a pain-free unit. Despite her bombastic reputation, she and her kindergarten had a reputation for quiet professionalism at sea. The third-generation special-type destroyers had precious little aggressive combat experience, but their expedition record was second to none.

The Puget sound, and the long, confined Strait of Juan de Fuca that fed it, was perfect destroyer territory. Williams had no doubt the five girls could hold down the proverbial fort, leaving his other units free to push the offensive.

But there was something lacking. A hole that organizing out his girls had only made more obvious. He was _desperately_ short on cruisers. He could make do with the ships he had—he didn't have a choice not to. But he'd kill for a decent CRUDIV or two.

—|—|—

On paper, Yeoman Sarah Gale should be happy as a clam. It was just a few weeks until Christmas, and the streets of downtown Seattle were dusted with just the perfect amount of crunchy white snow. And it was _white_. The snow hadn't hung around long enough to turn into the sludgy off-brown gunk citied turned it into.

No, on this gloriously crisp December evening, the snow was a perfect white blanket. It crunched under the sailor's calf-length leather boots like fresh apples. Gale loved the snow, but that wasn't even the end of the good news.

She was on her way to see her favorite band, with some amazing seats to boot, all on the Navy's dime. Her morale shouldn't have been _able_ to be higher.

But, as they say, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. Or in this case, with a certain friendly North Carolina-class battleship and her private clutch of destroyers.

Gale buried her face in her warm woolen scarf and glanced over at the cluster of shipgirls.

The destroyers were all clustered around Wash, and each one of them was bundled up with a knitted scarf. They were still wearing shorts, of course. But it didn't matter because _scarves_. But that wasn't the cause of Gale's discomfort. She'd long since gotten used to the insanities of working around ship girls.

No, the source of Yeoman Sarah Gale's suffering was the battleship at the head of the little flotilla. A battleship who'd traded her usual skirt and thigh-highs for a 'casual' pair of jeans and a turtleneck sweater.

Gale had to force the word 'casual' into mental finger quotes just to hold her sanity. There wasn't a thing casual about that outfit. Wash's knit sweater did absolutely nothing to hide the bulge of her—if Gale was being hones there—enviably large chest. If anything, the subtle texture to the sweater only made the perfection of the battleship's curves that much more obvious.

And if Gale tried to walk _behind_ Wash to keep those North-Carolina-class torpedo bulges out of sight, she was treated to the image of Wash's stern in snug-fitting jeans. The way the tastefully-warn denim moved with each step was mesmerizing.

It was like watching poetry in motion. The battleship's broad hip would swing out, her butt tensing as her muscles swing her leg forwards. Then she'd repeat the process again. And again. And again. And again. It was an almost hypnotic kind of beauty.

Like watching the northern lights dance and play in the sky. Swoosh… swoosh… swoosh…

Gale was so entranced by the battleship's sashay, she didn't even process that the little flotilla had arrived at their destination.

The menial part of her brain, the part that managed standing in formation while the rest of her caught a few more precious moments of sleep, must've handed over their tickets. The next thing Gale knew, she was settling into her seat with Wash on one side and Kidd on the other.

"Concerts certainly have changed," said Wash.

"Whu?" exposited Gale.

The battleship pointed to the massive LED screens at the back of the concert hall. But Gale wasn't looking where she was pointing, she couldn't tear her eyes of the way the battleship's sweater puckered around her chest. "It's all very fancy," said Wash.

"Oh, uh…" Gale wiped at her mouth. She wasn't drooling, was she? Please don't be drooling… "Yeah, uh they do really good shows."

"This is so _exciting!_ " Kidd bounced on her chair with a gigantic smile on her face and— And a bottle of Captain Morgan in her hands.

"Kidd?"

"Yarr?" Kidd spun around in her seat, her skull-and-crossbones bandanna whipping around behind her little head.

"Where'd you get that?"

Kidd blinked.

Gale scowled.

Wash stared at the empty stage with rapturous interest.

Bannie bit a chunk out of a raw potato.

Somewhere in the background, there was a loud crash followed by a quiet "Immokay."

"I found it," said Kidd as she _slowly_ slid the bottle behind her.

"I can still see it." Gale couldn't have rolled her eyes harder if she tried.

"Fiiiiine," Kidd huffed and handed her booty over to the sailor.

"You can have it back when we leave," said Gale.

"Okay," Kidd smiled and leaned over to give Gale the best hug she could manage without leaving her seat. "You're good people, matey!"

"Kidd," Gale shook her head, "You're not a pirate."

"But she _is_ a destroyer!" said Bannie around a good-sized chunk of potato.

"Mmhm!" said Dee. The klutzy destroyer had her hands shoved deeply into her own pockets, and by the looks of it, she'd improvised a seatbelt for herself out of duct tape.

"Basically the same thing," said Wash. The battleship was sporting a grin that was either knowing or teasingly flirty, but Gale couldn't for the life of her figure out which.

"Just…" Gale buried her hands in her face. "Watch the show, would you?"

"Okay!" chorused the destroyers.

"Sorry," said Wash with a surprisingly shy—or was it coy—nod.

The next few minutes played out in relative silence. Every few seconds, Bannie would take a loud bite of her potato before going back to blissfully chewing away. Dee'd let out inarticulate noises of glee every time she noticed something new, but she made sure to keep her hands to herself.

And Wash would… breath. Gale wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the rhythmic swell and ebb of the battleship's colossal torpedo bulges in that snug-fitting sweater. But at least she'd get to listen to some music soon enough. Just a few more minutes…

Gale was so fixated on Wash's breathing that she totally missed the band coming out on stage, and the roar of applause that generated.

But then the gentle plucking of a single cello cut through her distraction like a knife through snow.

The sailor couldn't help but smile as she let the music wash over her. The gentle, friendly strings danced like eddies in a peaceful river. And then…

The _orchestra_ arrived. Powerful, thunderous, driving. The music hammered away like a fleet of battleships smashing though freezing surf.

"CHRISTMAAAAASS!" Kidd stood on her chair, one little fist flung high in the air as she screamed with all her energy. Her face—somehow smeared with red and green warpaint—was the very picture of excitement.

Gale burst out laughing, as did everyone within twenty seats of them.

Then one of the guitarists threw his hand up. "Christmas!"

"Christmas!" echoed back someone from the crowd. Then another. Then another. Then _Wash_ was standing and belting out the word with all her voice. Then Gale found herself standing to her feet and throwing her fist in the air with all her might, "Christmas!"

And then the arena fell dead silent. It took Gale a second to figure out why.

There was a girl standing quietly on the stage. A girl who hadn't been there a second ago. A girl with raven black hair dressed in a navy uniform.

"Holy shi-"


	77. Chapter 59: The Ecosystem!

**Chapter 59: The Ecosystem!  
**

 _Iowa_ Versus _Yamato_ was one of the great historical hypotheticals of the modern age. Armchair historians had been arguing the "what ifs" of history for millennia. But never had there been so many arguments of such a heated nature over such a narrow topic. The frequency and intensity of such arguments—be they forum posts, imageboard threads, or just person-to-person verbal brawls—had exploded exponentially when Jersey and Musashi returned to the line of battle. According to Naka, Iowa-vs-Yamato arguments had "completely eclipsed the F-35 shitposting ecosystem."

Jersey wasn't sure what that meant. But she _did_ consider herself the foremost expert in the field. And it was her informed, educated, expert opinion that any battle between her big sister and the seagoing Tokyo Hilton would end in a decisive American Victory. A ROFLstomp. A fucking Arnie-In-Commando murderizing his way through countless goons like a freedom-fueled buzzsaw made of patriotism and sheer AMERICAN courage.

Jersey's guns could match Musashi's shot-for-shot in perfect weather. In anything _less_ than perfect clear-blue-skies-all-the-way-to-the-fucking-horizon, glass-still water weather, the genius of American radar fire control would leave Musashi's primitive optical systems in the dust.

Jersey could take hits just as well as the Japanese super-battleship. Her belt might be thinner, but it was _proper_ American _steel_. The kind of steel that gleamed red, white, and blue when you shone a light on it. Steel forged in the greatest foundries the world had ever seen. Steel capped with STS decapping plates no other nation on earth could even begin to afford. Steel that rang with the tune of the Star Spangled Banner when you struck it.

She also had two entire _Fletchers_ worth of 5"/38s strapped to each hip, and more Bofors and Oerlikon cannons than some _nations._ And they were good-ass cannons too, not those crappy-ass "Hurr Durr I have a tiny-ass box-magazine because JAPAN" 25mm Hotchkiss knockoffs Musashi preened herself over.

Oh, and Jersey _also_ had so much freaking horsepower it almost wasn't funny. She could maintain the distance even with half her boilers cold. She could _force_ Musashi to fight at a place and range of the American's choosing, force the Japanese battleship into situations where her advantages counted for nothing. In short, an _Iowa_ -class battleship would utterly and totally maul a _Yamato_ -class battleship any day of the week, from midnight to dawn..

Unless, of course, said _Yamato_ -class managed to lure the _Iowa_ -class into a knife fight. At close enough range, even Musashi could land hits though foul weather. Without room to use her stellar maneuverability, Jersey was forced to tank hits on her belt. Hits that Musashi's armor was kinda… sorta… maybe… in some small way… _slightly_ better at absorbing.

But there was one last damming point in the Japanese battleship's favor. In such a close-quarters brawl, Jersey's faeries couldn't focus on their duties. They were too busy gawking at the Japanese battleship's stupid overly-large pagoda-stacks bouncing around in that tiny little black swimsuit.

Seriously, how the _fuck_ had she not flashed literally every-fucking-one with those things? Fucking _how!?_ Jersey and Musashi had been waging their splash-fight for almost a solid hour. That much time spent thrashing through the water frantically trying to soak the other _should_ have lead to some kind of spillage.

Hell, Jersey almost popped her _own_ superstructure out of her Amerikini a few times, and she was perfectly fucking _proportional_.

"Fuck this shit!" barked Jersey as she porpoised over the snowy-haired Japanese battleship's excessive bow wake. She kicked hard, her long, muscular legs thrashing through the water with trained grace. Her feet were just starting to bite into the water when she felt a hand close around her ankle.

"You won't get away from _MUSASHI_ that easy!" bellowed… well… taking a fucking guess.

"Fight from range!" barked back Jersey. "Every heard of fucking _Tsushima?_ "

Musashi's response was a thundering belly laugh and a powerful tug on Jersey's leg. She might not have the sheer strength of the American, but even Jersey couldn't make any speed worth mentioning with a huge fatass Japboat hanging off her.

"GAH!" Jersey growled. As exhausted as she was from their fight—and she _was_ exhausted. Her back and arms were sore and her belly was starting to feel annoyingly not-stuffed—she was having too much fun to simply call it a draw. And besides, she couldn't stop fighting. Not until she'd secured a win for her big sister!

But fucking still… she had shit she wanted to get done before turning in for the night. Shit like talking to Naggy about that creepy-ass dream. She just needed some kind of.. covering force. Someone to keep Musashi fully engaged while Jersey slipped off to do battlethings somewhere else.

Then the battleship smiled. That'd do.

"Yo, Kiddos!" Jersey waved at the pair of Japanese _Akizuki_ -class destroyers happily lounging by the poolside.

"Hmm?" said the dark-haired one.

Jersey kicked off Musashi's body as hard as she could. It wouldn't buy her much distance. But she only needed a few seconds for what she was about to do. "I'll give ya a gallon of ice cream each if you keep Mushi occupied."

"A gallon?" the dark-haired one almost dropped the burger she'd been nibbling on for the past hour into the salty pool water.

"Each!" The russet-haired one blurted out the word in sheer awe, her slack jawed stare focused on Jersey.

"That's cheating!" bellowed Musashi at the top of her enormous lungs.

"Is not!" said Jersey, "So, you girls in?"

Before the awestruck AA-destroyers could respond, Johnston thrust her hand into the water. Even her feathers were quivering at attention. "Can we help?"

"Fucking yeah!" Jersey let out a rumbling laugh as Musashi tried to shush her with a splash.

"TAFFIES!" Heermann pulled herself up against the side of her hot tub like a mermaid pulling up to a passing boat. "ATTAAAAAAAAACK!"

At the thrust of Heermann's tiny hand, her sisters exploded into the air.

"DEPTH!" barked Hoel as she arced through the water like a frantically giggling shell.

"CHARGE!" replied Johnston as she belly-flopped mere feet away from Musashi's fatassed… ass.

Musashi let out a surprised, very un-Musashi-like 'eep' and let go of Jersey's leg. Probably from the perverted Fletcher pinching her stern right where the fabric of her skimpy-ass bikini bottom didn't cover, but that was neither here nor there. Jersey didn't contemplated it any further as she kicked off for the pool side.

At first, Musashi tried to follow. But the combined efforts of four giggling destroyer girls was too much for her to overcome. She made a show of shaking her fist at Jersey before rolling over to engage the giggling destroyers.

Jersey just kept extending away from the splash-brawl towards where Nagato was sitting.

The super dreadnought sat quietly in the corner of the pool, her crimson eyes focusing intently on the soggy blob of wood pulp that'd once been her light reading material. It almost looked like she was trying to _intimidate_ the magazine into reforming into something readable. But for all her efforts—and Jersey didn't doubt she was giving her all; Nagato was a terrifying woman at times, even when she was wearing a swimsuit—the paper remained firmly wet.

"Hey," Jersey smiled as she glided into a spot just a few feet away from the stoic battle wagon.

"Hello," Nagato glanced over and shot Jersey a polite nod.

"So," Jersey glanced up at the skylights. Partly to help get her thoughts in order, but mostly to avoid having to look at the waves gently lapping against the Japanese girl's… areas. Stupid fucking Japanese Engineers! At least Mutsu was on the other side of the pool. "Whatcha reading?"

" _Warship Review._ " Nagato turned the soggy mass towards Jersey so she'd be able to read the cover if it was still legible. "It's fascinating seeing what technology can do."

"Can say that again," said Jersey. After a quick check to make sure Freedom wasn't spilling anywhere it shouldn't be, the battleship spread her arms on the tiled pool side. She might not have Musashi's chest, but her _lats_ were second-to-fucking-none. And she'd be damned if she didn't show them off a little.

"More and more, destroyers are eclipsing the role we once held," said Nagato. Her lips split into a tiny smile and her cheeks started to flush a pale pink. "It's… like watching a child toddle around in her mother's shoes, saying she wants to grow up to be like her mommy."

Jersey shrugged. That wasn't the first image that came to mind, but whatever. "Hey, Naggy?"

"Hmm?"

"You ever have," Jersey bit her lip and stared at the ceiling again, "Dreams? And I mean like… the fucking meaningful kind?"

The hint of pink in Nagato's cheeks died in an instant. "I have," she said quietly, "why?"

"Okay," Jersey closed her eyes and tried to think back. "I had this dream the other night. I was… fucking in the middle of this huge-ass frozen sea. It was just fucking ice, no matter how far I looked."

"Did you-"

"Yeah. Even tried my floatplane." Jersey stifled a yawn. It was getting late, and that splash fight had tired her out more than she'd thought, "Fucking… nothing but ice. Then I see someone. He-and I'm fucking _positive_ it was a he-"

Nagato cocked one eyebrow.

"I don't fucking know _how_ , I just know." Jersey shrugged, "Anyways, I see this guy right…" She reached out like she was trying to reach something on the horizon, "Right at the edge of my vision. So I take off running. Running as fast as I fucking can. But then I trip and-" Jersey rubbed her temple, "And right fucking _there_ in the ice I saw- I saw…" she trailed off.

"Saw what?" said Nagato. There wasn't a hint of a smile on her face, her brows were knit into a dense palisade and her gaze seemed to bore through the American's armor.

"I-" Jersey shook her head. It'd all been so _clear!_ "I don't know. I don't remember. But it was really fucking important."

"It's possible it means nothing," said Nagato.

"Yeah, I gue-"

"But it is also possible," Nagato locked Jersey's icy blue eyes in her own crimson ones, "that it does _not._ "

"Uh…" Jersey gulped at the fucking _torrents_ of authority washing of the short Japanese girl.

"I'm not… skilled in such things," admitted Nagato, "But I understand you have one who is. A shaman working with the Navy who has brought many of your girls back."

Jersey blinked, her mind mentally freewheeling. "Uhh… There's the doc, but he's no shaman."

"Is he now," said Nagato. "It seems," she shot a steely glare at her sister, who just preened with a teasing smile in return, "I was _misinformed._ "

Jersey snorted in a very undignified way.

"Still," Nagato brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "I would suggest discussing this with him. He's certain to know more than I."

Jersey nodded. She would've said something in return, but a yawn haijacked her mouth and ruined any chance of getting something intelligible out. "Ahhh…" the battleship closed her eyes as her mouth slowly levered shut, "Yeah… mebbe… mornin…" She leaned back against the pool side and closed her eyes.

"Good night, Jersey," said Nagato.

Jersey's only reply was a muffled snore.

—|—|—

Yeoman Gale felt her whole universe come crashing to a halt so furiously she _swore_ she got some kind of whiplash from it. Mere instants ago, the concert hall had been roaring with the harmony of rock anthem, classical orchestra, and chanting fans. Now it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The air was so quiet and still she could _hear_ the squeaking of one guitarist's shoes as he tried to slowly edge away from the impossible girl standing at parade rest at center stage.

Beside Gale, Wash was already on her feet, her eyes squinting ever so slightly as she focused on the new arrival. The muscles in her arms tensed under the fabric of her snug-fitting sweater. If she wasn't all the way to general quarters, she was at least in condition two.

Everywhere Gale looked she saw the same thing. People standing silent and confused, but preparing themselves for some disaster to break out. Nobody had ever summoned a shipgirl with such a massive audience. And only _one_ girl had shown up without a ranking officer around, and that had nearly ended in disaster. But Gale was a sailor of the United States Navy. She was trained for this.

Actually, no she wasn't. They never covered "Introducing the spirits of WWII warships incarnated into _smoking hot girls_ to the modern world" in any of her training. But they _had_ covered damage control drills. Basically the same thing.

Step one, communicate!

"Wash, I need to get down there," said Gale as she fished around in her pocket for her phone.

The battleship offered a tiny smile and curt nod. "Make way," she barked with the kind of thunderous, commanding volume that only a battleship could manage. It wasn't so much a yell as a calm, soft-spoken command said in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS.

And just in case her booming voice wasn't commanding enough, Wash held her hands before her in an approximation of her own bow. A wedge to drive though the crowd and force them to part before her.

Gale happily formed up in line astern of the battleship's… rather noteworthy stern. Gale allowed herself a split-second to appreciate the way it moved and swished as Wash walked that graceful sashay of a walk, but only a split second. She had important things to do.

She quickly flipped through her contacts to find the Admiral's Shipgirl-Bullshit-Emergency number. The one that could pull Admiral Williams out of a meeting with SecNav himself.

Gale quickly typed out a message outlining everything she knew. It wasn't a very long message. As an afterthought, she sent a copy to Professor Crowning's number, with the note "Whatever you did, it worked."

But she couldn't just stand back and let the situation unfold. Even if Williams left the instant he got her text, it'd still take him at least an hour to get down here. More, if the traffic was the typical Seattle shitpile.

"Wash," Gale tossed her phone back into her pocket, "I need to get to the stage."

"Of course." The battleship angled towards the aisle and put on steam. Gale trailed behind, and the trio of Fletchers took up the rear of the formation. By the look of it, they'd appointed themselves as Gale's personal bouncer squadron. Each girl was sporting a sour look and had their little arms crossed across their chests.

Kidd was even wearing a gold chain around her neck to compete the look. Gale made a mental note to look into that… later. Right now, she had to husband what sanity she had left. If she didn't reach out to that shipgirl, _things would go wrong._

Gale's little formation marched towards the stage, only for the sailor to stop short a few feet away.

The girl waiting for her was… well, she was _obviously_ a cruiser. She was tall—almost as tall as Gale, but a few inches shorter than Wash—with a lean, womanly build. Her deep blue shorts showed off sinewy legs. Her cropped crackerjack top framed a chest not _much_ larger than Gale's own and showed off a stomach that, while not as insanely shredded as Jersey's midsection, was noticeably toned. And noticeably _scarred_.

But none of that caught Gale's eye as much as the girl's face. Her jet-black hair cascaded down her back in a lazy ponytail. Her honey-brown eyes were fixed on Gale's. This girl… whoever she was… was _Japanese_. With her alabaster skin and almond-shaped eyes, she looked more Japanese than freaking _poi_.

"You, uh," Gale gulped. This could go so wrong so fast. "You're-"

"Japanese?" The girl moved her hands to her hips. Her face cracked a grin that hovered somewhere between cocky and wary. "Yeah, I get that a lot. I'm _Nisei._ Second generation. I was born down in Cali."

Gale winced. Japanese immigrants got shafted pretty damn hard during World War Two, and by their own damn country no less. "Shiiiiiiit."

"Yeah, pretty much," said the girl. "Look, I don't care what I look like, I'm a fighting ship. An _American_ fighting ship." She huffed out a stiff breath, the scars on her muscled belly dancing with the motion. "Let me fight. Don't stick me in one of those damn camps, _let me fight._ "

"Yeah, uh," Gale stammered. She wasn't prepared for any of this. Just greeting a shipgirl back to the world was hard enough. But greeting one that already didn't trust her own government.

"There's a war on," said Wash in that calm, commanding voice of hers. "We need ships like you."

"Aw… hell," The girl's face tinged a few shades redder, "I'm just an old cruiser. But I'll do my best." She moved to offer a salute, then paused as she realize she was both uncovered and indoors.

"What's your uh," Gale scratched at the back of her neck, "What's your name, sailor?"

"Oh shit," the girl slapped her hand to her face. "The hell are my manners, USS _San Francisco_ , CA-38 reporting!"

Gale blinked. "San Fran-"

"Call me Frisco," said the cruiser.

"Frisco!" Dee bolted for the heavy cruiser and threw her arms around the bigger girl's scarred-over stomach.

"Oof!" Frisco grunted from the unexpected destroyer-hug. But judging by the smile on her face, she didn't mind the surprise one bit. "Hey there, kiddo." She ruffled Dee's hair with a happy chuckle. "It's good to be back."

Dee let out a happy Fletcher noise and backed off to join her sisters.

"So, uh," Frisco shrugged, "You my Admiral, ma'am?"

It took Gale a minute to realize the heavy cruiser was talking to _her_. "What, uh… no," she stammered, her face getting redder by the minute. "I… I'm just a Yeoman. Admiral Williams is on his way down."

"Well then, do we wait or-" Frisco stopped as a thundering rumble echoed from her belly. Her hands instantly clamped down around those scared-over abs and her almond eyes went wide. "Uh.."

"Perhaps dinner is in order?" said Wash. The battleship's own hands were hovering somewhere around where her stomach would be.

"Yeah," Gale nodded. Now _that_ was a plan she could get behind.


	78. Chapter 60: Is Russel Crowe Somewhere?

**Chapter 60: Is Russel Crowe Somewhere?**

Battleship New Jersey snuggled herself deep under the comforting waves of the makeshift dockyard. It might not be quite as calming as the unique mix of minerals and warmth she was used to back in the states. But the gentle lapping against her muscled sides and under the snug fabric of her Amerikini felt like someone gently rocking her to sleep.

Even in her sleep, she could hear the gentle ebb and flow of water against her hull—against her skin—like a wordless lullaby softly paving her way into restful sleep. Sleep without any creepy-ass dreams about ice and shit.

No, tonight, she would dream of soft, warm things. She'd dream of cuddling up with her clutch of destroyers. She'd dream of filling herself so full of pie she could barely walk. She'd dream of napping in a sunbeam. She'd dream of home.

"Oi," a loud voice that was somehow both strange and eerily familiar punched though the fortress of calm Jersey'd build up around herself. "Wake up, wanker."

Jersey scowled in her hazy half-sleep and hunkered down lower in the water.

"Wake up!" Someone slapped Jersey across the face. Hard. It felt like someone shattered a two-by-four across her cheek.

"Ow!" The battleship's eyes snapped open. Her boilers roared to life as her temper built up steam. She'd worked fucking hard the past few days. Couldn't she have one fucking day to get some uninterrupted goddamn sleep? "The Fuck you waaaa…."

Jersey trailed off as her eyes slowly brought her surroundings into focus. The improvised Alaskan dockyards were dark and quiet. Starlight filtered in though the skylights and windows to bathe the sleeping forms of battleships and aircraft carriers in an unearthly glow.

Nagato and Mutsu had snuggled up to one another a few feet away from Jersey's own spot. Musashi had both of the AA-destroyers whose names Jersey could never pronounce cuddling against her chest. Akagi's ice cream bucket was slowly melting all over her belly, and Tenryuu had all of DesDiv Six tied off next to her.

Of course, none of that immediately struck Jersey's interest like the blond-haired girl with an eye patch and an old-fashioned Admiral's hat leaning so far over the side of the pool their noses were all but touching.

"Um," Jersey blinked. She could've sworn she'd never seen the girl before in her life. In fact, she was certain of it. She was a square-rigger. A tall ship. With fucking… sails and wood and shit. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen her before. "Hi."

The girl rolled her eyes and straightened up on the pool side. "C'mon, Mate. Don't'cha know who I am?"

Jersey rolled over to prop her arms up against the tile and let her eyes dance up and down the new arrival. With masts like that, she was obviously a tall ship. But she was also short as fuck. She probably wouldn't have reached Jersey's breasts even if you factored in the huge-as black Admiral's hat. "Uh, should I?"

The girl sighed and cradled her head in her hand. A hand, Jersey realized, that was the only one she had. The other sleeve of her deep blue coat was simply pinned up against her slightly-more-curvy-than-Jersey's-but-she's-not-jealous-dammit chest. "You thick Yankee wanker…" she mumbled in a sing-song Australian accent. "I'm fucking Victory, Mate."

Jersey blinked again. "Okay… so you're English then?"

"Darn right!" said the girl. But with her accent, it sounded more like "Dawn Roight!"

"The fuck do you sound like an Aussie?"

The Victory let out a long, exasperated sigh. Like the kind a frustrated parent gives after explaining for the tenth time that—despite all appearances to the contrary—dish soap is not frosting. "Because you're dreaming, Mate."

Jersey opened her mouth to shoot back a snide remark, but thought better of it before she put her plan into action. It did explain a whole lot of shit. And after her last eerie-ass dream, she didn't want to risk missing a detail by arguing.

"Yeah, thought so," said Victory. "Now get your fat Colonial ass out of that pool and let's get some grub, yeah?"

Jersey shrugged. She'd never turn down food, especially when her belly was idly grumbling to anyone within earshot about the lack of cookies inhabiting it. "What?" She pulled herself out of the water, "Not gonna put a shrimp on the barbie?"

"Does it look like there's shrimp around here, mate?" said Victory. "And I'm fucking English. We don't do that kinda shit."

Jersey pulled her hair back into a semi-decent ponytail. Normally, she'd have done some kind of a braid. But this was all a weird-ass dream anyways, so who fucking cares of her hair wasn't perfect. Munchies. "Look, this is gonna bother me if I don't know."

"Why do I speak like a fuckin convict?"

"Yeah, pretty much," said Jersey. The towering battleship cracked a smile at the man-o-war who stood a good two feet shorter than her.

"Because I'm a product of your subconscious, mate," said Victory. "And you-" she poked at Jersey's chest, right at the tie that held the front of her Amerikini together, "Are a dumb Yank wanker who can't do an English accent to save her soul."

"Fuck you, my English accent is fucking perfect."

Victory rolled her one remaining eye with the kind of utter derision you only got from an old British Tar.

"'ello, gov'nah," Jersey arched her back just enough so she was staring down her nose at the sailing ship, "Care for'a spot'a tea 'n ta morn-" she shook her head. "Yeah. Fuck, that's awful as all hell."

"Told ya so, mate."

"Fine, whatever." Jersey scowled and rubbed sandy sleep-crap out of her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Wait." The battleship glanced over to where Musashi was sleeping. The super-battleship floated on her back with her pagodas thrust up to the heavens like two… giant… things punching though the water's surface. "Victory?"

"Yeah, mate?"

"If this is a dream," The American waved at Musashi's still very-much-covered chest, "Why isn't she naked?"

Victory let out a long huff and let her head fall against her chest. "Mate… sometimes a dream gives you what you need, not what you want."

"Then, fucking…" Jersey tore her eyes away from the way Musashi gently jiggled with each shallow breath. "The fuck do I need anyways?"

Victory responded by jumping up on her tip-toes and smacking Jersey across the face with the back of her hand. Really fucking hard.

"Fucking OW!" Jersey slapped her hand to the stinging bruise forming on her cheekbone. "The hell was that?"

"Pull yourself together, mate!" Victory scowled at Jersey with all the conviction of a Lord-Admiral, snapping Jersey to attention with they very force of her glare. "You're a battleship, yeah? Your guns crater the ocean when they speak. Your mere presence brings nations to their knees. You're the best damn warship ever built by mortal hands, yeah?"

"Um…" Jersey gulped. She knew the answer to the question, but she'd never been fixed in the Stare Of Infinite Brass like this before. "Yes?"

"Then why!" Victory smacked Jersey's face with the back of her hand. "The hell," another smack, this time with the heel of her hand, "Have you done nothin'" Back to the back. "But fucking mope around!"

Jersey winced. Her whole face stung like an entire baseball team had broken their bats across it. Her face stung and her temper was howling at redline. How… fucking… dareVictory say something like that. Admiral or no, there were some fucking lines you don't fucking cross.

"Victory," Jersey's voice was cold as frozen steel. She slowly raised a hand to point at where Heermann was sleeping, her arm shaking with rage she could barely even harness. "My escort almost fucking died out there."

"Yeah?" Victory didn't even flinch at the battleship's fury. "What's that saying you Yank destroyer captains had? 'Live fast, Die fast, Take many with you'?"

"The fuck does-" Jersey was cut off by a hash slap across the face.

"America!" Victory smacked Jersey again. "Expects!" smack "That!" smack "Every" smack"Shipgirl!" smack "Will!" smack "Do!" smack "Her!" smack "D!" smack "U!" smack "T!" smack"Y!"

"Fucking OW!" Jersey clapped a hand to her cheek and felt warm trickles of oil and blood ooze out from her split skin. "The fuck was that?"

"Heermann," Victory thrust her hand out like a sword, "Fought her duty to the last. Shefought so you could do your duty."

"Yeah, but-"

"Do I LOOK LIKE I'M DONE?" Bellowed Victory with the thunderous voice of a Lord-Admiral.

Jersey reflexively snapped to attention.

"Good," Victory stood up on her tip-toes, her blazing honey-gold eye locked on Jersey's own. "Now… your duty is to own the waves. You sit that fat American ass down on a patch of ocean and dare anyone else to make you leave. You bounce hits with that armor-"She jabbed her hand into Jersey's stomach. "You punish anyone who'd harm you with those guns-" She jammed her finger into the Battleship's sinewy bicep, "And when your escorts spend their lives to buy you a chance at victory, you take it. That is your duty."

"Victory," Jersey's voice cracked in her throat. "Victory, I-"

"That is your duty, Battleship," the old man-o-war stood back on her heels. "Fight your duty." She thrust out her arm at the sleeping puddle of destroyers, "For their sake. Make the bastards that hurt her run like cowards when they see your battle flag crest the horizon."

Jersey wanted to say something, but her vocal cords were still quivering in fear from the old sailing ship's brutal tirade. Finally, she managed a shaky nod of her head and a mumbled, "yss'am."

"Good to hear, mate!" In an instant, Victory switched back from barking Lord-Admiral to easygoing Aussie. "Now, last I recall, you skipped dinner."

"Uh…" Jersey scrunched up her nose and tried to think back. She'd eaten lunch… then the splash fight with Mushi… then… fuck. She really had skipped dinner! "Fuck."

"Yeah," Victory shrugged, "So you're probably gonna wake up soon and get some grub." The old man-o-war tugged at her hat in what Jersey could only assume was some kind of salute. "Be seeing ya."

Jersey returned the salute with a crisp one of her own. Fuck being 'covered' or 'outdoors.' When the fucking Flagship of Admiral Nelson salutes you, you fucking return the goddamn salute. "Thank you, ma'am."

Victory just smiled as she walked off, each step taking her further into the washed-out white that was slowly encroaching on the battleship. "Oh," she snapped her fingers. "There's one more thing I meant to tell you."

—|—|—

The roaring displeasure of her own stomach shook Jersey out of her sleep mere instants before Victory managed to get that supposedly-crucial bit of information slip. Just five more seconds! One more second!

"Goddammit," Jersey stared at her bare stomach in displeasure. The only response she received was a low rumble that sent ripples though the dark water. Goddamn insubordinate tummy.

Jersey scowled and glanced around to see if her stomach's treacherous grumbling. But other than Nagato working her face deeper into her sister's chest and Akagi licking her lips and sighing in her sleep, not one of the kanmusu moved. Because like a regular goddamn human being… ish… thing, they were asleep at oh-dark-thirty in the fucking morning.

"Fuck," grunted Jersey as she let herself sink lower in the warm dock water. It wasn't as good as a nice warm blanket and an equally-warm puddle of sleeping destroyers, but it was close. She closed her eyes and let herself drift of to sleep again.

And then her increasingly-defiant tummy let out a roaring rumble. It wanted food. It wanted food, and thus she wanted food. Then again, the only time Jersey didn't want to stuff herself to bursting was when her stomach was already so fucking full she could barely even walk. American logistics for the fucking win.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" Jersey grumbled at her stomach as she pulled herself up onto the poolside. Maybe arguing with her own anatomy wasn't the wisest—or sanest—thing for an old battleship to do. But fuck sanity, she was hungry as all fuck.

The battleship yawned as she wandered off in the general direction of food. Her belly was starting to calm down with the promise of… whatever the fuck she could find in the kitchen, but Jersey gave it a few pats just in case. A ship couldn't run if her crew were grumbling, and it seemed logical that the same extended to a shipgirl and her tummy.

On a fighting ship, there would always be something warm available in the mess hall for a hungry sailor on midnight watch, and Jersey hoped the same would carry over to this makeshift naval base. But she wasn't that hopefull, and part of her hoped there wasn't anything waiting for her.

The people of this little island had worked fucking hard to get her girls fed. They deserved a break. Besides, Jersey was a grown-ass woman. She could figure out her way around a fucking sandwich. Probably.

Jersey drummed a cadence out against her rock-hard stomach, sending a smile darting across her face. Let's see Mushi top abs like fucking these. So fucking what if she wasn't top-heavy? But before Jersey could let her abs go to her head, she noticed a sliver of light spilling out from under the kitchen door.

The battleship tapped her knuckles against the door. "Uh… yo?" she asked. She couldn't really consider getting a midnight snack suspicious since she was doing the exact same fucking thing. But she was sure she'd seen every last shipgirl on base napping in the pool.

"'s open," grunted the distinctively non-girlish voice of the Army Major who'd patched up Heermann.

Jersey smiled and ducked though the door. "Morn'n, Major."

"Jersey." The soldier didn't even glance up from his meal, a grilled cheese and some tomato soup if Jersey's skilled lookouts weren't betraying her.

"Solette," Jersey bit the corner of her lip and stared at the stacks of packaged foodstuffs piled up against the walls. "Enjoying some midrats?" she asked as she drummed her hands against her stomach. Mostly just to keep her hands busy while she thought, but… well… the builders over at the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard did good work. She was just showing off their handiwork.

"Actually, I think this is…" the soldier trailed off as he stared at his meal, "Lunch?" He glanced over, eyebrows peaked in uncertainty. "A midnight flight followed by an all-nighter medical procedure plays hell with your sleep schedule."

Jersey shrugged, "Fair enough." The battleship noticed an open crate of peanut butter within arms' reach and started shoveling the plastic cans onto the multipurpose shelf that was her boobs. "Kiddo's doing better by the way."

"Yeah," Solette nodded and spooned a bit of soup onto his sandwich. "I checked in on her earlier."

"Right," Jersey carefully shuffled over to where a few loaves of bread were waiting. "We got any jam?"

"Fridge."

Jersey sighed. This was going to be tricky. "Okay, just…" she shifted her weight so her peanut butter horde piled up on her port side. Ideally, she could use her other boob to balance a few jars of—Jersey squinted into the fridge—strawberry jam. "One second…"

The major rolled his eyes and took a crunchy bite of his sandwich.

A few moments later, Jersey dumped her stash of sandwich ingredients onto the table. She wasn't quite sure how she managed to get everything to the table without breaking anything, and she wasn't going to look into the subject any further. She knew better than to tempt fate.

Solette sighed at the mountain piled up on Jersey's end of the table. "Light snack?"

"Fuck you," grunted Jersey, "I eat like… fucking… all the calories." The battleship slapped her abs before framing them by putting her hands on her broad hips, "And I fucking look like this."

Solette rolled his eyes, then stopped for a second. He craned his neck towards the battleship, brows knitting in a clinical kind of squint. "What happened to your face?"

"What?" Jersey ran a hand across her face. At first she thought he was messing with her. Then she noticed a tiny split on her cheek that was slowly scabbing over. A split in the exact fucking spot Victory had smacked her. "Um…"

"This is going to be a story," said Solette, "I just know."

"I kinda got smacked around in a dream by an old British sailing ship," said Jersey.

Solette arched an eyebrow.

"I was being a little shit, okay?"

"And suddenly the universe makes sense."

"Hardy-fuck you." Jersey threw up her middle finger and let herself fall into a chair. "Food time."

"Jersey?"

"Yeah?"

"You're making PB&Js, right?" Solette's face was twitching in a smile. The kind of smile that says 'I know something you don't.'

"Yeah?" Jersey squinted at the major.

"So you got Peanut butter, Jelly, and bread."

"Yeah."

"How're you gonna spread it?"

"I-" Jersey glanced at her stash. The major was… fucking… right. She didn't even have like… a spoon. Goddammit. "Fuck."

Solette leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "If you ask, I'll go get a-" The soldier froze mid-sentence. In the scant few seconds it'd taken him to formulate his snide comeback, Jersey had—somehow—managed to eat an entire jar of peanut butter. The sides of the clear plastic jar were even licked clean.

"Whu?" The battleship's cheeks were bulging like a chipmunk's, and her voice was muffled by the impossible amount of peanut butter that was somehow inside her.

"I-" Solette blinked.

"Fhucn lhovh dish shtufh," mumbled Jersey as she happily tore open a jar of jam and upended it into her mouth.

Solette blinked again. Just when he thought he'd gotten used to the impossible antics shipgirls could get up to. Then something like this happened.

"Youh wanh suh?" Jersey offered the jar with a sheepish grin plastered all over her chipmunked face.

"I'm good." Solette's voice couldn't be flatter if ran it over with a steamroller. Just when he thought he was finally used to ships that were also girls, the universe pulled something like this on him.

"Yuh lus." Jersey shrugged and sucked down the rest of the jam. Then in what could only be called a titanic effort, the battleship swallowed with a loud gulp. Solette swore he could see her so-called snack work its way down her throat. But, as usual, there wasn't even the slightest dent in those shredded abs.

"So," The battleship let herself fall forwards onto the table so her breasts piled up against the lacquered wood. It would have almost looked accidental if she didn't give her bikini top a few tugs to make sure it was sitting just so.

"So," Solette rolled his eyes and spooned another bit of soup onto his sandwich.

"Okay, first," Jersey squinted at the Major's handiwork, "the fuck you doing? where I come from you dip that shit."

"Ah. Common mistake," Solette smirked and took a quite bite. "If you dip it, you'll get bread in the soup. This way," he doled out another careful helping of soup, "Your soup's as pristine as the day you started. And every bite," he motioned to the sandwich, "is perfectly seasoned."

Jersey blinked. "You put a hell of a lot of thought into this shit, Major."

"Keeps me sane," said Solette. "Well… close enough at least."

Jersey chuckled to herself. "Hey, uh… Major?" The battleship chewed on the corner of her lip as she glanced up at a spot of ceiling tile somewhere behind the soldier's head.

"Yeah?"

"I had a weird-ass dream the other night," said Jersey.

"The one with the sailing ship?"

"Uh, no." Jersey shook her head, "That was, uh… that was a different one." She spun a jar of peanut butter around on the table. "This one… it was all… icy. And shit." She quickly filled him in on all the details. Or at least all the details she could remember from that mindfuck of a dream.

Solette let out a long, huffing breath as he leaned back in his chair. "And you want to know what it means?"

Jersey frantically nodded her head.

"Okay, this is just me talking," said the Major. "But… it sounds like you're lonely."

"Wut?" Jersey tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowing to confused slits.

"The ice is, uh…" Solette shook his head. Been too long since he took any kind of psych class, "You're adrift in a frozen sea, right? You can't find anything to orient yourself towards… then you see someone. Someone you're in love with. But no matter how you try, he's just out of your grasp."

Jersey's eyes narrowed even more so, while her cheeks quickly flushed a pale pink. "I… Uh…" she bit her lip, her trunks swishing against her legs as she squirmed in her seat. "Why? Why do you think that?"

"I spent a deployment away from my wife," said Solette. "And just as I'm packing to go home, they tell me they need me in Japan. Indefinitely."

"Yikes," Jersey cringed in sympathy.

"Yeah," Solette polished off the rest of his sandwich, "After that, just about anythingsounds like loneliness."

"I can see why," said Jersey. She bit her lip and glanced back at the Major. Her cheeks were still glowing a warm red, and her gaze didn't quite meet his. "You, uh… you wouldn't happen to know of anyone I might be, uh… into, would you?"

Solette took a long sip of his soup. A very long sip. A sip so long Jersey started vibrating with anxious energy. "No," he said finally.

"Well, uh…" Jersey tried to rub the blush off her face with the back of her hand. When that failed, she stood up and scowled at nothing in particular. "I'm gonna…" she started drifting towards the door, "go na- actually-" She spun on her heel and grabbed a fresh jar of peanut butter off the table. "Okay, now imma nap."

Solette just rolled his eyes.


	79. A Certain Lady Part 11

_E/N: This takes place after the big battle and well before the last two updates. Old Iron just posted them out of chronological order because that's the order his muse bit him. I, for one, prefer my timelines to be linear!_

 **A Certain Lady Part 11  
**

 **By Old Iron**

It was warm. Warm and soothing.

The feeling of small waves gently lapping up against her hull was relaxing in a way she'd not felt in a very, very long time.

How she had gotten here, she wasn't quite certain. Then last thing she remembered seeing was the sight of of an Admiral wearing an expression of both immense fury and tremendous relief. Then an odd feeling of weightlessness before the void took her. Most likely she had been towed to the docks for her repairs and to resupply.

Arizona's eyes flitted open and the peaceful darkness gave way to a bleary realm of steam, washed out color, and the ambient murmurs of slowly moving water.

"Oh! You're finally up. You've been out for while. If it wasn't for your crew, I'd be worried by now."

Arizona turned her head in the direction of the voice as her senses further returned. Her range finders shook off the cobwebs to focus onto a grinning Hiei lounging a few yards to starboard. Atop her head was a rather stern looking fairy reading over some kind of paper. Probably a status report of some kind.

"You passed out after we entered port. Lost more fuel and blood than we thought. Seems like the one in charge of your piping read something wrong, so your damage control's priorities weren't in the right places." Hiei pointed to the fairy on her head with what appeared to be some sort of tablet. "This one was really mad. "

"I... see." Arizona wasn't really sure how to respond to that little tidbit. Rather than think too hard about it, she instead nodded towards the fairy. "Thank you for your consideration."

Said fairy merely offered a thumbs up as she continued working. She was so focused on her task that she didn't really seem to notice being picked up off of Hiei's head and planted gently on the edge of the bath.

"Now then!" Hiei locked eyes on Arizona and stood from the water. While she much preferred to wear nothing but the hull she was born with in the docks, she'd opted to give Arizona some consideration given when she'd been told about American sensibilities. Hence the reason she had donned a rather fetching two-piece swimsuit that bore a coloring similar to her fit-out's clothing. But if they had been the the baths proper, she'd have made sure Arizona experienced Japanese communal bathing the right way.

Maybe she should plan for that when Mutsu came back. With her and Jintsuu joining them, maybe the American battleship wouldn't feel so out of place. Maybe. Or perhaps Albacore would be a better choice. Things to think about for later.

Arizona eyed the swimsuit-clad fast battleship with a wary gaze before realizing just why she was feeling the waters of the dock as she was. She looked downward to see her decency relatively preserved by a bikini of green and grey arranged in a geometric pattern that was just shy of mind bending. It was a bit snug in the bust and a bit loose in the hips, but hardly anything to complain about. Even if she were in a less damaged state.

"Lieutenant? Why am I wearing this?" She crossed her legs and folded her arms almost defensively. Arizona highly disapproved of wearing such revealing clothing, even for swim wear. Adding the swathes of scars over such large portions of her body and she was set on a path quite rapidly headed for a very sour mood. She wasn't exactly ashamed of what her body looked like, rather what it reminded her of.

"Because you Americans apparently don't like sitting in the docks naked?" Hiei answered as she began making her way over to the uncomfortable looking super dreadnought.

Hiei said it in such a matter-of-factly manner it made Arizona feel a little silly for having asked. She submerged herself just a little lower into the soothing waters.

"I was going to put you in a one-piece, but that might have gotten in the way of your repairs. So I asked Jintsuu to grab one of Mutsu's suits. You're lucky you two have similar measurements." It probably wouldn't have worked out so well if she'd grabbed one of hers. Hiei might favor the battleship side of the Kongou-Class' fast battleship equation, but she still had more stern and less kaboom than a standard like a Pennsylvania-Class. "I had to throw away your clothes though. Almost saved the boots though. Really nice boots, by the way. I thought they just need a bit of a scrub to get the blood off, but the soles came off..."

"...Oh. This is more tame than what I might have expected from her. I appreciate it however." Arizona looked up from the steaming water over to the approaching Hiei. "But what am I supposed to wear once I am done here? I don't own any spare uniforms. Or any spare clothing at all for that matter." She did not exactly relish the idea of having to borrow anything from Mutsu. Apparent sizing similarities aside, she would rather wear this swimsuit than what the Lieutenant Commander deemed appropriate for duty-wear.

"Mutsu has a really good sense of fashion, so don't let her uniform fool you. You'll have a nice, fresh uniform waiting in your locker so you don't need to worry about that. And we've got some spare NWU's you can borrow if you don't feel like putting it back on just yet. Not the Admiral's though. Tempting. But not his." Hiei sat back down in the water next to the redheaded battleship and sighed contentedly.

There was a moment of silence as neither spoke. Arizona held up a hand and regarded it curiously, still very much not used to actually having the appendage.

"How was it? When you came back?"

"Hmm... Really busy. I think the only time I wasn't doing something was when I was actually asleep. If anything, it got even busier when I was assigned to an Admiral and not just running around to wherever they needed guns." Hiei stretched her arms over her head, sending rivulets of hot water streaming down her upper half. She expelled a sigh of relief as the muscles in her shoulders were pulled into a pleasant tension.

"That would be Admiral Richardson, correct? He mentioned you being quite slow in the beginning." Arizona moved some stray locks of soaked copper hair out of her vision and tucked them behind her ear. She much preferred to have her hair tied up, she had determined. It was more... appealing. "And you were built in the early 1900's, so you'd have had the same problem I do with anti-air."

"Correct! I managed to avoid having those stupid torpedoes though. So it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Still pretty bad though. And what the Admiral put me through... I saw more training hours and combat time in a week than most girls saw in a month. He does the same thing to any girl who winds up under his command. Even if they're only here for a short time." Hiei grinned as she gave Arizona a sidelong glance. "Prepare your body, mind, and especially your spirit. No one will go easy on you."

"I would be insulted if you did." The ghost of a smile fluttered over Arizona's lips. "I have a great deal to make up for. I cannot afford to be found lacking again. Not if I mean to keep going."

"Good. Keep that mindset. It'll get you through a lot." Hiei turned to Arizona and rested folded hands on the American's shoulder. "And it'll keep you away from those dark places you were going. We have all failed in some way or another. Absolutely. Without exception."

"Even-?"

"Mutsu. Jintsuu. Myself. Nagato. Kongou. If you name a girl who came back. You will find a story of some sort of failure. It doesn't matter how great it is or if it's personal or not. There's not a single person or ship in this world who doesn't have a failure they want to make right. Even your mighty New Jersey has something." She gave a brief laugh. "Ah... Kongou-oneesama is a lot better at this sort of thing."

"I think... you are doing a well enough job." Particularly when dealing with a grump like herself if she were to be perfectly honest at the moment. "Did Albacore join us?"

"Just long enough to wash up. She needed to be debriefed and explain to Admiral Richardson what happened. And more importantly explain why she left Jane high and dry on that cake." She never got a cake. And here Albacore just ran out on one. The injustice! The unfairness of it all!

"Is Jane's cooking really so prized? What I tasted was incredibly delicious, but the situation seems... unusual." Arizona turned her head slightly so she could gauge Hiei's reaction out of the corner of her eye. All she saw was narrowed eyes and a kind of disappointed disbelief.

"I'll let that go for now. You're still new."

"I'm... sorry?"

"Not yet, but you will be. Ah! Speaking of sorry, I remember one of the reasons I was waiting here for you to wake up." Hiei's grasp on Arizona's shoulder tightened, all 136,000 horsepower she was capable of mustering being brought to bear in a grip that was firm to the point of making any sort of escape a very real impossibility.

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant Hiei, what are you doing? Let me go. Now." Arizona would not expose any amount of nervousness. Not even a sliver. Not even in the face of such an experienced warship like Hiei.

"Nope. I held back because that was your first battle and you were not only courageous, but effective. I also waited until you were in good enough shape so your Chief Engineer won't be too angry." Her blue eyes took on a diamond-like hardness. "But someone..."

Arizona let out an inelegant yelp of surprise as she was bodily hurled from her position to one of the shallower areas of the dock normally reserved for destroyers. She didn't have any time to react as she found herself straddled by Hiei, held fast by a powerful grip and expert positioning.

Hiei leaned in close enough that all the American could see was the fast battleship's imperious glare and commanding expression.

"Someone needs to learn how to conduct herself in battle. I am going to teach you these things. You are going to learn and you will learn with all your spirit. Am I clear Lieutenant Arizona? The only response I will accept out of your mouth will be 'Yes, Lieutenant' or 'Yes, ma'am'."

"...Yes, Lieutenant."

—|—|—

Albacore was feeling incredibly nervous. She did her best to hide it, but she would not deny that she was just shy of being little more than a bundle of nerves wrapped up in a submarine's shell. Or girl. This human-shaped thing would take a lot of getting used to.

In front of her was the CNO of United States Combined Fleet Activities Sasebo, Rear Admiral Lower Half John A Richardson. She found the John A part after taking a look at the nameplate on his desk. A nameplate which happened to be held up by toy fairies wearing NWU's. It was actually rather cute. Most likely a gift from his daughter.

"I'm not the first, but let me extend my welcome to you anyways. Welcome to Sasebo, Albacore. And thanks again for saving one of my girls." Richardson stood as he spoke, culminating in a salute that Albacore readily returned. Not nearly as awkward as Arizona's had been, but Albacore had a bit more time to figure out how hands worked than Arizona did.

"It's a pleasure to be here sir. Thank you for having me." Albacore maintained a professional demeanor as she spoke. She already had the deck stacked against her, so making the best possible impression in-person was paramount. "And I was just doing my duty, sir."

"You did it well. At ease." Richardson walked around the desk until he stood between it and Albacore. He leaned up against the heavy furniture and crossed his arms as he took stock of the submarine. Albacore was famous. Incredibly famous. And now she had come back from the great beyond to serve again. Albeit in the form of a teenager with a fauxhawk and a penchant for breaking and entering, but back nonetheless.

"Sir, may I ask what you have planned for me?" Albacore didn't really want to interrupt the Admiral's thoughts, but she was nervous enough to speak out of turn. It didn't help that submarines tended to... fall by the wayside. At least so far as she understood.

"First, if you plan to serve the United States military again, I'm going to need to assign you a rank. You'll start as a Lieutenant Junior Grade and we'll see how you perform." Richardson extended his thumb before his index finger as he began counting off his answers. "Second, I plan on using you for recon first and foremost. The Abyssal shitstains like to play hide-and-seek, so we're stuck on responsive maneuvers. Good info is life and death, just like it's always been and subs are really good at getting it. In fact it was a sub that brought us the info that let us bag the biggest Abyssal kill in history. If you can make a kill, great. But recon is what we need most right now."

Albacore's eyes widened. Submarines were more than the neglected family member of the Navy now. They were integral!

"Thirdly, because submarines are so useful you're probably going to be receiving commands from Admirals who aren't me. You follow their orders. None of that 'But MY Admiral said-' bullshit."

"O-Of course, sir!" As if there was any doubt she wouldn't follow orders. She was a good sub. A Gato-Class. And she did her job really, really damn well. Whether recon or kill orders, she'd get it done. She bit back a smile as Richardson grinned. She'd make her Admiral proud of her!

"And lastly, thou shalt not steal your Admiral's pants unless you don't have any other damn choice."

"S-Sorry, sir..." Albacore's bright and proper demeanor dimmed. Her hands twitched as she was about to reach for the folded over waistline. "I'll return these."

"Keep 'em. You had your reasons. Just don't make a habit out of it. You need clothes, you buy clothes. This isn't the forties anymore and the Navy doesn't shit all over their subs anymore." He was still pretty irked about the loss of his pants. But he was in too good a mood to really care at the moment. He was also exhausted. So that might be playing a part in it. "Now that I've pretty much said my piece, anything you want to say? Lay it out."

"...I would like to apologize, sir. To you and to your daughter, Jane." She really, really wanted to say sorry to Jane. The girl had gone out of her way to make her feel welcome and she'd skipped town on her.

"You'll have to wait on Jane. She has school. I can bring you along when I go pick her up if you prefer. Or you can return the favor she gave you and have something ready when she comes home." And he'd make sure Jintsuu was around regardless. The light cruiser was not happy that she'd had the wool pulled over her eyes so handily. So that was some air that needed to be cleared.

"I'll make something for her. She was going to make a cake and I... ran. I-If you'll let me use the kitchen, that is, sir." It would be rather difficult if she didn't actually have ingredients or utensils. She could make due without all the right items, but the end result wouldn't be nearly as tasty.

"Don't see why not. You'll have a minder regardless."

Albacore didn't really like the sound of that. Understandable, but not appealing in the slightest.

"There are two rules of thumb here on base. The first is don't mess with Jane. If I don't come after you like a stereotypical overprotective father with anger issues, then there's at least two battleships and a light cruiser that will. You might get us all if you're really not lucky." He did not chuckle at Albacore's dumbfounded reaction. Not at all. "That ties into the second rule. Don't mess with Jintsuu. Ever."

"And I did both, didn't I."

"Without a doubt. But! The ultimate result of you doing so, saved Arizona and helped bring Hiei back in as good a shape as she was in." It was also the reason he wasn't making tuna salad at the moment. "I'm pretty sure you're in the clear. At worst, Jintsuu will be a little irritated you gave her the slip. But she's a good sport."

"I hope so, sir. I know I didn't make the best of impressions, but... I-I was scared, sir. Japan was the enemy when I was launched. And when I sank." Her hands balled into fists at her sides as Richardson looked on silently. "There was a Sendai where I woke up and all these Nip pictures with American signs. And I was so hungry. And... I didn't know what was going on... I..."

"So you did the only thing you could do. You maintained operational awareness and did what you needed to survive, right?" Richardson wasn't sure he'd be able to maintain that level of dedication in the same situation. He'd do his damnedest, but he honestly wasn't sure he could measure up to what Albacore had done.

"Y-Yeah..."

"...Christ." Richardson's grumble set Albacore on edge and she almost flinched when he moved close enough to the submarine to reach out and lay a hand on her head. "I really don't like the fact that you broke into my home. In fact I'm really fucking pissed about it. But you were just trying to survive in what you thought was hostile territory. And more importantly, you didn't hurt Jane. I forgive you."

"Thank you... sir." Albacore would not admit to enjoying having her head pat. Nope. Not ever. Not to her Admiral's face.

"You need anything?"

"Um, I'd like to get some things at the grocers. So I can make something for Jane. And Jintsuu. ...I'll make something for everyone. Something really nice as thanks." Her nervous and worried expression rapidly melted into one of determination. "And to celebrate all of us coming home!"

"I think you'll fit in just fine, Albacore."

"You can call me Albie if you like, sir."

Richardson laughed and ruffled her fauxhawk again.

"Alright. Albie it is."


	80. Chapter 61: Friscotime

**Chapter 61: Firiscotime**

Every last eye in the enormous concert hall was practically welded to San Francisco. What felt like the whole world stared at her and held its breath. Frisco felt her own heart—did she even _have a heart_ —pound against her rib cage. An eight-piece symphony beat deep within her chest as her boilers pushed against their red lines. Frisco was a fighting ship. There wasn't much she remembered about life stateside, and even less she experienced even second hand. But she knew enough.

After Pearl, after _Ari_ , people like… _her_ weren't Americans anymore. They weren't patriots who wanted to serve the country of their birth. They were _targets._ Nisei Americans might have bled red-white-and-blue, but all their fellow countrymen saw was the yellow skin of the country that'd sucker-punched the great ships of Pearl Harbor.

Watching all these people stare down at her in mute shock, Frisco felt her hands ball to fists by her side. She clenched the muscles of her scared stomach and forced herself to take a deep breath. They might hate her… they might drag her into a camp and let her rot until the war was over. But she would not, _would NOT_ fight back. She was an American warship, she'd be damned before she threw a punch at another American. _Never again_ would she harm her countrymen. Even if it meant a quick trip to the breakers.

But as the fetching little brunette who'd identified herself as a sailor lead Frisco though the crowd, the old heavy cruiser noticed something. Something she'd missed in her panic.

Every last eye in the enormous concert hall was staring at her. Some held up slender black slivers of metal, some just stared with tears trailing down their cheeks. They were all staring at _her_. With _hope_.

Dammit. Now _she_ was starting to tear up. That just wouldn't do. Especially with a clutch of destroyers excitedly plowing a path though the crowd. Frisco wiped at her face with the end of her neckerchief and turned to the cute sailor girl. Damn, they did _not_ make sailors like her during the war. No sir.

"Hey, uh…" Frisco trailed off. She wasn't even sure what the girl's name was, nor did she know her rank. She didn't even know her _own_ rank, for that matter. Did ships even _get_ ranks?

"Yeah?" the girl glanced over with a cute little smile. The kind of dopey smile you get when something nice has happened. The kind that you can't drive off even with a division of angry Marines.

"I don't uh…" Frisco let her hands fall to the pistol belt handing around her hips. "You got a name, sailor?"

"Oh, shit, uh… yeah," the sailor's face blushed a pale red, "Yeoman second class Sarah Gale, nice to meet you."

"You too," Frisco blew a loose strand of raven black hair out of her eye. As much as she appreciated how good her new hair looked, it was getting annoying. "Where're we going for dinner?"

"Well," the girl—Gale—fumbled with a slim rubber-encased rectangle. "There's a nice Japanese place-"

"No," Frisco shook her head, her hands idly crawling back up her body to cradle her scarred-over stomach. "I, uh… I've had enough Chop Suey to last me a lifetime. I wanna burger."

"Me too!" chorused the three destroyers.

"A burger sounds great right now," said the slightly taller and much _much_ curvier North Carolina class battleship.

"You sure?" Gale's gaze drifted across the busy street

"I'm American," said Frisco, "I need burgers in my belly."

"Well," Gale sighed. The sailors eyes drifted down Frisco's hull—or her body—for a brief second before darting back up to her eyes, "I guess I can't argue with that. Hard Rock Cafe's just down the block."

"Oooh, that sounds awesome!" said Kidd.

"I can dig it," said Bannie.

Dee just nodded enthusiastically.

"I bow you your culinary skills," said Wash with an exaggerated curtsy. A curtsy that, Frisco couldn't help but notice, pulled her sweater a little snug around those torpedo bulges. By the glowing blush on Gale's face, she noticed too.

"Uh…" Gale gulped. "Yeah. Let's just…" she trailed off and stuck off down the sidewalk.

For a few moments, the little flotilla walked in silence. Frisco couldn't help but smile as the concentrated… _humanity_ of the big city washed over her. Her skin was bathed in the off-orange glow of street lamps and the kaleidoscope of neon signs. The crisp December air was heavy with the sent of cooking food, burnt gasoline, and warm breath, it surrounded her like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. It felt like _home._

"Hey, ah, Frisco?" Gale glanced over with one eyebrow solidly stuck at full attention.

"Hmm?" As much as the cruiser enjoyed just drinking in her new surroundings, she was happy to talk with someone. All those long years of service, and she could _finally_ talk to someone.

"I, uh… My old girlfriend was from Cali," said Gale. If she noticed the way Frisco's eyebrows peaked, she didn't say anything. "She said nobody calls the city 'Frisco'. They call it 'San Fran'."

"Well… of course," said Frisco. "Emperor Norton made it illegal to call San Francisco 'Frisco decades ago. That's old news even for me."

"Then why do you go by Frisco?"

Frisco blinked. "Do I look like a city?" She asked. "San Fran's my namesake, but _I'm_ Frisco."

"Oh," Gale nodded, "Okay. That makes sense."

"Gale," Wash spoke up for the first time in a few minutes, "I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

"Ex!" snapped Gale. "Uh… ex… she was my ex," the sailor offered a timid smile. "We're not a thing anymore."

"Oh," said Wash with a nod. Her regal face didn't betray anything beyond a hint of genuine interest.

"Oh~" Frisco smiled to herself as she let that trailing tilde slip though her lips.

"Oh…" Gale let out a frustrated sigh. The sailor grumbled something under her breath in the way that only NCOs truly can and quickly herded the girls into a gaudily decorated restaurant with a large guitar acting as its sign. Before the fetching Asian waitress could open her mouth, Gale flipped open her military ID and wafted it thought he air.

"That one's a battleship," Gale pointed to where Wash was idly pawing at the snug-fitting fabric over her belly.

The waitress's face drained of color faster than Frisco thought humanly possible. "I… I…" she sputtered as her mind frantically struggled to get itself back on its rails. "I, uh… " her voice died even as her mouth kept spasming like a goldfish abruptly yanked out of water. She glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen. "I'll get you guys a table."

The little flotilla wordlessly fell into line astern behind the waitress. Frisco felt her stomach rumble as the smell of fresh hamburgers wafted though the air. She hadn't relized it before, but she was _hungry._ Starving, even. The muscles around her stomach were quivering as her belly cramped inside her. No wonder her crew liked chow time so much.

"Here you go." The girl's voice was as flat as a scratchy record that'd been played a few times to many as she mechanically motioned to a booth in the corner. "Can I get you started with anything?"

"Mac and cheese for the kiddos," Gale motioned to where Kidd and Bannie were frantically fencing with their butter knives. "A Texan sandwich for me," Gale sighed and stared down Frisco and Wash.

Both shipgirls were pawing at their bellies as the sent of cooking meat wafted though the spiced air. Then Wash's belly let out a little gurgle loud enough to get Kidd and Bannie to stop their flynning.

"Get them one of literally everything you have," said Gale, "And we'll go from there."

"O-" the waitress gulped, "Okay," she mumbled.

Mere instants after the traumatized waitress left, Gale sunk low in her chair. Her jeans squealed against the vinyl as she slid so low her head was barely visible above the table. With a pointed look to Wash and Frisco, the sailor held up her little rectangle like it was a crucifix and started frantically jabbing at its surface. It was a defense even Kidd and Bannie's sword fight couldn't shatter.


	81. Chapter 62: Four Points!

**Chapter 62: Four Points!**

Yeoman Gale lazily chewed on her sandwich, letting the carefully balanced spices play out their delicious symphony on her taste buds. It wasn't _often_ that she got to eat food this good, so she was going to enjoy every last bite. Unlike, it seems, some people.

The destroyer-girls had hurriedly inhaled their meals, as destroyer-girls are wont to do, and bustled off to the arcade machines set up in the back corner. Wash was eating her usual demure calm. Ever so often, she'd dab at her cheeks—or, to Gale's chagrin, her chest—when a rouge drop of sauce escaped her bun. But for the most part, the battleship ate in silence.

Frisco, however, had no such grace. The lanky heavy cruiser scarfed down her food like a starving woman. She hunkered over her plate like a wolf, her elbows resting against the table and her face perpetually buried in a burger. She only stopped her ravenous feast long enough to take a quick sip of her drink before launching back into her meal.

And of course, the half-dozen burgers she'd gulped down didn't have the slightest impact on her waistline. Normally, Gale might have felt a little annoyed at that.

But not this time. Compared to the boisterous Fletcher and Wash's… Womanly-ness, the cruiser looked lean and almost underfed. And that wasn't all. Frisco's cropped crackerjack top showed off a stomach criss-crossed with more scar tissue than skin. Yet more scars peeked out of her short-sleeved shirt and ran up her neck like welding beads.

Gale wasn't sure how long she'd been staring when Frisco finally broke the monotony of her own gluttony. "So," the cruiser somehow managed to sneak a word past the blockade of hamburger filling her mouth. "Imma make a wild guess here," the cruiser gulped down the last few bites of burger that were still hanging out in her puffed-out cheeks, "You need me to turn some Cthulhu wannabe into sushi, right?"

Gale almost dropped her phone. "Wha- what?"

"Sushi." Frisco made a circle with her thumb and forefinger and held it in front of her hazel eye. "Like… raw fish and rice wrapped in seaweed." The cruiser shrugged, "It's… cultural. And stuff."

"No, I- I know what Sushi is," said Gale. "I just…"

"Is it the Cthulhu thing then?" Frisco slouched back in her chair. "It's this… big-"

"No, I know who he is too," said Gale. "I'm… I didn't…" She shook her head with a resigned sigh. Just when she thought she was getting a handle on this whole ship girl thing, "I didn't tell you _anything_."

"Oh, you didn't," Frisco took a long sip of her milkshake, her slender ebony eyebrows bouncing just so. "Everything else did."

"What?"

"Okay," Frisco straighted up in her seat. Her eyes glimmered as a smile crept up her face. "We're at war. Otherwise you wouldn't have even summoned me. And the fact that nobody's batting an eye at a _heavy cruiser_ walking around in this-" she glanced down at her scarred-over body, "Rather fetching body tells me that A-"

Frisco held up one finger, "there's something supernatural going on, and B:" she counted off another, "Whatever it is happens so often that nobody's really surprised anymore."

The cruiser smirked as she threw her arms up to rest along the back of the booth bench. "Annnnd, given that there's not a fleet on earth that could make the United States Navy so desperate for hulls they're calling up old treaty cruisers, some kinda demon from the abyss seems like the most reasonable option."

Gale blinked while her mind caught up with the cruiser's logic. It was… actually pretty sound. "Yeah, actually," she shrugged, "That's about it."

"You're very insightful, Frisco." Wash aimed a tender smile at the heavy cruiser.

"Ah," Frisco waved off the praise with a swish of her gloved hand, "It comes with the territory."

"It… does?" Gale blinked.

"Well… yeah," Frisco nodded to herself. "I'm a cruiser, we're the eyes and ears of the fleet. Or… at least we were before all that fancy spy stuff."

"We're glad to have you," Wash slipped one arm around Frisco's slender shoulders and pulled her into a hug. Frisco's cheeks blushed a brilliant scarlet as her bare arm collided with the battleship's sweater-covered chest.

"Ah-" the corner of the cruiser's mouth quivered between the smile she wanted to show and the gruff scowl her persona demanded. "Ah… um… okay."

Gale smiled. It was nice to see someone else suffer for once. She shot Frisco a quick glance over the top of her phone, then slowly made a show of logging out and slipping it back into her pocket.

Frisco glared daggers at Gale.

"Hey, Frisco?" Gale idly waved a toothpick though the air, "I thought you survived the war."

"I did," Frisco glanced down at the scars criss-crossing her bare midriff, "Well, most of me anyways."

"Then…" Gale bit the corner of her lip. She was treading on ground she'd rather forget. But somethings just had to be addressed. "You, uh… you know we closed those camps down, right?"

"Yeah," Frisco's face hardened for a moment, her cheekbones turning to forged steel as her muscles twitched reflexively. "Yeah, I know."

"Then…" Gale tapped her fingers against the thigh of her jeans. "Then why- why'd you think we'd stick you in one?"

"I'm not a battleship," said Frisco.

Wash nodded sagely.

Gale blinked. "I'm sorry, but… what?"

"I'm not a battleship," Frisco pointed to her own lanky, sinewy build. "I don't have the belt for a stand-up knock-down fight. I'm supposed to _run_ from anything I can't bully."

"Oh," Gale winced as she made the connection. "Oh, shit… so when you showed up-"

"I was backed into a corner, yeah," said Frisco. For a long second, she just stared into the distance at a point somewhere behind Gale's half-finished diet coke. "Yeah," the cruiser took in a shallow breath. "Look, I'll raise hell if you need me. Wherever you need me," Frisco shot Gale a pleading stare, "But even I get scared too sometimes."

Gale didn't know what to say. She'd never met a ship girl who was afraid before, or at least _admitted_ she was afraid. Wash and Jersey seemed to _relish_ the danger of battle, and none of the destroyers she knew showed the slightest pause before hurling themselves into the jaws of the enemy.

"We all do," said Wash. The battleship tugged her sweater smooth and shook a loose bit of russet-brown hair out of her eyes. "In our own way."

"Really?" Gale shot Wash a look that would have been incredulous if the battleship's way of speaking hadn't been so damn disarming.

"I'm a battleship," said Wash. "When I stand in the line of battle, I know there is a risk." She steeped her fingers, her gaze going distant as she gathered her thoughts. "But it's what I'm built for. If I die on the line, I die knowing I've made my country proud. I die with my duty fulfilled."

Gale glanced over to where Kidd and Bannie had resumed their sword fight with Dee as their well-intentioned but ultimately useless referee. "What about-"

"The destroyers?" Frisco scratched at the scars covering her stomach, "Their crews called them 'tin cans'. They lived by the mantra 'live fast, die young, take many with you'."

"Every engagement is a risk for those girls," said Wash. "But there's also no room for hesitation. If they commit to an attack they can't hold anything back."

"And then," Frisco nodded at where Bannie was sitting on Dee's shoulders while Kidd tried to rope a waitress into her little fencing war. "They try and get as much living in while they've got the chance."

"Wow," Gale pursed her lips. "That's uh… that's pretty deep."

It was at that very second that Dee tripped over seemingly nothing, sending herself and Bannie flying through the air to land in a puddle at Kidd's feet.

"Four points!" Kidd thrust her hands in the air with a brilliant smile.

Gale slumped her shoulders with a quiet "dangit."


	82. Chapter 63: Duckies Are For Bullying

**Chapter 63: Duckies Are For Bullying**

In his long career in the United States Army Nurse Corps, Major Solette had experienced many _many_ ways to get unexpectedly jolted from the calming warmness that was his bed. Many of them involved second lieutenants with faces whiter than sheets frantically explaining the trouble they'd managed to get themselves into. That, or the trouble some ham-headed doctor blundered into by not following clear goddamn instructions. And there were always the ever-amusing superglue incidents.

But he'd more than doubled the list in the few months he spent working with shipgirls. The girls' unique biology—if you could even _call_ it that—allowed for, as Akashi like to put it, "New and more interesting ways of hurting yourself." From well-meaning but unthinking doctors trying to put several thousands tons of steel war machine though an MRI, to patching destroyers after they ran their little turbines too hard, to… well just about anything Tenryuu got dared into doing, the stories were as endless as they were insane.

Luckily, however, shipgirls had brought a few things with them. And one that was quickly becoming the Major's favorite was a sudden arrival by the coffee fairy.

"Good morning, nanodesu," Inazuma offered a shy smile from underneath the comically large carafe she held balanced on her little head. "Coffee, Solette-san?"

"G'mornin Inazuma," Solette smiled at the girl as he lazily rolled out of bed. His blouse was still hanging against the wall—he hadn't gotten around to cleaning the syrup off it after the Taffies' little accident—but the rest of his uniform was just a few shuffling steps away. If the little destroyer minded seeing him in boxers, she didn't show it. "What uh," Solette stifled a yawn as he pulled on his rumpled fatigues, "What time is it?"

"Oh-five-hundred, nanodesu." The third-generation special-type slowly pivoted to face Solette, her enormous coffee-laden hat gliding like a battleship's turret.

Solette grunted as he fumbled for his boots. "Oh-five?"

Inazuma nodded. "It's why I brought you coffee," The destroyer glanced up at her makeshift helmet.

Solette smiled and obligingly took the carafe off the girl's head. "Bless you, Inazuma."

The destroyer girl beamed while the Major poured himself a healthy cup. The coffee was black and strong enough for the fumes alone to send the last remnants of sleep routing, but it didn't look like the half-burnt, heavily salted gunk that sailors—and particularly shipgirls—guzzled down. This was _proper_ coffee.

Solette took a quick sip. It was bitter, yes, and strong. But somehow _smooth_. He smiled and ruffled the destroyer's scruffy hair.

"Hawawaw~" Inazuma's face erupted in a smile and her legs turned to jelly. "You're welcome, major!" She threw her little arms around the Major's waist and squeezed him tight. "But, uh… we should really get going."

Solette took a long sip of his coffee. As a rule, especially on bases as hard-pressed for resources as Adak, human personnel and destroyers ate first.

Partly because a destroyer's tiny boilers built up steam faster than even the quickest battleship. They'd be up, showered, changed, and fed all before the heavier ships had even fully woken up. But mostly, it was because a battleship could eat more than an entire platoon. Once Jersey, Musashi, Akagi, and the others started eating, they wouldn't stop until there wasn't a crumb left for _anyone._ And odds are, they _still_ wouldn't be full.

"You know who's on cooking duty?" Solette felt his stomach grumble at him as he finished lacing up his boots. But it was a very timid grumble, like a junior NCO muttering to himself when he thinks his CO's busy with a phone call. It wasn't even close to the wall-shaking rumbles he'd heard from hungry battleships.

"Um…" Inazuma tapped her finger to her mouth, her brows knitting in concentration. "Jersey-san and the Kongous."

Solette glanced at his watch. "Jersey?" The grouchy battleship hadn't been back long, but her reputation for immense laziness had spread though the services like wildfire.

"Mmhm," Inzauma gave an enthusiastic nod. "She said woke up to get a snack at midnight, and she couldn't get back to bed."

Solette blinked. "A snack?"

Inazuma nodded.

"She ate half a dozen jars of peanut butter," said the Major, "That I know of."

Inazuma nodded again, a blissful smile on her face.

"That's a lot," explained the Soldier.

Inazuma shrugged, then gently nodded towards the door.

Solette took the hint and fell into line astern of the tiny destroyer girl. "After you, Inazuma." He didn't really _need_ the escort. Even if he hadn't memorized the way to the hotel dining room, the powerful sent of cooking eggs and bacon called to him like a lighthouse in the middle of raging storm. Or some other suitably nautical metaphor, Solette was still a ground pounder at heart.

Inazuma, for her part, didn't say much on the short walk. She'd collected her carafe—and balanced it on her head, naturally—and tottered along with grave seriousness. Destroyers only had room for one emotion or action at a time, and they always threw every fiber of their being into whatever it was they were doing at the moment. It was commendable and adorable at the same time.

A few moments later, Solette and his little escort pushed their way though the dining room's heavy double doors. And _barely_ avoided getting plowed over by a blur of feathers and giggles.

Solette's hand couldn't reach his face fast enough. One of the local metal workers had whipped up a wheelchair strong enough to handle Heermann's weight. At the time, it'd sounded like a good idea. But now, Solette was regretting making the little murderballs even _more_ mobile.

"Weeee!" Heermann threw her hands up in the air as her sisters raced her around the room as fast as their little legs could manage.

Solette sighed. "I don't know what I expected," he grumbled, more for his own benefit than anyone else's. But even he couldn't get too upset. Yes, the little shits were causing trouble like nobody's business, but at least Heermann was visibly enjoying herself. The little Fletcher was healing, albeit healing back into a hyperactive little murderball.

"Dooooooooc!" Heermann waved at him, her stumpy little shins flailing against the foam rubber of her seat. "Dooooooooc! Lookit meeeee!"

Solette raised his coffee in the closest approximation of a salute he could be bothered to give this early in the morning. Besides, breakfast awaited him.

And what a breakfast it was. The smells of Scrambled eggs, fluffy biscuits with thick sausage gravy, thick-sliced bacon smoked to perfection, and Kongou's fresh scones, washed over Solette like waves crashing against a sandy beach. His mouth was watering at the sight, and the smell was so entrancing, it took him almost a solid minute to realize that New Jersey was sitting behind the counter.

Dressed in nothing more than that American flag bikini she loved so much and her mirrored aviators.

"Heya, Major," the battleship shot Solette a smirk. "What can I do for ya?"

"Well," Solette motioned to the mountain of eggs piled up on Jersey's griddle, "some eggs would be nice."

"Oh," Jersey's smirk grew into an almost lecherous grin. "You, uh… you want my _eggs_ now, huh?"

Solette's glare could've peeled the paint off a wall at fifty paces.

"I'm just saying," Jersey bounced her eyebrows as she shoveled a generous helping of scrambled eggs onto a plate and handed it to Solette. "Wouldn't be the first time I was filled with sea-" the battleship was abruptly silenced by a oven-fresh scone. Strawberry, if Solette's nose was accurate.

"Dess!" Kongou thrust a thumb up into the air and offered Solette a wink. Like Jersey, she was still in her swimsuit… for some reason, but at least she'd thrown an apron on over top. The Japanese girl just giggled before bouncing—in _every_ sense of the word. That bikini gave less support than a binding UN resolution—back to her oven.

Jersey just shrugged and gulped down the scone in one bite. "Damn, that shit's good."

Solette smirked.

Jersey scowled. "If you say 'that's what she said', so help me god, I will fuck you up."

Soltte smiled an innocent, almost cherubic smile. "Who, me?"

Jersey screwed up her face. Her nose crinkled around the bridge like straining metal, her brows knit into a palisade and her icy eyes narrowed to slits. "I…" Solette swore he could see faeries scrambling around her bridge trying to come up with a witty response. But the best the battleship manage was a grunted, "Fuck."

The Major rolled his eyes. He was about to shoot back a much wittier retort when he felt a gentle tug on the end of his belt.

"Excuse me," said the measured voice of a destroyer, "Can I get some?"

"Yeah, sure," said Solette, "Just let…" the major felt his voice die in the back of his throat when he glanced down at the source of the tug.

It was Akizuki, he'd recognize that hair-band anywhere. But she was in her swimsuit, a cute two-peice in her usual colors of white and off-black, not her usual corset and skirt ensemble.

Solette didn't see the anti-aircraft destroyers around base very often, but he'd gotten the distinct impression they were very sleek, slender girls. Both of them stood a bit taller than the stocky taffies, and their corsets made them look even sleeker.

But… seeing Akizuki like this, with her stomach on display for all to see, the Major couldn't shake the feeling that the little girl looked… _skinny._ Not sleek, not svelte, _skinny._ The poor thing radiated malnourishment, and Solette could almost count her ribs though her pale skin.

"Hey," Jersey leaned over with a horse whisper. "You wanna see something funny?"

Solette just numbly nodded and stepped back to let the skinny destroyer get her much-needed breakfast. He wasn't quite sure what part of this was 'funny', but he trusted Jersey to have… something up her sleeve.

"Heya, kiddo," Jersey rested her forearms on the bare metal of her griddle. "What can I get for ya?"

"Can I have some eggs, please?" the little destroyer offered her plate with the kind of timid half-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She almost looked like she _expected_ to be turned down.

"Yeah, sure," The battleship started shoving eggs onto the clean porcelain with her spatula. "How much do you want?"

The destroyer stood on tip-toes to get a look. Her jaw went slack at the mountain Jersey was shoveling onto her plate. Her knees went loose and she would have fallen onto the floor in a shocked puddle of destroyer if Solette hadn't been there to catch her. "Tha- tha-"

"So more then," said Jersey with a smirk.

"N-no, that's…" the destroyer struggled back to her feet, "That's- thank you," she managed a timid bow, "May I have my plate now?"

Jersey squinted at the girl, sizing up her slender build. "No."

"Bu-bu-" the destroyer stammered, helpless to do anything as long as Jersey held her plate hostage.

The American smirked and shoveled another load of eggs onto the plate, roughly doubling the amount that'd been there before. "Hmm…" Jersey scraped a few stragglers onto the plate and held it up for an exaggerated inspection. "Kirishima?"

"Hai?"

"I feel like there's something missing here?"

The Japanese fast battleship nodded sagely. Her glasses glinted in the light as she leaned in to give the plate her through inspection. "Hmm…"

The destroyer quivered between confusion and unrestrained glee. Kirishima produced a pair of calipers from… somewhere and held them against the mountain of eggs with a quite "hmmmm."

"According to my calculating," Kirishima thrust her finger in the air, "This plate is missing bacon!"

"Bacon you say?"

"I do indeed!"

"Well then," Jersey offered the plate to Kirishima, "Let's remedy this!"

"Kirishima heading out!" The youngest Kongou flipped her tongs around her finger like an old-west gunfighter spinning his pistol, garnering an enthusiastic thumbs-up from the nameship of her class.

The destroyer's little mouth hung open in mute astonishment as Kirishima carefully placed a full dozen slices of thick bacon onto the plate and presented it to Jersey.

"Hmm," Jersey squinted at the plate, "I give my seal of approval!" She smiled and offered the plate to it's stunned owner. Solette had to guide the destroyer's arms up to meet the plate.

"This-" The little destroyer girl stared down at a mountain of eggs roughly the size of Musashi's ego. "This is too-"

Kongou silenced the girl with her patented 'shove a scone into the problem' method.

"Dess!"

Jersey smiled, "Eat up, kiddo."

The destroyer mumbled something though the mass of oven-fresh pastry filling her mouth and hurriedly shuffled back to her table.

"Pretty funny, right?" Jersey bounced her eyebrows up and down behind her mirrored shades, her face stuck in a dopey lopsided grin. "Right?"

"You," Solette took an exaggerated bite of bacon, "Are an evil, evil person."

"Oh, see," the battleship held up a finger, "that's where you're wrong. You see, I," she motioned up and down her own sinewy body, "am not a person. I am a _ship._ "

Solette just rolled his eyes and wandered off to find a table.

—|—|—

On the other side of the planet, Rear Admiral Bill Caraway, head of the Eastern Seaboard Combined Antisubmarine Command, was discovering new and interesting ways to hate his life.

It was no secret that anything too small to be considered a full-up warship came back as some kind of ship-animal. The Canadian Flower-class corvette-newfies were beloved for both their antisubmarine prowess and—if Caraway was being honest here—adorably playful nature. The newfies were big dogs, but they were still… well… dogs. They only wanted to help, and they were always a pleasure to have around.

Caraway's organic ship-animal elements, though, were not nearly so benign. Ever since Akron and Macon returned to the land of the living, Caraway and the sailors working under him had been finding K-class blimps in the oddest places.

The Admiral _did_ appreciate how invaluable the little blimps were in pushing back the seemingly infinite Abyssal submarine force. Just one blimp could cover a vast chunk of ocean. If they couldn't sink their prey with their own depth charges, they could vector in a Newfie division or Destroyer to finish the job for them. But there was just one little problem.

The blimps didn't come back as dogs. They came back as cats. Smug, guilt-tripping asshole cats. That _hovered_. And wouldn't listen to anyone other than the air headed carrier girls when they weren't in their rigging.

Caraway scowled and batted a napping blimp-cat out of his way with his half-full coffee mug. The fat silver-haired cat shot him a glare of hateful indifference as it lazily drifted towards the ceiling.

"We need to find a way to coral those things," said the admiral as he watched the chubby feline lick at its fluffy silver fir.

"Uh… sir?" His yeoman glanced up from her overflowing clipboard, "Did… you just _literally_ ask me to herd cats?"

Caraway hung his head. "I did, didn't I?"

"To be fair, sir," the yeoman deftly switched out her Admiral's coffee with a freshly-filled cup, "That's not the weirdest thing you've made me do."

"Guess so," Caraway took a long drag of the fresh coffee before turning to the screens filling his CIC. "So, what's the latest from the midwatch?"

"We, uh…" the yeoman blushed as she flipped though her clipboard. "We got a sitrep from Akron."

"Oh god." Caraway winced. He'd issued the air-headed girl, and her equally loony step sister, a top of the line cellphone. The idea was to leverage all the networked-warfare knowledge the US navy had built up over the past decades by giving her easy access to the theater-wide net. And it worked.

Only it also gave her easy access to… well…

The yeoman cleared her throat. "Message reads," she arched her back a little, thrusting her chest out and putting on a dopey smile in perfect imitation of the chubby carrier girl's easy-going nature. "I'm inna cloud," the yeoman captured Akron's sing-song accent flawlessly, "I'm inna cloud, and I'm pwning their subs."

Caraway scowled and took a long drag of his coffee. Whoever introduced that girl to lolcats would die.

—|—|—

Major Solette sank down into his chair with a contented smile on his face. The hearty food, made to fill the stomach of a hungry shipgirl, had more than made up for all the times he'd had to skip lunch or subsist of longing glances towards the mess hall. Now it was time to cultivate his new favorite hobby, shipgirl watching.

Watching the girls live out their daily lives was always interesting, but watching them at feeding time never failed to be hilarious.

Akizuki and her sister huddled around plates laden with mountains of food bigger than their own heads. The little anti-aircraft destroyers didn't do more than pick and poke at the food in shocked astonishment. Or at least they didn't until Jersey came over and told them in no certain words that she, and by extension, _America_ would be personally offended if the girls didn't eat up and then ask for seconds. Neither destroyer needed any convincing after that.

Across the table, Yuudachi, Fubuki, and Naka shared fresh scones and pulpy orange juice with Sammy. Meanwhile, the taffies wolfed down their meals like exhausted schoolgirls desperate to top off their energy so they could go back to playing. Destroyers, even the more ladylike ones like Inazuma, ate like growing girls: constantly, and often very messily.

Speaking of ladies, Tenryuu'd gathered her kindergarten around her to share the morning meal. The cruiser herself hadn't bothered to change out of her white-on-black swimsuit, though she had at least tied a sarong around her hips. And being Tenryuu, she'd brought her sword to impale bacon with.

Meanwhile, Hibiki slowly munched her way down a bacon strip like a machine gun slurping up an ammo belt. Each little bite brought the thick slab of meat a little further up the girl's little mouth. The stoic destroyer was even smiling that tiny little smile she wore when she was experiencing pure bliss.

Inazuma was busy carting around a comically large carafe of coffee using her head as a platter, with Ikazuchi and her tea carafe following in line astern. The two girls wandered around seemingly aimlessly, but Solette swore he noticed Inazuma glancing at him and smiling a few times.

Akatsuki was sitting nice and straight next to Tenryuu with her napkin tucked into the collar of her shirt. The little destroyer was happily munching her way though a generous helping of eggs, although she wasn't nearly as aggressive as Tenryuu's hunched-over wolfing.

Speaking of wolfing, Akagi and Ryuujou were frantically gobbling down their breakfast like starving girls. Akagi was still dressed in that red-on-blue swimsuit that she didn't eve remotely fit into, but the carrier seemed to like her present from Ryuujou, so Solette didn't want to interrupt her bliss.

Ryuujou tossed a carefree wave when she noticed Solette glancing their way, but Akagi was too busy stuffing eggs and biscuits into her belly to even notice. The poor girl had to be starving. She hadn't been able to stop clutching her stomach the whole time she was waiting in line, but she still insisted every one else go first.

A few tables further down, the battleships were tearing into their meals with almost as much enthusiasm as Akagi. Solette couldn't decide if Musashi looked comically huge, or if Nagato and Mutsu looked comically tiny, but there was certainly _some_ kind of size disparity. And it didn't end at the size of the _girls_.

Musashi's meal looked bigger than Nagato's and Mutsu's combined. Even Mutsu'd lost her trademark sultry cool in the face of that monstrosity of eggs and bacon. All she could do was stare in slack-jawed awe while Musashi industriously worked though her breakfast.

Things only got worse when Jersey sauntered by and dropped her _own_ comically oversized breakfast down. Solette was too far away to hear what the battleships were discussing, but judging by the way Jersey's hands never left her hips, and the way Musashi suddenly found her overflowing bikini top was in need of careful adjustment every few seconds, the two were doing their face-off thing again.

Given that Jersey's eyes never left Musashi's, while the Japanese girl's gaze kept drifting down to the American's exposed stomach, Jersey seemed to be winning. Score one for patriotism.

With their little dick-measuring competition out of the way, the two girls settled down to the job of finishing their meals. Every so often, Kongou or her sister would bounce by and shove a scone in one or more girls' mouth. But for the most part, the battleships ate in silence. Or as close to 'silence' as you could get when wolfing down food like a starving woman.

Eventually, though, even the battleships' appetites waned. Jersey drummed her hands against her stomach—that was _still_ as flat and toned as ever, even after that gluttonous feast. The women in Everett must _despise_ her—and muttered something to Nagato.

Nagato nodded, and the two battleships stood up and walked to the head of the dining room. With just the two of them standing side-by-side, the height difference was more obvious than ever. Nagato barely even reached Jersey's collarbone, and the spiked headress she wore only made the height difference seem even more comical.

"Yo," Jersey's booming contralto thundered off the dining room walls, "Listen up!"

The din of gossiping shipgirls and clinking utensils died down to a respectable silence.

"Kay, so," Jersey hooked her thumbs over the waistband of her baggy trunks. "We got orders to pass down to the fleet." She glanced over at Nagato, "You wanna go first?"

Nagato nodded her head and brushed a strand of that coal-black hair behind her ear. "The situation at home has deteriorated," she said. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and her steel-hard gaze focused on a point in the far distance. "I am to lead a fleet consisting of Mutsu, Akagi, Ryuujou, and both Akizuki-chan and Terizuki-chan back to Japan to participate in the defense of our home islands."

"Which means," Jersey stepped forwards, "That her girls get first dibs on anything they wanna take for the road, understood?"

Akagi offered a thumbs up, but her mouth was too full of eggs to speak.

"Outstanding," Jersey bit the corner of her lip as she surveyed the sea of girls, every one wearing the same mildly worried look of intense concentration. "The rest of us are going to steam to Anchorage," she said. "Doc'll take a plane and meet us there."

Solette nodded and made a mental note to call ahead and make sure all the supplies and tools he'd need were waiting for him.

"Once we're there," continued Jersey, "Heermann and her sisters are gonna ride a train back with the Major. Meanwhile, the rest of us are gonna steam for Everett to be reconstituted into a combat element."

"Battleship Musashi," said Nagato, "will be incorporated into an escort element along with…" the super dreadnought trailed off and gave Jersey a glance.

"Oh, yeah," Jersey coughed. "We're sticking you with England, Edsall, Borie, Sammy, Maury and, Saint Lo. White'll probably link up with you too once you reach Japan."

Musashi was suddenly on her feet, her fists resting against her hips like Superman as she thrust her chin into the air. "I, Musashi, will embrace this honor with my full energy!" she thundered.

Nagato's shoulders slumped, but Jersey just beamed at the bombastic battleship. "Outstanding," said the American. "Alright, you've got 'til…" she glanced at one of her four watches, "ten-hundred. I want all of you here with your rigs so we can hit the water. Understood?"

"Aye Aye, Jersey!" Chorused the assembled shipgirl fleet.

"Outstanding," Jersey smiled, "Dismissed."


	83. Chapter 64: A Weapon to Surpass Duckies

**Chapter 64: A Weapon to Surpass the Ducky**

Johnston flopped onto the floor like an underfilled rag doll and scowled at the ceiling tile. "I'm booooored," she whined, her cheeks puckering into a chubby-faced scowl.

"Me too," said Hoel. The flaming-haired fletcher was lying on her belly a few feet away from where Johnston had decided she'd had enough of this newfangled 'standing up' business.

Heermann bounced her pointy little stumps against the steel of her wheelchair. Jersey was busy discussing some Very Important Battlethings with Nagato and the Japanese battleships, Tenryuu and her destroyers were cleaning up after breakfast, and everyone else was packing snacks for the trip home. Even the Major was busy getting his stuff packed for his flight to the mainland.

That left just her and her sisters to entertain themselves. Nobody else to play with.

Heermann smiled as a thought crossed her mind. There wasn't anybody else to play with… _or supervise._ "Hey."

"What?" Johnston glanced over, her feathers going everywhere as they scrubbed against the hotel lobby carpet.

"I have an Idea," Heermann grinned.

"What kind of idea?" said Hoel. For a second, it looked like the flaming-haired destroyer was putting on the level-headed sternness befitting a division leader. And then her cheeks puckered in a toothy grin.

"Well…" Heermann slipped a package of sky-blue gel out from under her leg and tossed it to her sister. Or rather, _at_ her sister.

Johnston giggled as the package bounced off Hoel's noise with a quiet _Spusrsh_. Hoel didn't even _try_ to catch it, not that she could with her arms pinned under her own body. Instead, the destroyer just caterpillar-crawled a few inches closer so she could read the writing. "Hot or Cold," she read, "versatile insulated gel-pack."

"It's like ice," explained Heermann, "but from the future."

"Ooh!" Johnston bolted over to examine the fancy new artifact from The Future alongside her sister. "I love the future!"

"Look!" Hoel inched a bit closer and squished the gel with her nose. "Heh… that almost tickles."

Johnston looked like she couldn't decide if she wanted to play with the gel pack or somehow worship it. "So… now what?"

"Well…" Heermann wheeled herself over with a clatter of oiled bearing and welded metal beams. "I was thinking we could stick it in the microwave?"

Hoel blinked. "Why?"

Johnston slapped her sister. "We're destroyers. We don't _ask_ that question."

"Ow!" Hoel rubbed at the back of her skull. Then she shrugged. "Okay, point taken."

"Wheel me over, minions!" Heermann threw her little fist out in the general direction of the microwave.

"Wheeling!" cheered Hoel as she took up position astern her wounded sister.

"I, Johnston," Johnston puffed out her chest, "Will carry The Future!" The destroyer abruptly shoved the cold pack down her shirt and tucked it into her bra. "Lookit!" she put on a dour scowl and clamped her hands to her chest, "Who am I?" she asked as she squeezed.

"Lewd," said Hoel.

"Aww, you guys are no fun," Johnston's scowl morphed into a pout as she sheepishly formed up astern of her sister.

"I thought you didn't _want_ to escort miss Musashi," said Heermann.

"Well… yeah… in battle," Johnston pulled the ice pack out of her shirt. Or at least tried to… she'd really jammed it in there. "I, uh… little help?"

Hoel sighed and turned to help her sister.

"Anyways," Johnston continued like her sister _wasn't_ trying to extricate a gel pack from her shirt, "I didn't wanna get distracted in battle, because… woo…" She bounced her eyebrows with a smirk.

"Lewd," sighed Heermann.

"You little pervert," sighed Hoel. "What would Musashi if she heard you talking like that?"

"Who cares," Johnston shrugged, "We're destroyers. We're not gonna live long enough for her to catch us."

Heermann nodded.

"First thing you've said that makes sense." Hoel smiled as she finally managed to yank her sister's impromptu bra stuffing out. "How long do we stick this in for?"

"Well…" Heermann squinted at the microwave's display. "There's a setting for frozen vegetables."

"Oooh, let's do that!" Johnston clapped her hands together with an evil grin.

"That sounds good!" echoed Hoel. She placed the off-blue packet into the microwave with reverent care.

Johnston closed the door and Heermann punched the "Frozen Vegetable" button. Then the three destroyers sat back to listen to the gentle hum of the microwave as it did its future magic.

"Morning, girls."

The three destroyers turned as one to locate the source of the noise.

"Oh, hi, Major!" Heermann tossed a lazy wave at the uniformed soldier.

"Heya!" said Hoel.

"MMMMMAJOR!" Johnston threw herself at the soldier's midsection with all her Fletcher-class strength. Her arms closed around his waist in a tight hug and she all but buried her face in his stomach. For a second, she just squeezed him tight, then she glanced up and chirped out a perky, "hi!"

Solette coughed. "Uh, hi," He took a quick sip of his coffee. "What're you girls up to?"

"We're playing a new game!" Johnston let go of the Major to bounce back over to the microwave.

"It's called, 'What Happens When I Microwave This'?" said Hoel.

"We stuck one of those ice-packs in there!" Heermann's little chest puffed out with pride at her ingenuity.

Solette blinked. "You did wha-"

The microwave's chime cut him off.

"Oh, it's done!" Hoel smiled as she threw open the door. For an instant the gel pack just _sat_ there, like it wanted the girls to marinade in their own stupidity before it swiftly and explosively demonstrated why some things just shouldn't be microwaved.

Then it exploded, sending sticky blue gel flying everywhere. Mostly in Hoel's face.

Solette sighed and took a sip of his coffee. This wasn't happening. He was just a detached observer watching three destroyer girls suddenly and pointedly reenact the famous saying 'curiosity killed the cat.'

"AHHHH!" Hoel let out a shriek, "I REGRET THIS DECISION!"

Solette took a long sip of his coffee before allowing himself to react to this situation. The sad thing is, this wasn't even in his top fifty weirdest shipgirl encounters. "Hoel?"

"YES?" The destroyer girl yelped at him while frantically clawing at her face.

"You're made of steel."

Hoel froze. Then a dopey smile crested on her face and she let her hands fall to her side. "Oh yeah!" she giggled, "Thanks, Doc!"

"HA HA HA!" Johnston collapsed to a puddle of laughter and quivering feathers.

Heermann's face split into a toothy grin as Hoel furiously scrubbed the hot goo off her face with her own neckerchief. "You're so smart, sis!"

"Shut up."

"Y-yeah," Johnston had to choke the words out between peals of uncontrollable laughter. "I- I see why you're the flagship."

"SHUTUP!" Hoel's fists were balled by her sides as she howled at her sisters. "IT'S- IT'S NOT FUNNY!" she said with a giggle. "Okay, it was kinda funny."

"Never tell Jersey," said Heermann.

Hoel and Johnston offered solemn nods. Or at least Hoel did, Johnston was too busy squirming on the floor laughing to offer anything more dignified than a frantic bob of her head.

"Major?" Heermann glanced over to the soldier.

"I see _No-think!_ " said Solette in his best Sgt. Schultz impression.

—|—|—

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," The sweet, almost musical tones of Akagi's voice filtered though the patter of warm saltwater splashing against clean white tile and naked shipgirl.

"Mmhm," Jersey nodded, but she didn't bother to open her eyes. A warm shower felt so damn relaxing against her bare skin… hull… whatever. The water splashing around her felt almost as good as a blanket, or a nice puddle of sleeping destroyers. Almost. "I'll meet you there in a few."

"You sure?" Jersey could just picture the way Akagi wrung her hands. The way those hazel-gray eyes glowed with care as she looked over the lean American. But Jersey didn't _actually_ look. She was going to enjoy the contentment her shower was giving her, and she wasn't going to let _any_ inexplicably top heavy carriers spoil it for her.

"Yeah," Jersey waved Akagi off. "Just got a lotta ship to scrub."

Akagi let out a little laugh, then the sound of her sandals clacking against the tile faded into the distance.

Jersey took a deep breath and held it. Her muscles tensed as the image of Heermann bleeding out into the frigid Bering sea thrust itself unbidden into her mind. Her stomach clenched, bracing itself for a blow as the battleship felt her hands ball into fists.

"No," whispered Jersey. Her hand snaked up her body until her fingers kissed the gash on her cheekbone. The reminder Victory had lent her. Never give up. Never give in. She'd failed. She'd failed so miserably. But now she was back. Now she'd earn her redemption. At least… that was the plan anyway.

The battleship opened her eyes and met her own icy-glare reflected in the clean white tile. Her hair was slick against her skull, her skin flush from the heat of the water. The nick on her cheek gleamed like fresh-cut steel, and her teeth gleamed in a ragged grin. "Thanks, you old limey fuck."

For a second, just a second, Jersey thought she heard a voice whisper a response back. But all she caught was one word. "Wanker."

Her grin grew lopsided as she let out a quiet chuckle. "Language, Viccky."

Silence was her response.

Jersey just shrugged. She had shit to do anyway. Shit like the _real_ reason she'd waited until she was alone to finish her shower. She didn't like changing around the Japanese girls. They were entirely too… lewd for her own liking—and that was before the whole "overstacked Pagodas" problem. Last Jersey checked, Asian girls were supposed to be _flat_.

But the real reason Jersey wanted to change alone was… well… getting dressed wasn't the easiest thing in the world for her. She could manage her shorts just fine, and she could even tie her shoes blindfolded.

But squeezing herself into her crimson sports bra took her a few tries to get right. It wasn't very appropriate for a Lieutenant Commander in the United States Navy, even one who'd only been a girl for the past few months.

Still, she was an American battleship. She didn't give up. Ever. "Fuck you, bra," she mumbled as she pulled the garment in question over her head. After a few minutes of tugging, adjusting, cursing, more tugging, even more cursing, and a little squeezing, the battleship managed to get herself nicely contained.

Suddenly, Kongou's outfit choices made so much more sense. Or as much sense as something with those sleeve… thingies could. At least the rest of Jersey's outfit went on without much fuss. It only took her a few minutes to get back to fleet-review ready, complete with her mirrored aviators and the proper rakish tilt to her BB-62 ballcap.

"Well…" Jersey clapped herself on the thighs as she gave herself a final once-over in the mirror, making sure all her careful adjustments had paid off. Once she was satisfied, the battleship ducked through the door and into the hotel proper. Now she just needed to find someone, someone she rather desperately needed to talk to.

After a few minutes of jogging around the corridors with her head on a swivel, she found her target. He was all bundled up in a bright blue sweater with his hands clutching a mug of—Jersey sniffed—apple cider. "Yo," Jersey waved as she came to a stop, "Jake Lee, right?"

The Alaskan pivoted on his heel to glance up at the towering battleship. "Yeah, what's up, Jersey?"

"Um…" Jersey bit her lip. Fuck, this all seemed so much easier in her head. "Look, uh… I know we eat a lot. And, uh… it couldn't have been hard to put us up on such short notice." The battleship shoved her hands into her shorts pockets and pursed her lips. "But you guys pulled out all the stops. So thanks."

Lee shrugged as his face flushed a brilliant crimson. "Hey, what else were we gonna do?"

"Well," Jersey shrugged in return. "I just wanted to say thanks. The, uh…" she fished a flag out of her pocket. A ragged, scorch-marked flag folded into an impeccable triangle. "The only way I know how." Jersey blinked under her shades as she offered the flag. There must be… dust… or something in the air because she was _not_ fucking crying.

Lee just glanced from Jersey to the flag and back again.

"It's, uh… it's my battle flag," said Jersey, "What I flew when I put that ice-bitch down with Mushi."

"Jersey, I-"

"I want you to have it." The battleship felt streaks of something wet and salty run down her cheeks. Her vision was getting blurry as her ice-blue eyes started to melt. "Please."

Lee took the flag and held it close against his chest. "Thank you."

"Yeah," Jersey sniffed, her eyes blinking a hundred times a minute to try and abate the flood of tears suddenly welling up inside her.

"Are…" Lee squinted at his own reflection in Jersey's shades. "Are you-"

"I'm not crying," said Jersey as tears trailed down her face.

"But-"

"Bilge… pumps…" said the battleship. "Or something. Not crying. I'm a ship."

"But you're-"

"Not crying."

Lee rolled his eyes. "Fine, you're not crying." He glanced at the flag cradled close to his heart. "Thanks. For everything, Big J."

Jersey smiled. "My pleasure."

—|—|—

Teruzuki knew she wasn't dreaming. Mostly because, even in her wildest dreams, she'd never imagined this much food even _existed_ , let alone that it'd be all available in one place. The skinny destroyer had intended on filling her small Tupperware set—her single most prized possession—with some of that hearty American gravy and bacon. It was tasty,it looked like it'd travel well, and Teruzuki was pretty sure it was the most nutrition-dense stuff she'd be able to take home with her.

But no plan survives first contact with the enemy. The destroyer hadn't gotten past _opening the dining room doors_ when a smiling, silver-haired woman who looked about Houshou's age suddenly _appeared_ holding a huge cellophane-wrapped tray. Teruzuki wasn't sure what was _in_ the tray, but she knew it smelled more delicious than anything the destroyer had ever encountered.

"Wha-what is this?" stammered Teruzuki as the old woman foisted off the steaming dish with a huge smile on her weathered face.

"Casserole, dear," said the woman, "It'll put some meat on those bones!"

Before Teruzuki could even ask just what a 'casserole' was, the woman was replaced by another, equally old woman bearing something that made Teruzuki's mouth water.

"Scalloped potatoes," explained the woman as she shoved her offering into the destroyer's arms, "My grandson loves them."

And so the process continued. Teruzuki would manage a step or two, then another smiling grandmother would swoop in to offload another mouth watering dish on the overwhelmed destroyer. Her mind could barely keep up with everything that was going on, it took every shred of mental acuity she had left just to put one foot in front of the other.

"Oh!" Akagi waved at Teruzuki from across the room. Her cheeks bulged with… something, her eyes were half-lidded in bliss, and there was a silver-haired woman smiling at her from behind a large bowl of some kind. "Comh heh!"

Teruzuki dutifully made her way over to Akagi as quickly as she could with a mountain of food bigger than she was balanced preciously in her arms.

"Hey there, little one," said the silver-haired woman.

"K-konnichiwa," stammered out Teruzuki as she dumped her load of food onto the table. The woman behind the table abruptly shoved a bulging ziplock bag of cookies into the destroyer's now-vacant arms.

Teruzuki blinked. She'd seen cookies before—usually the ones Kongou made for tea time—but never anything that looked quite like this. The golden-brown cookie was dotted with little… brown… dots. "Um…" Teruzuki glanced over at the old woman, "what are these?"

"Cholah chu coohkeh," said Akagi with a beaming smile.

The old woman laughed. "Chocolate chip cookies," she translated. "Try one."

Teruzuki blinked, then glanced down at her bag of cookies. "I- I couldn't," she mumbled.

The old woman sighed. "This again, huh?"

Akagi offered a sheepish shrug.

"Little one," the old woman smiled a warm, grandmotherly smile at the little destroyer girl, "I'll be very offended if you don't eat that cookie."

"Oh," said Teruzuki with a timid smile. She wanted to save her snacks for her friends back home. The battleships probably deserved it more anyways. But if it meant offending her host… Teruzuki would do her duty. She carefully opened up the bag and picked a cookie—the smallest one she could find—and turned it over in her hand.

The dough was still warm and soft. So soft it almost melted in her hand before she even got a chance to bring it close to her mouth. The little brown spots were sticky and soft to the touch, and they left little smears on Teruzuki's hand whenever she touched one.

"Eah ihh," said Akagi with a thumbs up.

Teruzuki carefully slipped the cookie into her mouth and bit down. And almost collapsed to her knees. An explosion of flavor and pleasure roared from her mouth straight to her stomach. The dough was soft and warm, the chocolate sweet and gooey. It was everything Teruzuki imagined a cookie would taste, only _more_. "I… I… thank you!"

The old woman just smirked. For a minute, she made a show of looking around to ensure there weren't any prying eyes watching. Then she slowly bent down until she was just a few inches from the little destroyer girl. "Between you and me," she stage-whispered. "The best part is the dough."

"The… dough?" Teruzuki tilted her head with a confused look.

The old woman tilted the bowl she'd been holding until Teruzuki could see the sticky golden-brown mixture resting on the bottom. And then she handed the girl a spoon.

—|—|—

Fubuki blinked and sat back on her haunches. Her bed was only half-made, but… she suddenly had something much more enticing then tidying up her room. "What was that?"

Yuudachi spun on her heel to face her roommate, her long blond hair and equally long white scarf spinning with her to nearly smack her in the face. "What was what, poi?"

"That sound," said Fubuki. The destroyer rested her hands on her hips as she admired her handiwork. "It… it sounded like someone squealing, but then it shifted into ultrasonic."

"Oh, that!" Yuudachi cupped a hand over her ear, holding an imaginary pair of headphones as she listened to her hydrophone set. "It sounded like a squealish sound."

Fubuki narrowed her eyes as her roommate.

"Poi?" offered Yuudachi.

Fubuki shrugged. "I'll ask Naka-chan about it later."

"Good idea, poi." Yuudachi flung her scarf over her shoulder with a grin, "She, like… knows everything." The destroyer girl smiled at her own insight and nodded sagely to nothing in particular.

Fubuki rolled her eyes, but even she couldn't keep a smile from crossing her face. "Hey, Yuudachi-chan?"

"Hmm?"

"You look really cute in that scarf."

"Really?" Yuudachi spun around to admire herself in the mirror. "I thought- do you think I should wear it more… regularlyish?"

"Yeah!" Fubuki offered a thumbs up to her air-headed fellow destroyer. "You'd look really cool!"

"Thanks!" Yuudachi spun on her heel and pounced at Fubuki, tackling her in a warm hug. "Pooooooooi!"

Fubuki giggled and returned the hug as best she could with a happy Yuudachi pinning her arms above the elbows. "You're welcome! Now hurry up, we're going to be late for formation."


	84. A Certain Lady Part 12

_Editors Note: This snip takes place slightly in the future, when Nagato and Mutsu get back._

 **A Certain Lady Part 11**

 **By Old Iron**

"You appear to be in a good mood," remarked Battleship Nagato with a small measure of amusement. She entered the room provided to both herself and her sister and shut the door with a soft click.

"Is it that obvious?" Mutsu smiled as she rolled onto her back. The beds weren't the most comfortable things in the world, but she wouldn't complain. Just having a bed in and of itself was a luxury to enjoy given their situation.

"We may not have much opportunity to see one another in person, but I would have to be blind to miss it." Nagato took a seat on the bed next to Mutsu, smoothing her skirt out as she did so. "Does this have anything to do with your report to Admiral Richardson?"

Nagato reached up and removed her headgear with a well practiced motion. It never failed to feel unusual even after all this time. As a woman, it was a weight off her person and eased the burden placed upon her back ever so slightly. However as a ship, it felt as though she'd just removed a large section of her bridge and control systems. It was a bit of a relief either way.

"Mhm... Maybe." Mutsu wouldn't deny she was looking forward to delivering the report. It wouldn't have been too much trouble to borrow a secure means of communicating a report back to Sasebo. However she had gone the extra mile to commandeer a little personal time to go with it. She might own the entirety of DesDiv6 a favor, but it would be well worth it. The laptop on the nearby nightstand waited silently. "I'm really anxious to hear how everyone back home is doing. A little time with my Admiral is just a bonus."

"Hm... Then I suppose I should not disturb yo-!" Nagato made to stand with a small smile before she found herself pulled back onto the bed by a pair of slender, but tremendously powerful arms. It was a testament to the construction of the furniture that it did not buckle beneath the mass of two Nagato-class battleships.

Nagato also did not let out a squeak of surprise. Absolutely not.

"I'm not going to kick my oneesan out of the room just for this. We hardly see each other as is, so John can just put up with it~" She certainly enjoyed spending time with Admiral Richardson. And so very often did her boilers threaten to red-line when he was near. But she was a warship. Not a woman. Right? Sure, the lines blurred in a lot of confusing ways. However...

No. Better to not think about it right now. She wasn't Kongou. Though she wouldn't deny a little advice from the hyperactive Japanese Fast Battleship equivalent to Mary Poppins might go a long way.

"It would not be my place to intrude, but if you insist." Nagato adjusted herself into a more comfortable position on the bed as she spoke. The bed wasn't really designed for two people to relax on, but it wasn't bad. Certainly she missed her quarters back at Yokosuka and would prefer it any day of the week. However after the maelstrom the combined fleet had gone through, it was hardly something to complain about. "And Crowning-sensei is a literature professor, not a shaman."

"He's a magic man, so I think it still applies." Her mirthful tone was met with a flat look of barely suppressed resignation. She poked Nagato's cheek playfully "We run on sparkly magical shipgirl bullshit after all. We both have to help out Admirals deal with it, so we can hardly claim to be ignorant of it. The Crowning-sensei just happens to have become the foremost authority in the world on it. I think that qualifies at a magic man."

"Hmph. I would at least have preferred to not look like a fool in front of New Jersey. She took it in stride, but it was still embarrassing on my part." It certainly hadn't helped her mood given her magazine full of adorable destroyers had been destroyed via considerable water damage.

"Ah. But you were able to relax, weren't you?" Mutsu rolled over to give her elder sister a hug, the recipient reluctantly allowing the action with red tinged cheeks. "It got your mind off the battle. And what happened to Heermann. Those Americans are tough as can be, but that didn't make seeing her like that any easier..."

"True... It did take my mind off things." Nagato frowned as her thoughts drifted. Heermann had done her duty like any good destroyer. And she had done splendidly. Yet that kill order... It filled her with a kind of cold rage she'd not felt before. No matter how hard things had been. No matter how close to defeat they had been, nothing had come close to seeing that Fletcher with her legs so mauled. Come hell or high water, Battleship Nagato would not allow that to happen again.

Nagato turned her gaze to Mutsu and offered her a rare, easy smile. "But I wonder. Just who is supposed to be the older sister here?"

"Hmhm~ I have to pull double duty because I have such a difficult sister. Someone needs to look out for her. She looks after everyone else after all."

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" A baritone, laced with rare humor cut into the relaxing mood.

Both battleships turned to look at the source and bore witness to Rear Admiral Richardson gazing at them from the laptop's screen. There was a lazy expression on his face, as if he wasn't really surprised at what he was seeing.

"J-John? How long have yo-?" There was that pesky red-line again.

"I'm debating whether or not to ask Admiral Williams if he can pass on the message that Professor Crowning is a 'Magic Man' as you put it." Mutsu had plenty to hold over his head. He felt absolutely no reservations in getting a little something of his own.

"Sir, I apologize for our current state. But I would ask that in the future you make your presence known." Nagato sat upright, with only minor difficulty owing to a blushing little sister hanging onto her, and saluted as best she was able.

"Don't worry about it. And I'll pipe up next time. Wasn't sure where to cut in before things got heavy." Richardson returned the salute easily. It was rare in happening, but speaking with Nagato was something he would describe as smooth. No bullshit. Just straight up and to the point. He appreciated that. Goto was a lucky man to have her around. Well, Goto was lucky in a lot of ways. Nagato was merely a single facet of that. "And Mutsu? Next time don't set up the connection and leave it there."

"Y-Yes sir." Well, at least he wasn't giving her too much grief. A miss like that wasn't something he'd let slide without a few good jabs. Fortunately her sister's presence acted as quite the deterrent. She cleared her throat and released Nagato from her embrace before moving the laptop onto the bed so all three of them could speak with each other more easily.

There was a pregnant pause before Richardson let out a tremendous sigh of exhaustion. He appeared to age no fewer than ten years before their eyes.

"Are you alright?" Mutsu's query was well laced with concern and even Nagato appeared to have a worried look in her eyes.

"I have one battleship having nightmares every time she tries to sleep for more than five minutes. Another with the biggest black eye I've ever seen. A submarine trying to teach lewdmarines how to submarine. An overworked light cruiser. And a daughter trying to get rid of battleship nightmares." Richardson rested his chin in the palm of one hand and snorted. "Want me to go on?"

"No, I think I get the picture." Mutsu sighed wearily and palmed her face. Really. How much more trouble could this man get into? No. She already knew the answer to that and had accepted it was simply part and parcel of his life.

"Admiral Richardson, pardon my intrusion, but you mentioned a submarine?" Nagato knew the postings of every sub Japan had enlisted. And unless Iku decided to go have fun at Sasebo, there were only two submarines making the Sasebo pens their home at the moment.

"Oh. Right. Lieutenant Junior Grade Albacore. She broke into the house, ran out on Jane's cooking, stole my pants, and then saved Arizona's stern from an intimate encounter with Davy Jones." He would have laughed at both battleships' flabbergasted expressions if he wasn't so worn out. Even Nagato had dropped the professional image at the utter madness he was spouting. "She likes gel pens. Really colo-"

"No no no! Back up!" Mutsu would have grabbed the laptop and shaken it, demanding answers from the man displayed on the inanimate object, had Nagato not restrained her. It wasn't often she had such outbursts. But they were usually well warranted. "Broke into the house? And what about Arizona? She fought!?"

"Mutsu, calm down. I assure you we'd be having a very different conversation if Arizona hadn't come home." Richardson cast a hard gaze through the LCD screen. "And her lack of operational discipline has already been brought to her attention by Hiei. She would have died out there if it hadn't been for Albacore. With no kills to her name and coming back with critical damage, Arizona had probably the worst debut in shipgirl history. It was her maiden battle too."

Nagato remained silent as she absorbed the information offered. No doubt she would have received the official report in some capacity down the line, but hearing about a battle in such a candid scenario was always somewhat unnerving.

"I... Oh my... How is she?" Mutsu forced herself to calm down. What was done was done and there was no use blowing her third turret sky high.

"She's in good shape all things considered. It's hard to tell she was even damaged at all with how she carries herself." Richardson leaned back in his chair and relaxed his expression. "Hiei came back with a few scratches and Albie didn't even chip her paint. Jintsuu was running damage control at home with Jane, so she didn't participate in the battle."

"That's a relief." She placed an hand to her breast and took a deep breath to drive off any remaining nerves. Everyone was home, safe and sound. That's what mattered most to her.

"Admiral, I think it would be best if Tenryuu was provided with an advance warning. It would rather she find out long in advance of any possible meeting." Nagato interrupted the drama with a little of her own. Even if the two ships never actually met, it was far better to be safe than sorry. The same would be done if Taihou ever graced the fleet with her presence.

"Tenryuu's under Goto's direct command, not mine. And you know your fleet a hell of a lot better than I do. If you think that's the best course of action then I'm not about to stop you." Richardson might offer a suggestion or two if the situation called for it. However if there was nothing to be gained, then he wasn't going to start sticking his fingers where they didn't belong. Goto's fleet was one such place.

"Thank you sir." Nagato cleared her throat and motioned to Mutsu, who was looking more and more like she wanted to say something. "But I think we have put off Mutsu's report long enough. She performed quite well against the Northern Princess if I might say. Perhaps even deserving of a... _reward~_ "

Mutsu's head turned so quickly, one could almost hear a gearbox ping in agony. Her gaping expression and rapidly reddening cheeks a clear sign that she was having trouble processing what her stoic, all business and formality before the Admiralty sister had just said. What Battleship Nagato had just _implied_.

Even Richardson seemed taken aback for a moment before he gave up and began laughing like a madman.

"It is harder that I thought to pull that off."

" _N-N-Nagato-nee!?_ "

* * *

 _Editors Note: And now... in honor of a recent passing._

 **Survivor's Return**

The hour was late and a rare moment of peace had settled over the household.

It was not to last however.

The door to Admiral Richardson's room was nearly torn from its hinges as a figure wrapped in a nightgown all but charged through it.

Richardson had barely enough time to awaken before he found himself slammed against the mattress and backboard by a wailing redhead. He bit back a bark of pain as he was further pressed against far less pliable surfaces. It was only the anguished cries that stayed his tongue from demanding answers.

For the sight of Battleship Arizona wailing in naked grief was a sight that would transfix anyone.

He caught sight of the other residents making their way towards them and he carefully motioned for them to leave. They did so without hesitation or question, only motioning that they would be standing by if needed.

Even Jane obeyed with a teary salute as she clutched her stuffed ship tightly.

"H-He's dead, s-sir." Arizona's voice was raw and pained as he had ever heard it.

"Who is?"

"A-A member of m-m-my c-crew. H-His name w-was..." She buried her face against Richardson's chest as she said the sailor's name. She could not bring herself to say it to Richardson's face. Simply imagining that young man's face, forever stilled brought forth another sob. His name was beyond painful.

It was the first crewman she had lost since she had returned.

And it felt as though she was losing each and every one of them all over again...

It didn't matter how she knew, only that she knew he had passed. Perhaps it was because she lived as a grave to the fallen? Or perhaps it was the manner in which she was remembered. All that mattered was that she knew. And the pain was unlike anything she had felt since that wretched December morn.

Richardson could not find the words. What could he say? Empty condolences? A prayer? How did someone offer comfort and solace to someone stricken in such a unique and personal way? All he could do was embrace the weeping battleship and rock her back and forth.

He would not need to think beyond that.

For the clicking of boots drew his attention to the now empty surface of his desk. Upon it stood eight diminutive figures. Each dressed sharply in the garb of United States Navy Color Guard. It might have looked silly had the situation been anything less dire.

They stood in two columns, their colors displayed proudly and brilliantly unlike anything he had ever seen before.

Arizona turned to see the scene at Richardson's motioning and she slowly released her iron grasp upon him. With slow, almost shuddering movements, she stood to face the guard. Her tear stained face was a mess, marred with sleep and snot. The very image of loss.

Then, upon the floor of the room, dozens. Nay. Hundreds of small figures appeared. Each dressed in their finest.

And in that moment, no one was in that room anymore.

They were in port.

And standing atop the deck of USS Arizona.

Fairies no more, but rather the crews they once were, now filled the deck to bursting. Every soul who had been laid to rest in Arizona's ruin now stood before her once more. And there were sad smiles gracing each and every one of them.

Arizona herself could not move, so stricken with emotion as she was.

Before anyone could say or do anything, one member of the guard brought a bugle to his lips and began playing. It was a song known to all, and so all paid proper respects to the haunting tune. As the bugler played, the guard stood aside to reveal a gangplank.

At the foot of the plank was a single man. A young man. One who had made the number remaining seven and then six with his passing.

Arizona was ushered forward, somehow attired in full officer's dress in the moment.

The young man raised his hand to his brow in salute.

"Permission to come aboard ma'am."

Arizona returned the salute as she wept.

"Permission granted, sailor. Welcome aboard."

And then the moment was over and all returned to the home of Admiral Richardson. Standing at his desk, holding a tiny saluting fairy, was Battleship Arizona.

"Welcome aboard..."


	85. Chapter 69: Heart of Courage

**Chapter 65: Heart of Courage**

Yeoman Sarah Gale clutched at her smartphone, holding the slim amalgamation of plastic and glass like a warding totem against the mind-breaking impossibility of Frisco's ragged crop-top and the slender, scarred-over stomach it put on display. Gale wasn't even jealous of the shipgirls' ability to gorge themselves without affecting their waistlines. She'd made peace with the idea that shipgirls just _weren't_ human women. They were spirits of steel and valor unbound by the pedestrian rules of dieting and nutrition.

No, she was more frustrated by the way the girls—and especially slender, sinewy Frisco. Wash was at least nice and curvy—could put away massive amounts of food without appearing to _put_ it anywhere. Frisco _had_ to have eaten close to her own body weight in burgers, but she was still as thin as ever. That much burger and milkshake just _couldn't_ have fit into her body, even if the cruisergirl was hollow inside.

Luckily, the girls didn't seem to mind that Gale wasn't giving them any attention. The Destroyers were bouncing around like hamsters on crack, trying to rope anyone they could into their impromptu sword fighting session. At the moment, Kidd was trying to rally an aggressively disinterested waiter into joining her "pirate crew". Behind her, Bannie flourished a hunk of cardboard she'd carved into a reasonable approximation of a Marine saber and Dee failed to keep from laughing every time Kidd said "booty."

Frisco was sipping up her milkshake with a glow of unrestrained glee, pausing only long enough to scarf down a few fries or ask for a refill.

Wash was… well, Gale didn't really know what Wash was doing. The battleship was still finishing up her dinner—much to Gale's chagrin—but she'd passed the 'voracious devourer of all you hold dear' stage of shipgirl dining and reached a point where she was eating more or less like a human being. She'd take a bite, then chew slowly while she stared off at some point a few feet above Gale's head with a thoughtful look on her face.

Gale tried not to look at Wash too much. With the sunset glowing behind her head, the battleship's russet hair almost _glowed_ , like spun gold or fresh honey. Just looking at her made Gale hungry—and also thirsty, but that's neither here nor there.

But Gale didn't have to endure the pleasant-yet-also-annoying situation much longer. The throaty rumble of a diesel engine sang in concert with the jarring crash of brake calipers. The Navy had arrived, and they'd brought a shipgirl transport.

A trio of Marines shuffled in the restaurant door, along with one very out-of-place looking academic in a half-zip sweater. One of the waitresses—the same one who'd seated Gale's little party a few hours ago, although now she looked considerably more ragged. Gale made a mental note to offer her a ridiculous tip—hurriedly directed the Marines over while thanking them profusely.

"It looks like dinner's over," said Wash with a wistful sigh.

"Aww," Frisco's shoulders slumped as she sized up her half-finished shake. "I was just getting started…" she bit the corner of her lip, her eyes narrowing to little more than hazel slits, "I… think?"

Wash smiled and ran a hand though Frisco's coal-black hair, untangling a few loose knots that'd formed. "You get used to eating after a while."

Frisco's cheeks exploded into crimson fireworks as Wash played with her hair. The cruiser opened her mouth for a second, then bit down on her lip with a huff.

"Yeoman Gale?" one of the Marines—the one with the tight brush-cut instead of the tight buzz-cut—snapped to an uneasy half-attention at the head of the table. "Lieutenant Commander Washington-"

"Wash, please."

"-Wash, right," The Marine scrunched the cover he clutched in his hand, "And…"

"Frisco," said the cruiser with an overly-casual wave to distract from her borderline glowing cheeks. "Or… 'friz'?" she glanced at Wash.

Wash shook her head.

"Okay, no to that," said Frisco, "What's up?"

The corners of the Marine's lips twitched up in a smile he desperately tried to hide. Which, of course, made Frisco start to giggle. "Admiral Williams sent us to pick you up, ma'am. He apologizes for not showing up in person."

Frisco leaned over to Wash, "Williams?"

"COMPACFLT," said Wash, "And our admiral."

Frisco let out a long whistle, "That's a hell of a lot of brass."

"You can say that again," said Gale.

"If the two of you," the Marine motioned to Wash and Frisco, "would come with us, the Admiral will brief you on the way."

Frisco started to shuffle out of her seat, then stopped. "Wait. How is he gonna do that if he can't show up?"

"Video conference," said the Marine.

Frisco offered him a wordless stare. Her mouth slowly hung open as her eyes narrowed into vacant slits.

"It's like _Flash Gordon_ ," explained Wash.

"Oh!" Frisco's smooth porcelain face split into a goofy smile. "That sounds amazing."

This time the Marine's professional demeanor really did crack, and he couldn't help but let a few laughing snorts though his clenched jaw. "This way, ma'am," he said as he motioned to the door.

Wash and Frisco obligingly got out of their seats and fell into line astern.

"The destroyers will ride back with you, Yeoman," said the Marine. "The Admiral thought it would be best to brief… the new arrival without their interference."

Gale glanced over to where Bannie and Crowning were fanatically swashbuckling while Kidd and Dee provided running commentary. The professor had reach and finesse, but Bannie had the advantage of being tiny, insane, and lacking any sense of self-preservation whatsoever.

The Marine smiled. "See you back at base Yeoman."

"You too Marine."

With that, the Marines and their shipgirl charges filed out of the room. Gale caught Frisco asking one of them something about his uniform, but the only words she caught were "dazzle camo."

Gale slipped her phone into her pocket and settled the _outrageously_ large check. Luckily, she'd been planning on grabbing a nice dinner with Wash every since she started planning this little excursion. Something… refined like the queenly battleship, and maybe candle-lit. But… that hadn't ended up happening. Anyway, because of that, Gale had a Navy-issue shipgirl-feeding expense card with her.

She was about to yell something at her clutch of destroyers when she noticed something very strange All three of them were clustered around Crowning watching with rapturous attention as he swung one of their cardboard swords though the air with practiced ease. Their eyes were wide as they strained to soak in every detail, and each girl had a tiny faerie sitting cross-legged on her head taking notes.

"So when you swing," said Crowning as he thrust the cardboard blade out. "You need to draw it _back_ just as fast." With a flick of his forearm, the professor flicked the sword back upright, "That way you're ready to parry, or attack again."

The three girls nodded while their faeries frantically scribbled in tiny notebooks with equally tiny pencils.

Gale blinked. She wasn't a total newcomer to sword fighting. In her youth, she'd spent many a misspent evening running around the neighborhood with plastic light sabers bashing her friends in the head. She'd also done that last week with Jen, but that's beside the point, which was that Crowning _knew_ what he was doing.

There wasn't any of the hesitation or wavering that Gale felt when she wielded any kind of weapon that didn't take a magazine. The professor swung his sword—cardboard or not—like it was an extension of his body. Thrust, couter-thrust, riposte, the motions came as quickly and fluidly as Fox stalking its prey.

Crowning glanced over to Gale and shot her a nod of acknowledgement. "Okay girls," the professor dropped to one knee as the three destroyers shuffled in around him, "I think Gale wants us, but you know where my office is if you want to do some more."

"Okay!" chorused the three destroyers.

Gale blinked. "Uh… Doc?"

The Professor made a show of returning the (cardboard) blade to it's owner before smiling at her. "Yeah?"

"How…" Gale waved her hands in the air, "How'd you learn to- _why_ do you know how to do that?"

"I study English literature," said Crowning.

Gale blinked.

"Swords have been the weapons of choice for more than a millennium," explained the professor with a wicked glint in his eyes. "I figured, if I'm really going to _understand_ the literature of that age, I should learn the culture of that age."

"So…" Gale felt her hands wander towards her phone again. "You… learned to sword fight?"

"That, and reenactments," said the professor with a shrug.

"That…" Gale thought back to his request the other week, "that explains a lot, actually." The sailor threw on her jacket and ducked out onto the sidewalk. "Just don't go telling me you're descended from a king or something."

"Knight, actually."

Gale stopped mid-stride. "What?"

"Knight." The professor's mustache almost hid the way his mouth twitched up. Almost.

"Oh…" Gale waved her fist in his face, "You _almost_ got me."

Crowning didn't even bother to hide his toothy grin.

Gale rolled her eyes. "I'm going to loose my sanity."

"That's okay," said Bannie.

"Yeah, sanity's overrated," added Kidd.

Dee opened her mouth to say something, but her foot missed the flat concrete sidewalk and landed in a road-side planter, sending the poor girl head-over-heels onto the sidewalk.

Gale scowled and slapped her hand to her face.

"I'mokay!" Dee smiled as she bounced back to her feet, no worse for wear besides a little scuff on her knee.

The little group managed to walk with no major incidents for about half a block before Gale's cellphone chirped an alert at her.

"Ooooooh!" said Dee with an enormous grin.

"The magic rectangle speaks," said Bannie and Kidd as they prostrated themselves at Gale's feet.

"Screw you guys." Gale rolled her eyes as she swiped in her lock code.

 _"How do you do?"_ sang a adorable girl's voice strongly accented with The Queen's English. _"This is heavy Cruiser London of the London class. Nice to join your fleet."_

Crowning and the girls froze in place.

Gale scowled. "Fuck you, London. Nobody likes you."

"Uh…" even the professor was at a loss for words.

Gale sheepishly turned her phone around so he could see the screen. "It's, uh… _Warship Girls_ ," the sailor blushed as she admitted her secret guilty pleasure. "It's this… terrible _terrible_ Japanese browser game. Thing."

"What do you do in it?" asked Dee.

"Williams' job, basically," said Gale. "Manage girls, plan attacks on Abyssals…"

"I thought you _hated_ doing that," said Kidd.

"Yeah," added Bannie, "Wash said we drive you crazy."

Gale sighed, her shoulders slumping like a party balloon that'd long since lost it's helium. "Because _these_ girls actually do what I tell them to."

For a second, the three destroyers just stared in confusion. Then as one they smiled and let out a happy, "OOOOOOOH!"

"Am I in it?" asked Dee?

"What about me?" added Kidd.

"Or me!" Bannie stared up at Gale with those big blue eyes.

Crowning just smiled and shrugged.

"I'm giving you my phone, aren't I?" sighed Gale.

The destroyers nodded.

"Don't sink anyone," sighed Gale as she handed her phone to Kidd.

"Thank you!" chorused the girls as the squeezed Gale's midsection in a typically-crushing Fletcher-class hug.

"Ah," Gale choked out, "Too hard, Too hard!"

"Sorry," the girls sheepishly let go and clustered around the phone.

"Well," Crowning glanced at the Fletchers. They'd coalesced into one uniform mass of ponytails and torn-up sneakers that slowly shuffled along with a phone at it's center. "They're not going to do anything else for the next hour."

"Probably," said Gale. "That's more peace and quiet than I've had all year."

Crowning let out a chuckle. Just one though. Gale was only _mostly_ kidding, and he knew it.

"So," Gale tucked her hands into her pockets, "What'd you do?"

"Hmm?"

"The summoning," Gale watched her breath freeze into swirling eddies in the crisp December air, "We've been trying this for weeks… what'd you do that made it work?"

"Um…" Crowning tapped his hands against his jeans. "I was actually just staring at a white board when I got your text."

"Well you did _something_ ," said Gale. "You had to. Right? I mean… we've tried the whole concert deal before, all we'd ever get would be-" she nodded at the destroyer puddle shuffling along behind her-"DDs, hovercats, or the odd CVE."

Crowning shrugged. "We'll have to figure ou-" he stopped and turned to face the sailor. "Hovercats?"

Gale nodded. "K-type blimps. Came back as cats that float. Poor Mary's got her hands full with them."

"Mary?"

Gale slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Sorry, Yeoman Mary Patrick. Works with Admiral Caraway down at Norfolk. The, uh, the combined ASW command."

"Gale," Crowning shook his head. "Do you know _every_ yeoman in the US Navy?"

Gale blinked. "Yeah," she deadpanned.

"I…" Crowning trailed off, unable to contest the sailor's flatly-stated claim. "And you're _sure_ you're not magic?"

Gale just shrugged. Then she smiled. "So, Doc?" she said, her eyebrows bouncing suggestively on her forehead as her lips curled into a grin.

Crowning sighed. "Yes, Gale?"

"Speaking of… 'magic'…" the sailor threw up a truly epic set of air quotes, "When're you gonna spill to Jersey that you want her?"

"Gale, I-"

"Hey," Gale thrust her finger in the professor's face. "She's _hot_. Every man on this base'd grovel at her feet to get with a girl like that. And I know you know it because I've seen the way you act whenever we're in the CIC."

"Gale-"

"She's got legs for _days_ man," Gale drew the battleship's hourglass silhouette in the air with her hands. "And that stern! You've seen her walk, right?" She threw her hips out in an imitation of Jersey's lazy strut.

"Gale?" Crowning's blush almost glowed as he glared at the uppity sailor.

"Yeah?" Gale smirked at him.

"I wouldn't say she's hot," said Crowning. "I'd say she's beautiful. As beautiful as the dawn and as sweet the tropic winds at night. She has the honor of a queen and the strength of a knight. Her conviction is unwavering, her determination limitless," the professor's eyes went glassy as he reached into the air, grasping a point between himself and Gale, focusing his eyes upon it. "A heart of courage wrapped in fighting steel." He turned to look at her, "And I _love her with every fiber of my being._ "

Gale blinked. "I…" her heart was fluttering just _hearing_ that. Her own eyes were starting to tear up and she had to rub at her face with the sleeve of her jacket. "Wow, I… why don't… why don't you tell her?"

"You and I both know I can't." The professor's voice was raspy and hollow as he thrust his hand back into his pocket. "She's a proud warrior. She won't give in or give up until she's dead. You could shoot her bridge off and she'd keep fighting. Shoot her screws off and she'd keep fighting. Shoot her hull until it's so full of holes she's barely above the waterline and she'd _keep fighting._ "

Crowning scowled into the chill winter air. "Because of that, she can't let go of Samar. She tries not to show it, but can you look me in the eye and tell me that doesn't eat at her every second she's awake. Can you tell me she's got even the tiniest hint of how to handle her emotions?"

"Um…" Gale let her gaze fall to her boots. "No."

"If I go up to her and tell her I love her, what do you think she'll do?"

Gale sniffled as realization dawned upon her face. "She'll… she'll freak out. Panic."

"She's a fighter," said Crowning. "She is our sword and shield. But she can't fight without support. I love her," he didn't even bother to wipe away the rivulet of tears running into his beard, "and because I do, I'll do everything in my power to lighten her burden. I'll be there for her. Day or night, whatever days may come." He stopped, his chest heaving as he took in a deep breath. "But I won't—I can't give her anything else to bear."


	86. A Certain Lady Part 13

**A Certain Lady Part 12**

 **By Old Iron**

Under normal circumstances, USS-Albacore would not be keeping the company she was.

Rather she would be off hunting nice, thick, juicy targets-cargo, cruisers, and carriers to name a few-and praying her fish decided they'd play nice. Or barring that, committing delicious larceny for the sake of even more scrumptious cake. All of it on her lonesome. The solitary hunter, clad in shadow.

Normal circumstances were unfortunately not the order of the day.

"Hm... Nope. There's no way you could fit it, dechi."

"Ja. It is much longer than what you're used to. And much heavier."

Albacore groaned as she hung her head in resignation. "Aww... Shoot."

Yes. Rather than soloing her duties of hunting down enemy ships and procuring much needed intelligence on the Abyssal threat, Albacore had been spending her time about fifty miles off the coast of Fukue Island with Japanese submarines I-8 and I-58. Both of whom preferred to be called Hachi and Goya respectively. And both of whom dwarfed her in a great many ways.

Both were longer, heavier, and wider than she was. And that translated into more human shaped measurements in a very eye popping manner. In fact, Hachi looked like she would give a battleship a run for her money with those curves. Goya less so, but the slightly smaller of the two Japanese subs was still sporting a rather curvaceous figure.

It had made introductions even more awkward than they were likely to have been to begin with.

Albacore's first introduction to the Japanese submarine force had been like something out of a zombie flick. A tidbit she only knew about thanks to having seen bits of one from the shadows of the great treasure chest known as supply. May as well catch a movie while procuring the needed items for proper, glittery reports after all.

But having a pair of lewdmarines crawl out of the murky depths in what had to be an intentionally seductive manner had given her chills. She had nearly frozen when they had sidled up next to her with a deep, husky 'sempai'. At least when the zombies had done it in the movies, it was more akin to a horrible groan before they'd begun chowing down on the extras.

Sure, she could easily outrun, out-dive, out... everything the Japanese boats, but the shock value had given her pause enough for them to get close. That had immediately turned into a different kind of shock. How could these girls even move? Much less _dive_? There was enough spare buoyancy between the two of them to re-float a half a dozen fleet carriers.

Submarines needed to be fast! Lithe and nimble. One bad scratch and you were a goner. Fortunately for Albacore's sanity, it had been revealed that there was at least one positive to all that extra mass. That being both girls could carry a floatplane whereas she could not.

Albacore was pretty sure putting planes on a submarine was a really stupid idea. But at the same time, she wouldn't deny it had allowed the discovery of the Northern Princess.

It was still mind boggling though.

Despite the... criticisms, Hachi and Goya were more than happy to have another sub to talk with. Particularly given she was an American sub and was theoretically far more familiar with the tactics they had been forced to adopt. Hence the 'sempai' moment.

It went without saying that there was not a single Japanese submarine that enjoyed or adapted well the far more effective, but infinitely more lonely, doctrines now being employed. At least, not without a goodly amount of difficulty. Thus it had fallen to the American to help the Japanese learn how to submarine.

"The Type 95 would go so well with this attack plan." Albacore, for the first time, bemoaned her comparatively diminutive stature. Maybe she could have carried the longer-range, far more reliably deadly torpedo if she were a bigger boat, but alas...

Probably for the better though. She might end up with a lot of extra curves that would slow her down anyways if she somehow found a way to carry that fish. Yeah, the cons outweighed the pros here.

"Are you certain? I think it works fine as it is. You don't need the range or power for this plan." Hachi adjusted her glasses as she looked over the display on her waterproof phone. She kept her book tucked under one arm as she used both hands to manipulate the device.

"Range and power, no. But it's the reliability that's key. There's a really small window for that plan to be safely used, and my Mark 14's as they stand..." Albacore trailed off as she made a hand gesture of resignation.

"Even if you get that window, your fish might not work." Goya floated along in an almost careless manner alongside Albacore and Hachi, keeping her eyes ahead. It was her turn to take point for their unusual little training cruise. Though careless she might appear, she still stayed sharp. It wouldn't do to let the enemy get the drop on them. Especially in friendly water.

"Exactly. You could be the best shot in the world. But it's pointless if your fish don't play nice. Or at all." Albacore shot a grin and a thumbs up to Goya, who returned the gesture in kind.

"Still, I thought they fixed those." Goya's expression fell into something contemplative while Hachi multi-tasked between writing and listening. "And I heard you did really well with them. Even the screwy ones."

"I still had at least two fish go haywire in that last fight. And that's two too many." Albacore pulled one of her Mark 14's out of seemingly nowhere and held it in a manner reminiscent of a baseball bat. "I'm pretty sure these are the earlier model, with all the screwups still there."

"That's why you wanted to know if you could fit ours," stated Goya with a spark of realization.

"Yep. Until I can get these things to work each and every time, I'm going to be looking for something more reliable. And that I can carry." Albacore stowed the torpedo after giving it a glare. It might just be her imagination, but it seemed like the weapon had been ever so slightly intimidated. Magical Sparkly Shipgirl Bullshit indeed. "I made do before because I had to."

"Well just let us know if we can help. It's the least we can do, dechi!" Goya listed to the side just long enough to flash Albie a winning smile. "We've made more sense of these tactics with you than with anyone else. Dunno why, but it's clicking."

"Most of these tactics are pretty sound. But we've had them explained to us a dozen times over." Hachi made a few notes about positioning to account for her larger displacement as she spoke. "Perhaps we just needed a submarine who understood it to explain it, ja?"

"I dunno. Albie's saying a lot of the same things command did. Even the boss' explanation didn't help." Goya narrowed her gaze in one direction, trying to determine if what she glanced in the distance was a contact of any worth. It appeared to be a school of fish, but one couldn't be too careful.

"Hmm, true. And much of this should be simple enough for a submarine to grasp. I don't think our doctrines were different enough to make this so difficult." Hachi let her phone float relatively freely in the water. It was held to her wrist by a small tether, so there was little worry about it drifting off. She'd had that happen once before, and once was plenty. Thank you very much.

"You're just stubborn, I think." Albie nodded sagely, her frohawk bobbing in tune.

Hachi frowned as Goya turned to face Albacore again, having determined that the school of fish was exactly that and of no threat to their being.

"W-Well, it's not exactly the same, but..." She cleared her throat as she tried to recover from the little faux pas she'd committed. "I still steal stuff. I'm a subthief after all. I'm not supposed to steal things and I don't even have a good reason to anymore. But... I still do."

"Das ist why you're wearing a brand new pair of the Admiral's pants?" Hachi adjusted her glasses in a manner that would have been compared to certain fast battleship had she been present. The sultry grin less so.

"Erk!"

"Yeah. You wrote your name in pink on the other pair." Goya's perceptiveness made Albacore flinch guiltily.

"There is also one with the gold star over a red and blue background. That would make this the third pair we have seen you with." Hachi smirked as the American reeled. "We are at least observant. That much we can claim some operational superiority over at the moment."

"Back on topic! We have a job to do! And it is my duty to make sure you two can do it and do it well!" That'd keep them distracted. Absolutely. It no way, shape, or form could her ploy to keep them from finding out just how much she'd actually managed to purloin be seen through.

"Of course, sempai," Hachi replied smoothly, deciding to let Albacore off the hook for the moment.

"Good! Now, ah. Um. Oh, right. The point I was getting to. With me still borrowing things without asking and never returning them." She snapped her fingers before pointing in a southernly direction.

"Like th-!" Goya shut her mouth when Hachi cast a silencing glance in her direction. Okay, they'd had their fun. Back to work. This was one of the things she disliked most about solo operations. No one to talk to. There were other things she disliked, but it was the lack communication that really got to her. At least Hachi had her books. Being with others like this just felt better.

"Old habits die hard? That is the Americanism you are getting at?" Hachi lazily turned south with the other two submarines as they continued their combination patrol and lesson time.

"Bingo. I think that even if you've been told a bunch of times how to submarine, you're so used to how you did it fifty years ago that you just kinda... suck at doing it." Albacore placed a hand on her chest proudly. "But now that you have someone who can speak like a boat, it's not as hard to get."

"That was waaay too blunt, dechi." Goya grinned at Albie's somewhat self-important explanation. It made sense, but it was really, really straightforward for her. But that was fine.

"Wha? But, it's true!"

"True, ja. But you have been spending time with battleships. You don't need to maneuver us like you do them." Hachi spun her book idly as she spoke. "You may be a subthief and we may be lewdmarines as people call us, but we are all submarines."

Albacore really could have done without the blush on her cheeks at Hachi's words.

She also could have done without the sultry tone of voice that accompanied them. The same went for Goya's suggestive arch of the eyebrow. Damn fatassed lewdmarines. Way too lewd!

"Sorry. I'll try to be more thoughtful."

"Don't worry too much about it. You can be our combat sempai and we'll be your sempai for social...ly... things. At least you've got a better start on that than we did on your funky doctrine!" Goya's earnest demeanor earned a laugh from the other two boats.

Their laughter was cut short as all three went deathly silent.

They shared a glance as they silently confirmed the other had detected the same.

"Surface contact." Albacore's voice was soft, but edged.

"It's already gone." Goya's matched Albacore's, but was more tinged with worry. "A scout?"

Albacore pondered for a moment before turning to Hachi, making a motion to surface followed by what looked like a flying gesture. The bespectacled submarine nodded and began to take action while Albacore began relaying further command to Goya.

Hachi rose slowly, both to avoid an easy detection and due to the limitations of her hull.

When she broke the surface of the frigid winter ocean, it was a matter of minutes before her Watanabe E9W was in the air. It would take time for the plane to complete its reconnaissance mission but that unknown amount of time would keep her on the surface. It was not a place she really wanted to be, but she still had a job to do.

"If it's the Abyssal fleet, we have to report back." Albacore looked upward as she watched Hachi's outline go about the motions of launching her plane.

"But if it's one or two light vessels... I think we can take them, right?" Goya's hesitantly optimistic view was met with a contemplative silence.

"One of us should report back no matter what. But we could take them if it's just that. Still, I'm more worried about them being able to get so close." There had been that business where Hiei and Arizona had taken on four ships by themselves, nearly losing Arizona in the process.

But that didn't change the fact that Abyssal forces had managed to get close enough to shell the shoreline.

"It's been happening a lot more frequently lately. Normally it's just one or two boats attacking something with really poor defences." Goya crossed her arms under her bust and frowned. "But now it's getting a lot worse, dechi."

"Is it because of the Northern Princess?" She hadn't read the full report, but she'd heard enough that it was the largest engagement in history involving the Abyssal menace.

"Maybe? I dunno. We are stretched really thin. Especially no-"

Goya didn't have a chance to finish as Hachi performed a crash dive with more haste than she'd ever seen. Or thought possible for that matter.

"Ve have to go. _Now!_ "

"What'd she see?" demanded Albacore at the sight of the dire Hachi.

"Dozens of them. A task force most likely. She radioed me to hurry before she had to break away. She will try to make it back to shore on her own."

"Did she get a bearing?"

"Nein. Not a precise one. But anywhere between Kaba and Fukue could be a target. Even sailing up the middle to hit the mainland." Hachi sounded more and more grave with each word. With forces at a minimum and such a wide area to cover, the Abyssals had come at the worst time and up the worst lane.

"Let's hurry."

"Albie, this is it, isn't it? This is why you operate alone?" Goya turned about to begin the rushed return to base. She and the others began surfacing with all the haste they could manage. Easier to spot, but so much faster.

"...Yeah. One of the reasons." Had they been spread out and operating solo... They might have been able to spot the Abyssals before now. However that carried its own set of ifs and buts. And there was no use crying over spilled milk right now.

"Less talk, more haste, ja?"

"Right. Lets get on the horn and wake everyone up!"

—|—|—

The dark.

Everywhere was devoid of light and only sound remained.

She could see only herself and nothing else. When she called out, her voice faded without echo.

And there was no reply.

The eerie tone of her footsteps did not echo, but merely faded into the abyss. And each footfall sounded as if she were trudging through sand or ash, liberally drenched in some viscous fluid.

Arizona reached out, slowly as if anchored by some invisible chain, but she grasped nothing.

Her boilers began to red-line as her heart thundered.

Her flinty eyes widened as the gravity of her situation grew heavier and heavier. To the point of oppression it grew, and threatened to crumble her knees and will.

"A symbol of peace~"

"Who's there!?" roared Arizona, forcing herself into the image of the defiant. "Show yourself!"

"An image of power!"

Arizona whipped about, forcing past the resistance of her bindings. She would not be caught unawares. Not again. No chain would bind her again! Her guns would roar and her fists would howl.

"An icon of duty."

" _WHO'S THERE!?_ " Arizona's voice nearly cracked in its fury. Those taunting, familiar tones. The mocking words. Her rage billowed up as if someone had set her fuel alight.

"Show your-"

The copper haired battleship was cut off as the snapping sound of something cutting through the air preceded the dull, meaty thudding of three razor headed arrows embedding themselves in her chest. None struck anything vital, not to her, but they were enough to stagger her and draw a ragged gasp from between her lips.

"-self?"

A heavy object, invisible to her eye slammed into her front and pinned her to the ground.

She gasped in pain as the arrows were cracked and driven further into her body. Before she could cry out and fight back, her invisible assailant covered her mouth and stifled her breath.

"The bearer of hate~"

A knife, embellished with the rising sun ascended before her terrified vision.

"The pinnacle of weakness!"

It gleamed in the abyss as it began its merciless descent.

"The perfection of failure."

And the blade pierced her heart, pinning her to the vile ground.

Only black, oily tears and dark, crimson blood escaped Arizona. Her mouth remained clamped shut and she could not even shiver in terror as the feeling of an angry hand clawed at her cheek. But she could not see. There was only herself and darkness.

" _You... You failed us._ "

For the first time in this wretched place as she lay dying, did something carrying both form and voice reach her senses.

A cracked, skeletal hand reached up from the sludge-like ash and grasped her arm.

" _Killed in your sleep._ "

" _Worthless_."

" _Pathetic_."

" _You abandoned us_."

" _Abandoned your country. Your duty_."

With each and every word, another hand would reach out. And with each hand she was forced further and further into the now burning pool of ash. She was not even allowed to shout her denial or claim the release of death.

" _Why you? Why did I have to die on you?_ "

" _I could have been something_."

The bones of the fallen gathered around her. Those who could not pull her down, instead circled like vultures with vicious taunts and hateful prose. Damnations from the slain.

Then two skeletal monstrosities reached out from the darkness and placed crushing grips upon her legs. Arizona was forced upright to gaze upon them and their ruthless hands, each bearing a gleaming ring. Their skulls burnt and grinning with malice, their unspoken words cut more deeply than even the weapons piercing her flesh.

As if upon the whim of her tormentors, a bell rang out and her own ashen faced countenance was thrust before her eyes.

Black and crimson stared into steel and gold.

" _You are nothing but fear. Nothing but hate. Nothing but **FAILURE**. And we shall **NEVER FORGIVE FAILURE**_."

Before the ghostly mirror could strike her down, Arizona awoke with a wretched scream of terror.

She sat up in bed, drenched in sweat and reaching out to salvation from something that did not exist within the confines of her room.

"A...Again...?" It had happened again. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles. Ever since her awakening in the docks from her abysmal first battle, not five minutes of sleep had gone by before she was returned to the realm of the waking by the most terrifying images.

She had gotten maybe an hour's total rest. Maybe. It was hard to tell sometimes.

"A-Ari?" The scared, diminutive voice of a child brought Arizona's attention to the doorway.

There, in her pajamas and trying to not shake like a leaf while clutching something grey to her chest, was little Jane Richardson. The girl who seemed so taken with her for reasons she herself could not see. It broke her already tormented heart to see what her nightmare had wrought on Jane.

"I... I'm okay. Just... Just a bad dream." Yes, just a bad dream. Nothing more. Nothing less. Ignore the repetition. Ignore the increasing horror it inflicted...

"Do you... want me to get you anything?" Jane did not allow herself to appear more frightened than she was. It didn't matter how much she admired Arizona. Or how much she wanted to run over and hug the hurting woman. She would hold on and not jump the gun. No matter how much she wanted to.

"I d-don't know." Arizona was baffled and scared and angry. She just wanted show a measure of weakness. Just once. But she couldn't afford to.

There was silence until it was broken by an unbidden sob from the Pennsylvania-Class battleship.

And that was all it took for Jane to throw caution to the wind and march over to Arizona. She refused the redhead's half-hearted attempts to wave her off and thrust the item in her hands into Arizona's bosom.

It was odd in shape, but soft and fluffy. Like a pillow.

"J-Jane? What is?" Arizona tried to look at the item in the darkness of her room, but she could not make it out. Less so when the item's owner latched onto her with a death-grip.

"Th-That's Kidd. I-It'll watch out for you. And I'll make D-Daddy get a-a whole f-fleet for you. You d-don't have Mo to l-look out for you r-right now, s-so..."

As Arizona embraced the child and the toy, she wept.

For the first time not in anger or in despair, Battleship Arizona wept.

—|—|—

"Admiral Richardson, message from the submarine training group. Abyssal forces inbound."


	87. Chapter 66: Not Fat, Treaty

**Chapter 66: Not Fat, "Treaty".**

Heavy Cruiser _San Fransisco_ of the United States Navy knew a truck when she saw one. Yes, the years since her scrapping had brought their share of changes to the old logistics standby—it was painted tan instead of green, for one—but a truck was, essentially a truck. Based on the multitude of chunky tires and the low rumble of an idling diesel engine, Frisco guessed the truck she was being herded towards was in the ten-ton range. At first, she thought such a massive vehicle was overkill for transporting just herself and Wash. Then she put her foot up on the ladder rung.

A loud whine of stressed metal shot though the air, and the truck listed noticeably. Frisco's cheeks flushed a pale red and she scowled at the inanimate hunk of impertinent metal. She was a damn _treaty cruiser_. She watched her weight like any of them, she was _not_ overweight.

Okay, maybe a _few_ tons, but that was it. And dammit, she put the weight on _after_ the war broke out, who could blame a girl for getting a _teeny tiny_ bit heavy under circumstances like that.

Luckily, nobody around her seemed to react to either the cruiser's angry blush _or_ her improbably massive weight. And even if they did, the pathetic screech of the truck's suspension bottoming out under _Wash's_ weight more than covered it.

Frisco glanced over her shoulder at the dazzle-camouflaged Marines struggling to keep a straight face. She choose to believe they were reacting to _Wash's_ excessive displacement, not her own.

Besides, the battleship carried it better anyways.

Frisco hurriedly ducked though the sheet-steel door into the passenger compartment built around the truck's bed. "Wow," A breath of surprise slipped though her lips as she settled on the warm bench seat.

Everything was so much nicer than she was used too. The walls were all freshly painted in a calming shade of tan. The seat was… she wasn't even sure _what_ that material was, but she knew it felt _amazing_ on her stern.

The cruiser shook her hips to work her ass firmly into the comfortable padding, a smile spreading across her slender face as comfort surrounded her. It might be a little immature, but her years brawling on the front line had taught her _never_ to give up a chance to enjoy herself.

"This is like…" Frisco bounced on her stern, " _really_ comfortable."

"I know," Wash grinned as she settled into her own seat. The battleship had—somehow—switched from that fetching tight-jeans and tighter-sweater ensemble to a more familiar-looking uniform.

A tight blue WAVES jacket—albeit with the sleeves apparently missing—hugged the battleship's chest and did her figure no sins, and a very _very_ short splinter-pattern skirt showed off the younger girl's shorts and thigh-high stockings. A snow-white scarf draped rakishly around the battleship's shoulders and a neat black turtleneck completed the look.

"Wow, uh," Frisco glanced down at her own grungy outfit, idly playing with the ragged hem of her top. She didn't even have a full shirt left, she'd— the fabric was torn off just below her treaty-compliant breasts, and her shorts were grungy and stained with ground-in salt. "Your outfit's so much nicer than mine."

"Don't worry," Wash licked her finger tip and rubbed a loose spec of dirt off the cruiser's slender nose. "I think you look beautiful."

Frisco felt her cheeks flush a hot red as she sank into her chair. She was a cruiser, damnit. She was supposed to _run away_ from battleships, not get complimented by them!

But before the cruiser could stew in her flustered discomfort for more than a few minutes, a Voice cut though the air. Frisco hadn't heard it before, but she still knew it by heart. The Voice. If the CNO was God, The Voice was his prophet. The Admiral. _Her_ Admiral.

 _"San Fransico, it's good to have you back,"_ rumbled a calmly commanding voice with enough gravel in it to build a small island. It was the kind of voice that sent shivers down the old cruiser's spine and set butterflies aflutter in her stomach.

"Sir?" Frisco glanced around for the source of the voice. She was _sure_ she'd been alone, but she wouldn't put outright magic outside Her Admiral's abilities. After all, she _was_ a cruiser sitting in the back of a truck.

Wash coughed and pointed to the front of the little compartment. A black-framed screen—which until now Frisco had assumed was just decoration—now held the living image of Her Admiral within its bezel. In full, living color.

"Wow," Frisco breathed, "This really _is_ the future."

"I know," said Wash with equal carefree reverence.

Frisco blinked. "Oh, uh… shit. USS _San Fransisco_ , CA-38 reporting." Frisco's hand started to move to her brow, then stopped half-way. "Uh… wait. Do I salute or do I not?"

Her Admiral just smiled. _"As you were, San Fransisco, I know you girls need a little slack."_

Frisco nodded, a flood of relief flushing though her system. "Thank you sir. And… call me Frisco."

 _"Alright, Frisco,"_ The Admiral jotted something down on a pad just outside the camera's field of view. _"Admiral Samuel Williams, I'm your new CO."_

"Sir," Frisco offered a curt nod. Her outfit might look like shit, but at least she'd _act_ proper in front of The Brass.

 _"I understand you've figured most of the situation out for yourself?"_

Frisco took a second to gather her thoughts. "More or less, sir. There's an evil, supernatural force lurking in the oceans, and the conventional navy can't or won't engage, so you're using us old girls to spearhead the defense." She blinked, "Is… that about right."

Williams let out a quiet chuckle, _"Well done, Frisco. I'd say I'm surprised, but so far all our cruisers have been very insightful."_

"Except for Alaska," said Wash, "she's… kinda a dork."

Williams shrugged in acceptance.

Frisco, however, was fixated on the last part of Her Admiral's sentence. "Um, sir?" She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking, her hazel eyes locked on Her Admiral's, "You said other cruisers. Did… Did any of my sisters come back? Or maybe Atlanta?"

For a second, neither The Admiral or Wash said anything. The two of them just shared a brief glance before Williams turned back to Frisco. _"I'm… afraid not, Frisco. You're the first American cruiser back."_

"Then how-"

 _"Allied Cruisers,"_ said Williams.

Frisco's mouth hung slack as she sat back in her chair. Her mind whirled and hummed as she slotted the bits of information she knew into place, and extrapolated the ones she didn't. "They're Japanese," she breathed.

 _"Frisco?"_ Williams leaned in to the camera, _"How?"_

Frisco's hands balled into fists at her side. "So I was right." Her porcelain face cracked into a furious scowl, "Sir…" the cruiser's voice trembled in rage, "We're… _trusting_ the nips?"

Wash coughed, "Frisco, you're-"

"No!" Frisco rounded on the battleship. "No, Wash, don't you… don't even _try_. I know I look like one of them, but I'm _not._ Okay?" The cruiser's anger flushed her skin an angry crimson, "I was built down at Mare Island, okay? I'm as American as you are. Besides, it doesn't fucking _matter._ "

Wash nodded, her hands going to her lap while she let the cruiser speak her peace.

"I don't… I don't hate them because of what they are, okay?" said Frisco to nobody in particular. "I hate them for what they did. I was _there_ , okay. None of you were. I was _there_ on the seventh. I watched Arizona go up with my own eyes. I saw WeeVee and Okie go down with men still aboard. I…" The cruiser's voice cracked.

"I heard Cassin and Downes scream as they burned," Frisco's voice was barely more than a harsh whisper. "I watched them… clinging to one another as they died. Each trying to comfort the other. I will _never_ forget that."

 _"That was seventy years ago,"_ said Williams. _"What happened seventy years before you were launched?"_

Frisco wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "The, uh… the Civil War, sir."

 _"Frisco, I'm from Virginia,"_ said Williams, _"Does that make me a slave-owning traitor?"_

"No sir," mumbled the cruiser. "But… sir… if General Lee came back in his prime, that'd be different."

 _"Maybe,"_ said Williams. _"Frisco, one of the first ships to return was the aircraft carrier Kaga."_

Frisco's muscles tensed and her fists clenched at her sides.

 _"There are… nationalist groups in Japan,"_ said Williams, ignoring Frisco's sudden tension as he drilled his words into her head, _"groups that deny the Japanese atrocities in China. Groups that would go as far as saying the attack on Pearl Harbor was a just response to American Imperialism."_

"Sir! That's-"

 _"Frisco,"_ Williams' voice wasn't so much harsh as it was commanding. _"I am talking."_

The cruiser bit her lip, "Yes sir."

 _"As I was saying,"_ said Williams, _"Shortly after her return, Kaga held a press conference to address people who hold such beliefs."_

The Admiral's face vanished, replaced by what Frisco recognized as some kind of newsreel. About a dozen Japanese men—both in uniforms and slick business suits—sat flanking… _her._ The aircraft carrier Kaga, Frisco'd recognize that top-heavy silhouette anywhere.

The men on her sides looked like… people. They talked with one another, adjusted their chairs, fiddled with their ties. But not Kaga. The side-tailed bitch just stared at a single point in space, even her _breathing_ looked regimented and controlled.

 _"It has come to my attention,"_ said the carrier. Her voice was cold and harsh. The angry growl of a chided warrior. _"That there are some among you who believe my actions on December the Seventh, nineteen forty-one to be justified. Honorable, even."_

Frisco felt her vision start to tint a bloody red.

 _"I would ask,"_ the carrier continued with the same cold self-confidence, _"That anyone who holds to such a belief reconsider, or commit seppuku."_

Frisco felt all her anger melt away in an instant. "What?" On the screen, the men flanking Kaga seemed frozen in horror. One on the end was frantically waving for _someone_ to cut her microphone's feed, but everyone else watched with unmoving focus.

 _"If they do not,"_ Kaga didn't even seem to _notice_ how horrified her audience was, _"I will rescind my protection of the home islands, and offer my services to an honorable navy."_

The crowd watched her with mute horror, but the ice-cold carrier wasn't done. _"We were wrong,"_ she said. _"That is not opinion, that is fact. And refusing the truth, putting face above fact,"_ Kaga leveled an iron-hard stare at one man in particular. Frisco almost felt sorry for the poor bastard. Almost. _"Led Japan into a war it could not win before. I will not allow it to happen again."_

For a second, the Carrier stood at quiet attention behind her podium. Her hands were folded behind her back and her ice-cold glare swept across the audience like machine-gun fire. Then the picture flashed back to Her Admiral's face.

 _"I'll add,"_ said The Admiral, _"That both Akagi and Kaga made formal requests to visit the Arizona Memorial after the war. Both of them offered to fall on their swords in front of any who wish to observe."_

Frisco gulped down a lungful of air.

 _"So,"_ said Williams, _"Do you think we can trust them?"_

Frisco took in a long breath. "Seventy years, you say?"

Williams nodded.

"I, uh…" Frisco rubbed at the bridge of her nose, "I think we can give them a shot, sir."

—|—|—

Frisco pressed her eyes closed and focused on the pounding eight-piece harmony of her boilers—her _heart_ banging away against the steel of her chest. She was mad, hell, she was furious, and the downside of this new fleshy body was how damn hard it was to secure from general quarters.

"Frisco?" The tender, almost motherly song of Wash's sweet voice crashed over the cruiser's bow. Even with her eyes screwed shut, the cruiser could see the battleship's worried stare in her voice, sense the hand resting ever so gently on her bare thigh.

"Give me a minute," said the cruiser. She pursed her lips, hissing out a long, slow breath as she calmed her self back down as best she could. She wanted to hate the Japanese carriers for what they'd done, but…

But they'd done everything they could to atone. And Frisco, Frisco of all people, knew they weren't lying. She knew what a face of regret, a face that longs for redemption and atonement looks like. She saw it every damn time she looked in a mirror.

The cruiser felt Wash's hand squeeze at the pale flesh of her thigh, a warm bit of comfort hovering just inside her senses. It felt good, sweet… and comforting. "I'm okay."

Frisco let her eyes flutter open once more. Wash was staring at her with concern writ large on her serene features, and on the screen, even Her Admiral was looking at her with obvious care—almost… love—on his weatherbeaten face.

"I'm, uh," Frisco blushed and tried to brush away a stray strand of obsidian hair. "I'm sorry, sir. That you had to see that."

Williams just nodded. He didn't say a word, but somehow, Frisco _knew_ he loved her. It was plastered all over his face and it beamed from those storm-gray eyes. He _loved_ her. Loved her like a daughter or… or a beloved pet or something, and it warmed the old cruiser's heart.

"So, uh," Frisco rested her hands on her lap, her fingers idly toying with the ragged hem of her shorts. "The war?"

Williams nodded. _"We're fighting enemies which, until a few years ago, were just sea-stories and legends. We call them Abyssals."_ The Admiral paused for a moment, _"Frisco… I suggest you brace yourself."_

"Aye, sir."

The image on the screen switched from a feed of Her Admiral to something… _wrong._ It took every shred of restraint the cruiser had just to keep her fist from going through the screen.

"What," Frisco hissed, her fists clenched so tight the steel started to creak and groan at the stress. Her vision flared a brilliant crimson as she bared her teeth at the abomination on the screen.

The rational part of her told her it was a cruiser. Eight guns were mounted in four slope-fronted turrets. A skinny, sickly-looking mast was mounted well back on her superstructure, just ahead of a bulky smokestack. There was nothing particularly beautiful about the ship on the screen, it was a simple brutish design. A ship of war that had no interest in the niceties of peace, but a ship nonetheless.

 _But,_ something deep in Frisco's soul screamed at the image. Wrong. WRONG WRONG WRONG. Just looking at it made her blood boil. Fury churned in her stomach at the sight and she didn't stop grinding her teeth until she tasted steel filings in her mouth. That… that _thing_ that abomination should not—could not—exist. She wouldn't allow it. In the corner of her view, she saw Wash tense. The battleship's hands wrapped around the grips of her revolvers, her thumbs hovering over the hammers.

"Sir?" Frisco's voice shook with rage and she had to fight down the urge to scream. "Is _that_ our enemy."

The screen flicked back to the face of Her Admiral. Frisco felt her blood start to cool off—every so slowly, but cool off—and Wash let her guns slide back into their carriers.

 _"Yes,"_ said Williams. _"We call them 'Abyssals,' and so far every girl who's seen them has had the same reaction."_

"What…" Frisco trailed off, "What are they?"

 _"We don't know,"_ said Williams. _"No one does. But-"_

"But you know they're wrong," breathed Frisco. She didn't know why she felt like this, why her whole being screamed in fury at the very _thought_ that those _things_ were allowed to continue existing. But she never felt hate—felt righteous fury—like this before. "Sir."

 _"Exactly,"_ said Williams. _"Now you know the stakes."_

"How are we doing?" asked Frisco.

 _"The Abysals have been harassing the Atlantic convoys with surface raiders, battleship, and U-boat patrols,"_ said Her Admiral, _"But their main theater, and your main concern, is the Pacific."_

The screen flickered over to a map of the Pacific ocean. Some of the borders were new, and Frisco wasn't sure exactly what the 'Russian Federation' was, but right this moment, she didn't actually care.

Everything from a few hundred miles off the American West Coast to the International dateline was marked with the angry red stripes of contested waters, and everything west of _that_ was drenched in blood. The only oasis was the sea of Japan, and even that was was tinged pink around Tsushima.

Only a few slender corridors of contested—not even _secure_ but contested—linked America with Japan and Australia. One ran from Washington, up along Alaska, then back down to the Japanese Mainland while another, even skinnier lifeline leapfrogged from Hawaii to Midway to Japan itself. The third skipped from California, to Hawaii, to Samoa, than finally to New Zealand and Australia.

 _"We lost the Solomons,"_ said Williams with gruff finality. _"We lost the Hebrides… hell, it if wasn't for Tiger, we'd have lost the Coral Sea."_

"Damn," Frisco cursed under her breath. She'd never met the old cat, but… well, from what she'd read in _Janes'_ the girl had her work cut out for her. "What about the South China Sea?" she asked, pointing to a section of the map marked a slightly lighter shade or red than the rest.

 _"The Abyssals haven't made any offensive thrusts,"_ said Williams, his voice trailing off in a way that told Frisco a major 'but' was coming. _"But any girl who enters is attacked, and any port that gives her shelter is shelled to the ground."_

Frisco felt her heart drop to her stomach.

 _"It's the same story all over the world. The Abyssals are massing their forces to crush Japan and England, trying to starve out the islands. For every other nation, the message is clear: 'let them starve, and we'll let you live. Help, and your life is forfeit'."_

"Most of Europe's still helping," said Wash. "France, Italy, even Germany's doing what they can. But nations without a navy are staying out of this fight."

Frisco scowled. She saw what they were doing, understood it even. Smart little bastards, didn't mean she had to like it. "I, uh… I don't really blame them." For a second, she just shook her head in horror, then a thought occurred to her. "Sir?"

 _"Yes?"_

"What about us?" Frisco's eyes narrowed into the kind of focused gaze only a cruiser could truly produce. "We're helping everyone, right? Why aren't they attacking us?"

 _"They're attacking our convoys at every turn,"_ said Williams, _"But they haven't focused an attack against us yet. Probably because until four months ago we didn't have a single girl to our name."_

The Admiral took a quick drink from throughly-seasoned coffee mug before continuing. _"Our analysts say the Abyssals are redistributing their forces towards us. They're gonna come down on us and they're going to come down hard."_

Frisco scowled at the screen. "Sir?"

Williams let out a grunt of acknowledgement.

"How… how'd we hold Hawaii?" asked the cruiser. "I mean, from what Wash and Gale told me, we scrapped a hell of a lot of our heavies."

 _"Steel-hulls and guts,"_ said Williams. _"And a battleship."_

Frisco thought for a second, then a smile crossed her face. A real, honest smile. "Big Mo?"

 _"The one and only."_ Even Williams' weatherbeaten face cracked into a warm smile.

* * *

 ** _E/N:_** _Okay, to ward off some potential controversy on this chapter, I'd like to note the author has justified this by noting that Japanese Attackers offering to commit seppuku at the place they attacked is hardly unheard of. Look up Nobuo Fujita for more information._


	88. Chapter 67: Two of a Kind

**Chapter 67: Two of a Kind**

White Plains wandered though the Yokosuka carrier dormitory with her chubby little face all but buried in the study fabric of her blouse. Her neckerchief tickled at her nose and her cheeks all but glowed red. She wasn't used to attention—of any kind. She was just an escort carrier, she did the boring jobs so real carriers could do real carrier things. The most she ever expected was a nod, maybe even a smile, from her Admiral. That alone made her glow with pride.

But now, every carrier White passed lavished her with praise and thanks. They bowed deeply to her, thanking her for 'saving their lives'. Jun'you even offered to share some of her 'secret stash.'

But White didn't think _she_ could take much credit. She was just repeating what the Navy taught her crew after all. But every time a carrier complimented her, she spent too much time blushing to squeak out anything more than a timid "t-thanks" before the Japanese girl went on her way.

It was kinda annoying, actually. White wasn't used to this kind of attention. She was starting to miss Choukai. At least her shoulder was healing up nice and cleanly. She could barely even tell where the arrow had punched though her deck!

White smiled as she bounced down the stairs to the 'fleet carrier wing'. It was kinda a silly title for a building that housed all of two fleet carriers. The Japanese must've been _really_ optimistic, but at least there was lot of space to for the other girls to hang out and relax between missions.

The little carrier deftly wove between the worktables—most of which were close to overflowing with model kits and paint bottles—and worked her way towards the only actual dorm room on this floor.

Even with all this space, Akagi and Kaga refused to have separate rooms. The way Houshou explained it, it was something about neither one wanting to be a burden to anyone. White thought it was adorable. She always found it easier to sleep with a lot of friends—or better yet, _Jersey_ —snuggling her.

She was just about to knock on the door frame when she heard a sound. A soft, rhythmic _shhwwwwiiiick_ of oiled steel against stone. White scrunched up her face and tried to place the sound. She knew she'd heard it before, but where…

Then it came to her. The little carrier clapped her hand over her mouth too late to stifle a gasp. A sword. That was the sound of someone sharpening a sword.

Then, the sound stopped. Floorboards creaked as the massive weight of a proper fleet carrier shifted against them. Then, a curt puff of breath and a blunt, "Yes?"

"Um," White timidly poked her head around the half-open door. "Miss Kaga?"

The carrier nodded. She looked as beautiful and severe as ever as she sat on her knees before what White recognized as an officer's sword. Her hair was tied back into her usual side-tail, and her breastplate was tied on without so much as a thread out of position.

Slowly, methodically and gracefully, the carrier slid her sword back into its sheath. As the tang clicked home, Kaga's shoulders slumped by a fraction, almost trembling under an immense weight. "White-Sensei," she said with a deep bow.

White fought down her blush, "I didn't interrupt you or anything, did I?"

"You did," said Kaga. Her face was focused and stern, like a warrior staring down her opponent. But that didn't really mean anything. White had seen her use that face against a bowl of rice before, she didn't really have any others. "But I don't mind."

"Oh," White rocked on her heels. Even sitting on her haunches the carrier was taller than her. "Okay, I just wanted to let you know I'm feeling a lot better." White spun her arms in circles to demonstrate.

The corner of Kaga's mouth twitched up in the tiniest ghost of a smile White had ever seen. "Good," was her only response.

White rocked on her heels, her little cheeks puffing in and out as she thought. She couldn't think of what to say, other than… well… the sword reminded her of the whole 'sudoku' incident before Jersey left for Alaska. "Um, Miss Kaga?"

Kaga's brow crept up a fraction.

"Why do you have a sword?"

Kaga sighed. "Because," she said, "It is the way a warrior should kill herself."

White gasped. "Kaga! No, why?" The little carrier threw herself at Kaga. Her arms wrapped around the carrier's ribcage as her chest collided with her lacquered breastplate. If Kaga hadn't displaced more than thirty-eight thousand tons she might even have been moved by the sudden collision. "We need you!"

"Not now," said Kaga. If she found the little carrier squeezing her tight to be even the slightest bit cute she didn't show it. "After the war's over," her voice dropped by a wisper, "Akagi and I offered to visit Pearl Harbor and, if your nation wishes us to…" Kaga trailed off. Her eyes drifted to her sword, and her chest swelled as she took in a deep breath, "We will open our stomachs before any who wish to observe."

White gasped. "Why would you- A-Akagi too?"

"It was her idea," said Kaga, a tiny hint of a smile flickering at the corners of her mouth.

"B-But why?" said White. The little carrier hovered on the edge of outright bawling into the older carrier's shirt. "I love you," she muttered.

"There are many who don't," said Kaga. "Many who look at our actions in the war with disgust and hatred." The old carrier sighed, her hands awkwardly coming around to cradle the tiny carrier sniffling into her bosom. "And Japan can not stand alone. My home needs the support of the world or it will surely fall."

"But…" White sniffed. Her already ruddy nose almost glowed red as she looked up at the old fleet carrier, "But why would you- I mean… killing yourself?"

"The attack was a cowardly and shameful act," said Kaga. "The war itself was a fool's errant against a sleeping giant." She stopped, her chest heaving again as she took a deep breath.

"Akagi said it better than I when she said, 'people want to see the world in black and white. They want to see the defeated warriors prostrate themselves at the victor's seat'." Kaga's stare focused on a point just beyond the horizon. "If giving them that image saves my homeland, I will gladly offer my life for it."

White sniffed, then squeezed the carrier's ribs with all the strength she could manage. "You're good people Kaga."

Kaga was about to respond when White shoved her face into the carrier's exposed stomach. "Sooooo waaaaarm," purred the little American.

Kaga let out a long, resigned sigh. She didn't enjoy her stomach being co-opted as a space heater. Not one bit. Honest.

—|—|—

Naka closed her eyes and let the soft sound of freezing ocean water rushing past her slender hull sing to her. The water was ice-cold, almost as cold as the water off Adak island had been. But somehow… it didn't _feel_ cold. Instead of a steel-gray plain that seemed to churn with fury at the mere _presense_ of a warship within its bounds, this water was like… an infinite blanket in the deepest, brightest blue Naka had ever seen.

The sea felt alive and… almost _happy_ that it could share its wonders with Naka and her little taskforce. The waves sang as they crashed against her bow, and she could almost feel the salty spray blush as it kissed her cheeks.

Yes, this was a good day to be at sea. Naka let out a contented sigh and slowly let her eyes flutter open. Tenryuu and her kindergarten were on screen duty. Naka knew this because Jersey had laid out everyone's duties very clearly before the fleet set sail—for how lazy she was, the American sure had a way with organizational charts.

But she _also_ knew it because she could see a glint on the horizon whenever Tenryuu dramatically flourished her sword at something, and every so often she'd hear a very quiet "nanodesu" or "Lady!" float over the waves.

Kongou and Kirishima lead the formation, with Yuudachi and Fubuki attached as their close-escorts. Naka wasn't quite close enough to make out what the two battleships were talking about—at least not without straining her ears to a slightly impolite extreme—but whatever it was, Kongo was talking about it _very_ energetically.

Every few minutes, the battleship would flail her arms to strike a pose, sending her long sleeves fluttering in the chilly December breeze. Kirishima would nod sagely, then scribble down another line or two on that notebook she always seemed to carry with her.

Fubuki and Yuudachi just lazily steamed around their charges. Fubuki wore a look of furious determination on her little face, while Yuudachi seemed utterly taken by her flowing white scarf, seemingly oblivious to the way tufts of her hair kept getting blown up by the wind. Naka knew better than to underestimate the blond destroyer, though. Yuudachi's record was second to none.

That just left Jersey, who carried a sleeping Heermann on her back, and Musashi, who was still nursing the massive ragged gash on her torpedo bulge, and their escorts to take up the rear of the little formation.

Hoel dutifully steamed along off Jersey's beam, her scruffy red ponytail bouncing around as her eyes flickered from the quiet horizon to the quietly snoring Heermann snuggling against Jersey's shoulder.

Johnston, on the other hand, didn't even _try_ to hide her slack-jawed leering at Musashi's awesome topweight. The little destroyer's guns were trained on the horizon to ward off any threat that might appear, but her eyes were all but welded to the battleship's chest. Every bounce, every jiggle was mirrored perfectly in her wide-eyed stare.

Musashi didn't seem to mind the attention, as much as her haughty smirk might suggest otherwise. Ever few minutes, she'd make a show out of adjusting her bandages, puffing her chest, or otherwise drawing attention to her colossal chest that Naka was in no way jealous of. Then she'd glance at the drooling Fletcher off her beam and the two would share a conspiratorial wink.

Naka made a note to make sure Musashi never _ever_ met Atago. The two would be insufferable. Or potentially hilarious, one of the two. The cruiser put the thought out of her mind as she drifted closer to where Jersey was steaming.

The old battleship was 'typing' on her phone. For certain, very generous, definitions of the word typing. She'd glare at the display for a few seconds, then _sloooowly_ move one finger until it was over the button she'd hunted for, punch at the screen with a quiet 'fuck' then go back to scowling at the display.

"You're _so old_ ," teased Naka as she pulled alongside.

"Fuck you," grunted Jersey. The battleship's icy eye narrowed into a glare that could've punched though Musashi's belt. "When were you launched again?"

Naka made a show of putting one finger to her cheek, her lips puckering in an exaggerated display of girly cuteness that migrated all the way down to the silly tilt of her hips. "March 24th," she said.

"Fuck you, traffic cone," grumbled the towering American, "I mean which goddamn year?"

"Nineteen twenty five," said Naka with a giggle and a little peace sign. "That makes me nineteen, granny!"

"Hardy har-fuck you," shot back Jersey. "I hate the fucking interface… sit me in front of a fucking DOS box and I'd be fucking _amazing._ "

Naka rolled her eyes. "You do know literal babies know how to work those, right?"

"You want me to shove a literal baby up your scrawny ass?" countered Jersey. Then, for a second she paused. "Shit, that came out wrong."

"You don't say," said Naka with a grin. Not one of her manufactured Idol-cutesy grins, an honest grin with just the right amount of mockery blended in. "Need any help, grannyboat?"

Jersey aimed a smack at Naka's buns that the cruiser deftly dodged. "Fuck it, sure."

Naka straighted her hair and smiled up at Jersey like a dutiful schoolgirl. "How can I help?"

"We'll have a few hours in Anchorage to get this little one," Jersey gently jostled the destroyer girl sleeping on her back, "Can I, uh, borrow your computer for a bit? I gotta send a few emails. Maybe make a call or two."

Naka smiled. She had a sneaking suspicion _who_ that call would be headed towards. And in her humble opinion as an idol-cruiser of the Combined Fleet, Jersey had _better_ call him and tell him just how she obviously feels. "Yeah, no problem!"

Jersey sighed, frustration melting off her face as she slipped her phone into the pocket of her puffy vest.

"You know," said Naka, "I checked, and there isn't actually any rail line from Anchorage to the lower forty eight."

"Yeah," Jersey nodded. "Train's just taking her to Wittier, they got a high-speed ferry to take her the rest of the way."

"Oh," Naka nodded, "A ferry? You sure that's safe?"

Jersey shrugged, "Those ferries make upwards of twenty knots, and it'll be running down a corridor patrolled by P-3s, Newfies, and more fucking coastal guns than… fucking…" the battleship flailed her hands in an inarticulate display of largeness, "there's a lotta fucking guns, okay?"

Naka pursed her lips, then made a show of admiring the massive number of five-inch and forty-milimiter guns mounted on nearly every flat surface the American battleship possessed. "Uh huh."

"'sides," Jersey shrugged, "I'll be free to fucking swoop in and save the day without a sleeping kiddo on my back."

Heermann let out a purring sigh and snuggled her nose deeper into the battleship's scarf.

Naka smiled. "You're a good mother Jersey."

The American just flexed her arms with a determined scowl. "Hell fucking yeah I am."

"But if you'll excuse me," Naka motioned to where Johnston was frantically trying to get the cruiser's attention. Not only was her mast festooned with "N-A-K-A" signal flags, she was waving out "NAKA" in semaphore, "Someone needs attention."

Jersey just rolled her eyes and waved off the cruiser.

Naka smiled as she lazily steamed over to the little destroyer and her not-so-little charge.

"Naka," Musashi smiled at Naka, her chest puffing out until her bandages threatened to give up what little restraint they still had.

"Musashi," Naka offered the brown-skinned battleship a bow. Braggart or not, she _had_ acquitted herself well.

"Naka!" Johnston ceased her energetic waving now that Naka was in vocal-bothering range. "NakaNakaNakaNaka!"

"Yes, Johnston," Naka sighed as she fell into position between Musashi and the Fletcher.

"Oh, hey," Johnston smiled, her feathers quivering to rest atop her little head. "You're here."

Naka rolled her eyes.

"Anyways, I was wondering," Johnston pulled a little closer to Naka, "They're still making Captain America movies, right?"

Naka nodded.

"Is he still from World War Two?"

Another nod.

"Then…" Johnston counted off on her fingers, "Wouldn't be he _really old_ now?"

"Oh, no," Naka shook her head. "Well, he _would_ be, but they put him on ice after the war. But he got thawed out when his nation needed him."

"Oh, cool!" Johnston beamed.

Naka smirked, then bent over to whisper into the little destroyer's ear. "Just like your old momboat," she pointed at Jersey.

"Huh?"

"After the war," said Naka, "they put Jersey and her sisters into mothballs, only to pull her out in the fifties. They did it again in the sixties, then again in the eighties."

"Oooooooh," Johnston cooed. "She's really _really_ cool then!"

—|—|—

On the other side of the Pacific, Yeoman Sarah Gale stared off into the cloudless sky. The chill winter air bit at her exposed skin and turned each breath into a swirling ephemeral dance of fog and mist, and in the distance she saw the glimmering lights of Whidbey Island glowing like beacons in the night darkness.

"Gale?" The Yeoman almost restrained herself from jumping at the sudden arrival of Wash's calm, honey-sweet voice just a few feet away from her.

"Yeah, uh," Gale bit her lip. The battleship couldn't _help_ her stealthy nature, it was just what she did… but it didn't make it any less annoying when Gale was furiously trying to think about anything _but_ her. "The, uh, Doc put the girls to sleep."

"I'll make sure to thank him." The railing creaked as Wash rested her forearms against it, her stunningly pretty face, and stunningly large chest, just barely intruding into the sailor's peripheral vision.

Gale bit her lip and focused on an arbitrary point in the distance. Wash was pretty. She was so damn pretty she made everything else look prettier just by virtue of being _near_ her. And… and damn was she gorgeous. From the stem all the way down to that plump stern. Gale would've said hot, but that word felt too… crass for a woman like Wash.

"That was a very pleasant outing," said the battleship, her ivory face curving into the kind of idle half-smile she wore from time to time.

"Yeah, uh," Gale glanced over at the battleship for an instant. Wrong move. Very very wrong move. Wash was back into her uniform, and… well the snug black wool couldn't have fit her curves better if it was shrink-wrapped around them. The battleship's breasts pulled at the fabric just so, framing her bust, hips, and the slender waist between like a renaissance masterpiece. Her short splinter-patterned skirt and glimmering white-silk scarf only improved the perfection. "Yeah," was all the red-faced yeoman could squeeze out.

"I'm sorry it didn't go the way you wanted," said Wash. The warm curves of her gentle face was as unreadable as ever.

"It happens," sighed Gale. Dammit. _Damnit_. Wash was so hot it hurt to even think about. But… but that wasn't love, was it?

Crowning Loved Jersey. Not just lusted—who could blame him for that. _Every_ man on the base would be head over heels for those hips—but _loved_. She could be flat as a board and ugly as a stump and he'd still love her. Gale scowled, could _she_ ever measure up to that?

"If…" Wash's voice actually faltered for once, "If you wanted to go alone, I'm sorry."

"Hmm?" Gale risked another glance. Wash's face glowed as warmly as ever, but there was a tiny note of sadness in the way she held herself now. Her russet brown hair started to fall over her face, hiding her eyes for a brief second.

"I…" the battleship trailed off again, her gaze drifting to the horizon. There was a gentle creak of steel-on-steel as her uniformed bust kissed the railing. "Frisco thinks I'm not very attentive… sometimes."

Gale didn't know what to think about that. The cruiser had been getting _awfully_ close at the diner. "She… does?"

"Mmm," Wash nodded. "I'm… not particularly used to attention." The battleship glanced over at Gale, her cheeks flushing a gentle rosy red. "The carriers… SoDak… Mo, they got the headlines. I just did my duty." She shrugged, "I was happy with that."

"Uh," Gale was caught flapping her mouth like a fish out of water. And for the first time, it _wasn't_ because of the battleship's stunning figure. Or—Gale glanced down at where the Battleship's breasts brushed against her own much smaller pair—at least not _entirely_.

"A job well done is it's own reward," said Wash. A gust of wind blew a bit of that shimmering russet hair over her eyes, and she obligingly tossed it back with a flip of her head. "I… I didn't think anyone would… would pay attention to me as anything more than a part of a taskforce."

Gale felt her heartbeat skyrocket, and though the chest-to-chest contact, she swore she felt Wash's heartbeat do the same. It was the odd, eight-part purr of a battleship's boilers spooling up to the redline _PAH-pahpahpahpahpahpahpah_. "Um," was the most eloquent thing her mind could come up with.

Wash's smiled faded by a fraction, smoothing transitioning into that enigmatic half-grin she often wore. "Thank you for the treat," she said.

Gale wasn't sure how, but she suddenly noticed her hands were resting on the North Carolina class's broad hips. "Uh… yeah, you're welcome." Two words kept repeating around her mind, blaring like an alert klaxon banging away the general quarters warning. 'Kiss Her!' it demanded, 'Kiss Her! Kiss Her!'

Wash smiled, her skin glowing against her russet brown hair as she glanced over at the sea. Her hands were suddenly at Gale's hips, cradling the sailor in her steely grip. It felt… nice, warm… _safe_.

"Hey, Wash," Gale's voice trembled as she stared down the battleship. "Is it okay if, uh…"

Wash's eyes narrowed at a spot on the horizon. No, not the horizon, a spot much closer, a bit of concrete just behind the shipgirl docking facility. "Is that-"

Gale squinted, there was only one girl on base who was that short. Or so uniformly pink. Fucking _Borie._ "I see it t- wait."

"Is that-"

"Frisco?" the two women said in concert.

"WEEEEEEEEEE'REEEE!" Borie's tiny voice mixed with Frisco's much huskier song as the two streaked across the concrete, "NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKED!"

"Fuck," breathed Gale.


	89. A Certain Lady Part 14

**A Certain Lady Part 14**

 **By Old Iron**

"I want everyone to sit down and shut up. Now." Admiral Richardson was privately glad every occupant of the room actually listened to him on the first command for once. The older girls he wasn't too concerned with. It was the little ones that gave him quite a few headaches. While he wasn't bad at it, herding destroyers was not something he considered himself extremely skilled at. Sure, he had some of the more well behaved ones on hand, but they were still destroyers by and large.

Before him was assembled all available shipgirls currently stationed at or around Sasebo and capable of surface combat. There were more out there, but these were the only ones who could reasonably be called up for this mission.

And one had been called in from all the way up in Yokosuka from Admiral Goto's fleet.

The fact there were only eleven individuals waiting for him to continue drove home exactly how thinly stretched they were.

"We have received intelligence from I-8, I-58, and Albacore that there is an Abyssal task force travelling north-east and headed in our direction. At time of detection, their bearing could have taken them anywhere between Kaba and Fukue islands." Richardson paused momentarily, allowing his audience to digest that sliver of information. "That is still a possibility. However given their fleet composition, our analysts believe they intend to hit key military targets and set the stage for a blockade. They can't hold it, but they can get one started."

Richardson picked up a laser pointer and nodded to Jintsuu, who tapped the screen of her tablet. On the large projector was displayed a sea map of southwestern Japan and a larger portion of the East China Sea. Multiple areas close to the cost were highlighted in yellow while an ominously positioned red triangle emanated from a black diamond. The triangle covered the majority of the yellow sections, but it also encompassed a tremendous swathe of what were implied to be non-military areas.

"As you can see, that's a lot of area to cover." Richardson circled the black diamond with the laser before continuing. "Probably the only saving grace is they're staying in formation at a uniform speed. So far they haven't gone above ten knots which means they have a fatass or two holding them back."

There was a snort of barely held laughter from Shimakaze.

A hand raised and the Admiral gestured to its owner: Takao-Class heavy cruiser Takao.

"Admiral, were we able to determine their composition?" She lowered her hand and regarded Richardson with a calculating eye.

"Fortunately, yes."

Jintsuu brought up the next slide to display an overhead image of the encroaching Abyssals ships. While I-8's plane had been forced away moments after initial contact, I-58's had fared far better.

The forces displayed brought on a rather unnerving silence.

"That's a lot of boats..." Shigure's calm remark never deviated in tone, but it was easy enough to tell she was taken aback by the number of ships headed their way. It was not often that this many attacked en masse. Smaller groups tended to be the norm. That is, assuming the Abyssals adhered to any kind of norm she could comprehend.

"Thank you captain obvious." Kawakaze wrapped her arm around her sister and poked her playfully in the ribs. There was a tinge of bloodthirst in her jovial tone and hardly a sliver of worry. The more time she spend worrying, the less she'd have for focusing on taking out the enemy. "More for us to send to the bottom. Just like always!"

"Pay. Attention." This time it was Arizona who spoke up with a rough and displeased tone of voice. It was a balm to her sanity that the silence resumed. The rings under her eyes were still prominent and the disheveled state of her hair gave her a menacing appearance. Among the destroyers, only Hatsuzuki did not flinch. The plush from Jane may have helped her stave off the nightmares when she had been able to fall asleep again, but it did not undo the damage of so little sleep.

The presence of a certain individual seated nearby did not help.

"You won't get any snacks if you don't." Tatsuta's teasing tone, for once, lacked the slivers of dark humor and trollish undertones that normally accompanied the vast majority of things to escape her lips. But they were in briefing and she wanted to avoid playing around. And nobody wanted to deal with spooked destroyers.

They faced front and center almost as one. Hatsuzuki's motion was not dissimilar to lightning in its haste.

"Done goofing off?" Richardson leveled an even glare across the row of destroyers, who all nodded in the affirmative. Though Shimakaze seemed to be trying to nod the fastest. Her bunny ear like bow bobbed furiously.

Satisfied, he used the pointer to mark the smallest of the Abyssal ships. There were a decent number of them to be sure.

"Our best estimates are painting at least six destroyers from the images we have. But these things are tiny. Even a Shiratsuyu is practically double everything on a few of these. So don't be surprised if there aren't half a dozen more running around. Keep an eye on your surroundings so you don't wind up with a torpedo coming out of nowhere." Richardson pointed to Shimakaze, who had raised her hand in a surprisingly dutiful manner.

"Are they fast?" She refused to give up her title as the fastest, but even she could see the Abyssal destroyers looked like they could haul if need be. Her grey eyes narrowed as she memorized the outline of the offending boats.

"More than likely. We're working right now to see if they fit any profile of any known ship to see if we can get you more information. Same goes with the cruisers, but they seem to be a mix of British and Russian design." There was a pause in Richardson's words as he circled the mish-mash of cruisers. "The cruisers look pretty fragile at a glance, but don't let that fool you. I don't think I need to tell you that dropping your guard might be the last thing you do. As for the battleships..."

"We know what they are, right? Or what they were. There's too much detail in that pic to not know by now. And they're big targets." Hiei's commanding voice cut into the chilly briefing and drew all eyes to her.

"Yes. Yes we do, Lieutenant." Richardson rarely used Hiei's rank when addressing her. Moreso on its own. But the three battlewagons they'd discovered at the center of the formation were not something he could work up any measure of comfortable word over.

The red laser light blazed over the two smallest Abyssal battlewagons.

"Orion-Class. Two of them. The aforementioned fatasses. Ten thirteen point five forty-five caliber rifles in five two's apiece with a twelve inch belt just to get started. They're super-dreadnoughts with torpedoes, so getting into a slugging match is suicide."

"But, what about that one?" Tatsuta pointed almost hesitantly at the one warship they had yet to go over. It filled her with a kind of dread she'd never felt before. She could be staring down the rifles of a dozen other Abyssal battleships and it wouldn't feel like this. The incoherent and ever present rage and disgust she felt was almost overwhelming.

"That?" Richardson turned to look at the screen and forced himself to not shiver. Every time he looked directly at it, he felt some inherent wrongness in the world. His hand barely twitched as he pointed the laser at it. "That is..."

"...The worst opponent, right?" came Yamashiro's dark observation. "Only a c-carrier would be more misfortunate..."

"In a way, yes." Richardson internally scowled as he shot a glance to the back of the gathering. There was a tensing in the woman's jaw and her eyes were wide in a very poorly concealed rage. He wouldn't have been surprised if she tried to blow up the wall just for the sake of not having to lay eyes on the Abyssal at the center of the formation.

"That, has been code named Battleship Princess. But it's a ship that almost was and never came to be. It-"

" _Tosa_." Kaga's seething voice burned away Richardson's words. The air around the normally frigid carrier all but smoldered as her fury built. Her sister ship. Her original sister ship.

"Kaga. Stand down," Hiei commanded. For a moment, she was concerned she might have to restrain Kaga. But fortunately it proved for naught as the dark haired woman stilled. With a gesture, she motioned for her Admiral to continue. "Sir."

"As Fleet Carrier Kaga so bluntly stated, this is a Tosa-Class. The how's and why's don't matter. All you need to know is that this thing was supposed to succeed the Nagato-Class of battleships." He snapped a finger and Jintsuu advanced the presentation to show the layout of Nagato alongside the design schematics of Tosa.

"Uwa... It's like a super Nagato." Kawazake swallowed the now building bundle of nerves as her bravado began to falter.

Yamashiro looked like she wanted to cry as she glared silently at Richardson.

"That's, uh... Not a bad way to put it." Hiei smirked somewhat grimly in the destroyer's direction.

"You're better off driving the bitch off than trying to kill her. Nagato took two atomic bombs and would have walked them off if she hadn't been too radioactive to patch up. This monster is guaranteed to be worse in every possible way." Richardson tightened his grip on the laser pointer. "I'm not trying to frighten you, but I'll be damned if I don't tell you exactly what you're up against."

"Admiral," Takao began, "Will we be receiving any air support to aid Kaga's air wings?" Without an Abyssal carrier to fend off, the more air power they could bring into the fight, the better. It would keep the enemy busy enough to make putting shells through their belts slightly easier.

"Yes. I can actually give you girls some good news and say we'll be getting support from the JASDF. Not much, but it's better than nothing. There are some surviving F-4's that will launching ahead of you to soften up the heavies with bombs and whatever torpedoes they can manage to strap on. Even if we don't get any kills out of the deal, it should scatter their formation and keep their firing solutions a mess." Richardson almost allowed himself a smile at Takao's approving expression.

"Now then, we'll go over formation before moving on." Jintsuu stood from her seat and handily took the pointer from Richardson's offering hand. Another tap on the tablet and the screen changed again, this time to another top-down image of the battlefield. "Because we are limited in force and the fact we cannot pinpoint the number of enemy destroyers, we'll be operating in a spread out formation centered on Kaga with Hiei acting as the flagship."

The bright red light shone on a green icon composed of an arrow with two bars atop each other trailing it. Next to it was Kaga's name displayed in both kanji and English lettering.

"Hiei and Takao will be positioned aft of Kaga to her to port and starboard while Arizona and Yamashiro will be positioned fore to port and starboard." Jintsuu circled three thick-bodied tags with a pair of diagonal lines cutting through it before moving to two similar icons bearing only a single line. "Tatsuta and myself will be positioned along the mid-line on either side of the formation. We don't have much armor, but we are quick so we'll be able to adjust our position more easily."

"Am I up front? Am I up front?" Kawakaze interrupted with an energetic nod of her head, which quickly turned to disappointment when Jintsuu shook her head. She shot a dirty look at Shigure who was stifling a small bout of giggles.

"You and Shimakaze will be guarding the rear while Hatsuzuki and Shigure take the advance. We don't expect any enemy aircraft, but we're spreading you out just to be cautious." While Hatsuzuki could probably handle an entire sector's anti-air duty, Jintsuu did not want to run the risk of her being overrun because they put all their eggs in one basket.

"Leave it to us. Don't worry." Hatsuzuki's deep and reassuring voice seemed to mollify the battle-hungry destroyer. "There will be plenty of action for us all."

"Fufufu... We'll have to work extra hard to keep up, now won't we?" Tatsuta's eerily gentle tease brought grins to all four destroyers. Well, Hatsuzuki didn't so much as grin as smile slightly. It was so hard to get that girl to crack a smirk or a grin or some showing of mirth even when she was in a good mood.

Shimakaze simply stuck her tongue out playfully.

Shigure turned to offer Yamashiro a reassuring gesture. She'd make sure the battleship came home safe and sound. Without fail. A smile graced her features when Yamashiro seemed to relax ever so slightly in response.

"Any questions?" Richardson took center stage again as Jintsuu motioned to turn off the tablet and projector. When a plethora of negatives were his response, he raised an eyebrow. "None at all? Really?"

"None, sir," Takao replied confidently.

"Kaga? Arizona? You two have been pretty damn quiet." Richardson gave the two warships a hard stare, eliciting no response from either. "You two stay behind. Everyone else is dismissed! Hiei, get them ready to go."

"Yes, sir!" Hiei replied with a crisp salute followed by a grin of anticipation. She pointed to the door and shouted, "Everyone, forward march!"

Even the gloomy Yamashiro seemed to fall in line with a sliver of a spring in her step.

Admiral Richardson silently strode towards Kaga and Arizona as Jintsuu shut the door, leaving the three of them alone in the briefing room. There was a tremendously awkward silence.

"If you two fuck up, there's going to be one hell of a body count as a result. But I don't have the time or resources to sideline either of you." He really couldn't afford to deal with any kind of bullshit right now. And neither could the rest of the fleet. He could not be their friend right now. He was their commanding officer. He was an Admiral of the United States Navy. "You two air your grievances right here. Right now. Or people will die."

Both women steeled their jaws, but did not budge. For whatever reason there was no movement.

It was Kaga who ultimately broke the stalemate and turned to face Arizona.

"Our actions on tha-erg!" Kaga was unable to finish her statement as Arizona met her and hoisted her fully off the ground by her uniform. Her amber eyes were forced to stare into furious steel, flecked with glowing gold.

"Hiei told me." Arizona's furious voice was more a snarl than actual words. "She told me when she found out you were coming here."

"To-!" Kaga's voice was cut off as Arizona pulled her in close enough that her vision was filled with nothing but a furious American battleship.

"She told me you would, after the war, march down to Pearl Harbor. Pearl Harbor. The place where so many ships and sailors were slain. _MY_ sailors. Slain like dogs! And you would gut yourselves as penance if we, if _I_ , demanded it!?" Arizona's eyes were all but alight with an undiluted rage as furious tears streamed from them. "Is that right!?"

Arizona dropped Kaga, who only staggered slightly at the sudden release.

Kaga met Arizona's gaze and stood up straight, back firm like a blade.

They did not desire death. Not in the slightest. But the image of the repentant had to be upheld.

"Yes. If our lives will appease the fallen and ensure the safety of our home." There was steel behind her words and in her stance. Unyielding and proud, even in shame, like the warrior she strove to be in all things. "Then both Akagi and I shall fall upon our swords without hesitation if it is asked of us."

" _YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING!_ " Battleship Arizona roared.

Kaga blinked.

"My death. My sisters' deaths. The deaths of my crew and everyone else. You think vengeance hasn't been taken a thousandfold?" The stoic silence of the Japanese carrier only further fueled Arizona's fire. "You were butchered at Midway along with Akagi, Hiryuu, and Souryuu. I will let no one but those who survived that day make their grave next to mine. No one. There is no room for you there."

Both Kaga and Richardson seemed taken aback at the brutal words spoken by Arizona.

"Your blood will change nothing. Nothing!" Arizona pulled her handkerchief free and wiped her face with a shuddering, angry breath. She took a deep breath before locking eyes with Kaga once more. "Live. If you place your lives in my hands, then I order you to live. Pray to the fallen if you must, but I condemn you to live."

"That... That is truly what you wish?" Kaga maintained her stoic visage as best she could. But there were cracks. Cracks that had been growing ever since her introduction to White Plains. ...White Plains who would be devastated if she were demanded to uphold the offer of taking her own life.

"Sometimes living is the most harsh punishment of all." Arizona scowled and wiped her face once more before turning to Richardson. "Sir, p-permission to rejoin the fleet."

"Granted. Go get cleaned up." Richardson jerked his thumb over towards the door. When the redheaded battleship had taken her leave, he spoke again. "Not how I expected that to go."

"You are as wretched and cruel as Admiral Goto stated." Kaga affixed a glare of her own upon Richardson, even as her eyes shone with unshed tears.

"Sticks and stones. You've got Pretty Pink Princess Tosa to deal with." Richardson released a heavy breath. "She didn't give you much of a chance to explain yourself. Sorry about that."

"No. It is understandable. But I'm not completely certain she understood what we said was an offer, not plan." Kaga took a hard look at the door where Arizona had exited the room. "We do not want to die. But if that is what it takes to ensure support for our home remains, then we will do it."

"Walking the walk, huh?"

Kaga only nodded. The offer had been placed on the table, but she had hoped that it would be removed or never taken. It seemed that Arizona, in her anger, had thrown it out the proverbial window.

"She was informed of it by Hiei, so I doubt that it was properly conveyed." Kaga frowned ever so slightly. "I doubt she has seen the press conference as well."

"Probably not. She's been spending more time getting fixed, training, and not sleeping than keeping up with all the recent newsreels." He really ought to fix that. "Doubt she'll change her mind though."

"I concur, and hope that remains." Americans had their own brand of stubborn. Not one she was readily fond of at times, but she would be grateful for it this time.

"Right. You two can catch up and straighten things out more after the battle. I just wanted to get the heaviest stuff out of the way before you had to watch each others' backs. You have bigger fish to fry now." Richardson's nose crinkled in disgust as he thought of the Tosa.

"That... vile shade will not remain. It should have stayed at the bottom." It was bad enough having to fight against the mind-warping and hateful entities from beyond the deep. For one to be a malevolent reminder of what she could have been? What she was supposed to have been? It made her skin crawl.

"It'll learn the hard way." Richardson struck Kaga with a smirk. "You going to be okay?"

"Yes. And I intend to speak further with the Lieutenant after this. But right now I have other things to take care of." Even if she had to beat that monster back to the grave with her bare hands, she would not allow it to remain.

"That's what I want to hear. Now get your ass in gear. Arizona's supposed to be the slow one here."

"Sir!" Kaga saluted and took her leave.

Richardson collapsed on the nearest vacant chair and stared at the ceiling.

"Bring them home. Safe and sound. Please..."


	90. Chapter 68: Sisterly Love?

**Chapter 68: Sisterly... Love?**

There were times when Yeoman Sarah Gale envied the shipgirls. Every last one of them was stunningly pretty, from the jaw-dropping grace of the battleships—even Jersey had a kind of grace to the way she moved—to the heart-melting cuteness of the destroyer girls. They were all so pretty, and they kept their stunning figures no matter how much they gorged themselves on fat-laden meals.

There were other times when she felt sorry for them. The way a destroyer's smile faded when she learned none of her division mates were back, the way Wash clawed at her stomach with shaking hands when she missed a meal… the look on Dee's face when she asked about meeting some of her old crew. Or the shadow that passed over Frisco's face every time she touched the ragged hem of her crop-top.

But this was neither of those times. Instead, the sailor was simply filled with uncontrollable, incoherent rage. "FRISCO!" she bellowed. Her boots thundered down the steps, pounding against the sheet steel like the hammer-blows of an angry god. She'd been close. She'd been _so close_.

Another time, maybe, Gale might have been taken aback by the maze of ragged scars tracing out from the cruiser's lean stomach down to her thighs and up almost to her neck. But not now. Now Gale knew nothing but pure incoherent rage. "FRISCO, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!" Gale's voice boomed out with all the fury of an angered E-5.

For an instant, the two naked shipgirls exchanged a look. Borie's dopey smile was a little dimmer than usual, and Frisco's face was a mask of uncomprehending confusion. "Uh…" The heavy cruiser planted her hands on her hips. She would've been displaying an awful lot of that lithe body of hers, but she had more scars between her knees and her neck than she had pristine skin, "Is this a trick question?"

Borie nodded sagely.

"Damnit," Gale seethed mere inches from the cruiser, her hand held up like a knife at Frisco's pointed chin. The cruiser didn't seem to react—to the angry NCO _or_ the chilly December breeze washing over her very naked body. Then again, why would she.

The cruiser was taller than her by an inch, and with her clothes missing, it was obvious that there was _very_ little of the girl's lithe frame that wasn't taut muscle. This is the girl who stood and fought against two battleships and lived to fight another day. What could one sailor—one sailor who she technically _outranked_ do to her.

Gale's hand slowly closed into fist, her face scrunching up like a bulldog's muzzle as she tried to contain her fury. "Damnit, Frisco."

"Uh," Borie waved her tiny hand in the air, her face a strange mix of confusion and sorrow, "Miss Gale?"

Gale sighed, her body slowly pivoting on one heel to face the naked little menace. At least she outranked Borie, for what it was worth. "Yes, Borie?"

"It…" Borie glanced at Frisco, who wore the same inscrutable mask on those sharp Asian features, "It was kinda my idea."

Gale sighed, her anger slowly bleeding off as the chilly breeze cooled her heels. "Of course it was."

"'m sorry," mumbled Borie.

Gale let out an angry huff in response.

"It's okay," said Wash. The battleship shrugged her jacket off, revealing a heather gray turtleneck that she just _barely_ managed to fit into. Gale would've drooled if her fury hadn't boiled it all away. The way her… torpedo bulges moved when she dropped to a crouch… Gale couldn't have torn her eyes away with a steam catapult.

"You were just having fun," said the battleship as she draped her jacket over the destroyer's tiny frame. "hm?"

"Sorry anyway," said Borie. The little destroyer leaned in for a hug, her face all but disappearing into Wash's soft chest. A chest Gale'd been so… damn… _close_ to.

"I forgive you, Borie." The battleship planted a gentle kiss on the destroyer's head, then nodded to Gale.

"Oh, uh," Borie clutched her hands together as she shuffled over, her tiny body looking even more miniature as it swam in Wash's jacket. "I'm really sorry, Miss Gale."

Gale bit her lip. She was still _furious_ … but… dammit, she couldn't say no to a face like that. "It's okay, Borie."

The destroyer just stared up with that wide-eyed stare of hers.

Gale huffed. "I forgive you."

Borie perked up, her face beamed with a toothy smile and she threw her hands around Gale's waist, hugging her tightly with her face squished into the sailor's tummy. "Thank you."

Wash smiled. "Now, let's get you to bed before Edsall misses you."

Borie let go, "Okay, Wash!"

The battleship just smiled that inscrutable half-smile of hers and offered her hand to the destroyer. As the two walked off, Gale could've sworn Wash was throwing a little more swing in those hips of hers, but… no. No, it was just the destroyer by her side throwing off her rhythm.

"Damnit," breathed Gale. She'd been _so close_ , or… at least that's what she wanted to believe. As she played the memory back in her mind, she couldn't help but notice that _she_ was making all the moves. _She_ asked Wash on the date, _she'd_ been the one to ask for a kiss… Wash just stood there, smiling that half-smile of hers.

Maybe she actually felt the same way, but she could just as easily have been playing along, trying to spare the sailor's feelings. Hell, knowing Wash, she could've been utterly oblivious to the sailor's advances.

Gale's shoulders dropped, her fury evaporating like her chances with the stunning _North Carolina_ -class. She was stunning, gorgeous, humble… she deserved someone who loved her like Crowning loved Jersey, not some sailor who'd drool over her tits like a midshipman at a titty bar. "Fuuuuuuck," she hissed.

"I, uh," Frisco's serene mask cracked. The tautness in her shoulders slackened and the hard angles of her features seemed to melt. "I'm sorry too."

"Huh?"

"That," Frisco motioned to the retreating battleship, "the two of you were having a moment, weren't you?"

Gale shook her head, "I… maybe?"

Frisco let out a long sigh and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm a cruiser," she said. "Forget what happened at Guadalcanal, I'm not supposed to face my problems. I'm supposed to run from them."

Gale glanced up, her fury replaced by confusion and frustration, "What?"

"The briefing," said Frisco. Her scars burned a pale off-blue in the cold December air, and a shiver ran down her spine. "We're… we're not doing so hot. It's like Pearl all over again, except…" the cruiser trailed off as another shiver shot down her lithe body.

"Except what?" Gale shoved her hands into her pockets, watching the way Frisco's naked body tensed with every gust of chilly wind. She'd never seen a girl quite like that. The Destroyers were all little, but they had the chubby-cheeked energy of schoolgirls, and the battleships were grown—very _very_ grown in certain… areas—women, almost seagoing goddesses. But Frisco… the more Gale looked at her, the more frail the sinewy woman looked.

"Except before I knew we'd win," said Frisco. "The Japs could sink every ship in the fleet ten times over and we'd _still_ drown them in steel. Now we're getting just a trickle of…" she glanced down at herself, "Well… us. And nobody seems to know how to open the floodgates."

"Yeah," Gale scowled. "We're uh… we're working on it." The sailor winced as Frisco shivered again, her scars all the more obvious as her skin paled in the cold. "You, uh… wanna go inside?"

Frisco nodded, "Yeah, please."

Gale sighed. A few seconds ago she was inches away from tearing Frisco a new asshole with nothing but the fury of her voice. Now she was inviting the girl inside. "Where's your uniform?"

"At the docks." The cruiser hugged herself tightly, her chest barely peeking out from the crossed sinews of her scarred arms. "I didn't, I didn't take the news well." She blew a loose chunk of coal-black hair out of her eyes, "Figured a nice long shower would help."

"And that's when Borie found you?" Gale couldn't help but smile as she fumbled with her keys.

Frisco nodded. "She figured a little run might cheer me up."

"She means well," said Gale. "She's a little shit, but she means well." The sailor shrugged her door open and ducked into her little on-base apartment. "I'll find you something to wear."

Frisco smiled, her toes curling into the thick gray carpet. "Thanks." She thought for a second, then added, "I don't need a bra, do I?"

"I dunno, do you?" Gale was already busily digging though her closet for something to loan.

Frisco glanced down at her chest, inspecting her own body with the kind of detached professionalism usually only seen by surgeons or ordnance board members. "I'm not actually sure."

"Then you don't," said Gale. The sailor tossed Frisco her new outfit, a pair of soft fleecy pajama pants and a nice T-shirt with two icosahedrons showing 20 and the caption 'yes, they're natural.' Frisco wasn't sure what that meant, but the shirt fit her well enough and the 20's were nicely centered over her breasts.

"Thanks," Frisco smiled, her hips swishing back and forth as she admired the way the soft cloth felt against her skin—or at least the bits of her skin that still had some feeling.

"Yeah, no problem." Gale walked over to what Frisco instantly recognized as a refrigerator. The sailor dug around inside for a few seconds, only to return with two quart-sized containers. "You like ice cream?"

Frisco blinked. "Okay… for real. Is this a trick question?"

Gale rolled her eyes and tossed one of the quarts to Frisco. The label read 'Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough', which was all Frisco needed to know. She barely even registered catching the spoon Gale threw at her. "Thanks."

Gale shrugged. "Jen's coming over for movie night, you wanna join?"

"Uh," Frisco flipped the top off her little snack, her smile instantly growing as she sighted the delicious chilly desert within. "What're you watching."

"Well," Gale smirked, "You like _Flash Gordon_ , right?"

Frisco would've said something if her mouth wasn't full of icecream. Instead she just nodded.

"Well," Gale's smirk graduated to a full-blown Cheshire-cat grin, "If you like that, you're going to love _Star Wars._ "

Battleship New Jersey screwed up her face as she neared the snow-covered Alaskan coast. In her short second-life as a shipgirl, she hadn't quite mastered the art of coming ashore. Transitioning from a fifty-thousand ton warship supported by her own buoyancy to… well, still a warship, but one compressed into the form of a young woman of indeterminate weight supported by her own two feet never failed to send her for a loop.

Of course, Kongou managed it without a care in the world. The Japanese fast battleship just glided from the gently lapping surf up onto the coast like she was strutting down a runway. The fashion kind, not the plane kind.

On the other hand, Musashi had even more trouble than Jersey did. The chesty battleship nearly face-planted into the snow, and the way her pagodas bounced _had_ to be painful. Poor girl really should learn to wear a bra. Or… like… at least a shirt of some kind.

"Commander Jersey," a roughly humanoid figure bundled up in several layers of army-camouflaged snow gear greeted her with a warm, friendly accent. "Welcome to-"

Jersey held up a hand. The battleship carefully tested the snow under her feet with the tip of her sneaker, slowly building up the confidence to let herself sink though it instead of just floating atop it.

"Let her take her time," said Kongou with a bouncy smile that set _all the rest of her_ bouncing. Jersey scowled. She did _not_ need the extra distraction of unrestrained bongous right now.

"Okay," Jersey let her shoes bite into the snow, finally comfortable being back on land once again. "Now you may speak."

The soldier just laughed. "Welcome to Anchorage, Commander." He glanced over, his whole body tilting at the waist with a gentle swish of gortex and insulation. "Uh… is she okay?"

Jersey glanced over her shoulder and smiled. Musashi's face glowed beet red as she tried to get good purchase on the snow. Her towering rudder-heels kept skidding over the snow instead of biting into it, and she was having to squeeze her breasts down with both hands just to see what she was doing.

"Eh," Jersey shrugged, "This'll be funny."

"If you say so, ma'am," said the soldier.

"What's your name, kid?" Jersey planted her hands on her hips and carefully bladed her stance to Musashi got an unrestricted view of the American's leg-related superiority.

"Knight," said the soldier, "Corporal Jack Knight."

Jersey's head whipped around in a double take so violent she smacked herself in the nose with her own strawberry braid. "Wait, fucking seriously? That's your actual name?"

Knight offered a nod that was exaggerated by his heavy parka.

"Holy fuck," Jersey threw her arms around him and dragged him into a hug. A hug that, because of her towering stature, ended up shoving one very surprised soldier's face right into her cleavage. "That's fucking awesome, dude!"

"Mmuhpfh," replied Knight.

"Oh, shit, right." Jersey carefully let him go. "Hey, think I could get your autograph?"

"Uh," Knight blinked. Apparently he wasn't used to sailors who were also amazons who were also amazons who were also officers shoving him in their boobs then asking for his signature. "Yeah, uh sure. Just…" his nose glowed red, either from the cold or from a developing blush, "Can I get a selfie with you?"

Jersey shrugged. "I still don't know what that is, but okay."

"You're _so old_ ," teased Naka.

Heermann hurled a snowball at the cruiser while Johnston stared with rapt attention at Musashi's jiggles.

"You people are so weird," Knight shook his head as he tried to fish his phone out of his puffy pockets.

"Ships, not people," corrected Jersey. "Besides, we're navy willingly dropping by a joint Zoomie-Army base. Nothing here makes sense."

"Could be worse," Knight tapped away on his phone, "We could be Russian."

Hibiki nodded sagely.

"Hell yeah," Jersey smirked, bending her knees to make sure she stayed in frame. "'Merica."

Knight tapped his phone and captured the battleship's cocky grin. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Jersey rifled though her pockets for her logbook.

"So, uh… " Knight glanced over at Musashi. By the look of it, they'd be here another few minutes until she figured herself out, "How are you girls not freezing?" His gaze slowly drooped along Jersey's powerful, but mostly exposed, legs.

"Scarves," Jersey pointed to the Yellow fabric tied around her neck and stuffed down the front of her vest. "Duh."

Knight blinked. "Okay," was all he could say.

"You get used to it," said Tenryuu as she strolled by. "Hey, Skipper?"

It took Jersey a moment to realize _she_ was being talked to. "Oh, uh, yeah?"

"Naka said you were gonna make a few calls," The cruiser held her sword over one shoulder, making sure her devil-may-care posture properly cancelled out her businesslike tone, "Want me to get the twerps settled in with Solette?"

Jersey glanced over at her Fletchers. Heermann was certainly looking better—stumpy little legs not withstanding—But still… it felt wrong to just leave her kiddos like that.

Or it did, until Heermann started shooing Jersey away with the back of her hand. "It's okay, mama!" she said with a cheery wave, "We'll be fine, you've got people to call."

Jersey was about to say something sweet and appropriately protective. Until she noticed the signal flags each destroyer was flashing. K-I-S-S-I- _oohhh…. the little shits._ "You know what, Chunniboat?"

"Speaking," Tenryuu flourished her sword.

"The shits are all yours." Jersey flipped her finger at the giggling little destroyers, then turned back so only Tenryuu could hear her speak. "You, uh… you'll come get me when they're about to set off, right?"

Tenryuu nodded. "Of course," she said, her voice far softer and warmer than Jersey'd ever heard before.

"Okay," Jersey clapped her hands together, the snow crunching under her shoes as she made her way inland. "Naka?"

"Hi Hi Naka-Chan, Desu~," the light cruiser bounced over to Jersey's side, somehow without ever glancing up from her phone.

Jersey blinked. "I'll give you a hundred bucks if you never say that again."

"Deal," said the cruiser, "What's up?"

"Still got a machine to lend me?"

"Oh," Naka's face glowed in a cheeky smirk, " _do I._ "

"Right this way, ma'am," said Knight, "We've got a room setup so you can get out of the elements," he said as he led the little flotilla towards one of the nondescript buildings next to the rail line.

—|—|—

Naka smiled as she settled her laptop down on a heavy wooden table. It was beautiful, all brushed steel and red-backlit accents. The lid was subtly etched with a roaring dragon design, but none of that could even compare with what lay in wait inside the elegant chassis. "This," she cooed with the kind of dusky intensity usually reserved for luxury car commercials, "Is no ordinary machine."

She tapped the power button, letting the fans spin up with a low purr. Like a big cat stalking its prey or an F-1 car idling at the starting line. "Two-point-seven gigahertz core i7," Naka dragged her gloved hand along the keyboard with slow, seductive grace, "thirty-two gigabytes of ram, dual one-twenty-eight-gig SSDs with a one-terabyte secondary."

Naka tapped in her login credentials and let the glow of her carefully chosen wallpaper—an image of herself, Sendai, and Jintsuu posing in full combat regalia. Jintsuu looked particularly dashing in her samurai gear. "GTX nine-eighty with eight gigs of v-ram. This… this is no mere machine."

Naka drew her hands back to her hips, her glare focusing into a steel-hard dagger, "This is lighting in a bottle. A god of silicon and electricity bent to your desire."

Jersey stifled a yawn. "So can I e-mail with it or not?"

Naka slumped her shoulders. "Yes… Jersey… you can e-mail with it."

"Awesome!" The battleship offered Naka such a hearty smile the little cruiser barely felt her god-tier laptop had been slighted. Barely.

"So, I set you up in a virtual machine," said Naka, "you shouldn't be able to break anything, but if you do-"

"I'll come get you, don't worry," said Jersey. The battleship dragged over a chair and settled down in front of the gently glowing screen.

Naka rolled her eyes, "I'll let you get to it."

Jersey smiled, "Thanks, Naka. I owe you one."

"Yeah you do," teased Naka as she bounced out of the door and closed it behind her.

For a second, Jersey just stared at the screen, trying to build up the courage to do what she had to do. Then she stretched her arms before her, cracking her knuckles as she pushed herself into action. First order of business, open her e-mail client.

After a few minutes fighting with the touchpad—seriously, why the hell do people need a cursor when the command line works perfectly fine—Jersey managed to open the start menu. From there, it didn't take her more than fifteen minutes to get her e-mail open. To her surprise, she actually had a few messages waiting for her.

The first was a message from Crowning, explaining that a skype call does _not_ , in fact, require Manhattan-project level technology and funding, and that he's always around if she wants to chat. Jersey mentally filed that bit of information away in the corner of her mind where she went least often and tabbed over to the other message.

 **From: "USS Alaska"**  
 **To: "USS New Jersey"**  
 **Subject: I need your help, Jersey.**

 **Jersey, hey! It's me, Alaska. Obviously.**

 **Anyways, I hear though the grapevine that you've got a way with men? Hamakaze told me that Atago says that Maya told her that Sendai heard that Choukai says that you've got a boyfriend. I dunno how much of that is true, but if it's even close to true, could you help me?**

 **How do you know when somebody loves you? Or when you love someone? I tried e-mailing Wash, but she wasn't very helpful.**

 **Anyways, it's good to be back. I know you're on a mission right now, but when you're back, we should totally skype. I'm "EskimoPie." Not "Eskimocreampie." Don't click that. It's lewd.**

 **Love you! Alaska.**

 **PS: How'd you make your hair do that thing it does. Atago's taking me to a ball for Christmas, and I have to wear a fancy dress. Think you can help?**

 **PPS: Have you seen Star Wars? I think you'd like it.**

Jersey had to restrain herself from just slamming the laptop's lid closed. Love? What the _hell_ does she know about love? She's… she's a battleship, not a… Then again, if Alaska was going to _Wash_ for relationship advice, she must be really desperate. Jersey couldn't let her little cousin flounder like that, so she typed up a quick reply.

 **From:"USS New Jersey"**  
 **To: "USS Alaska"**  
 **Subject: Relax, I'm here.**

 **First off, don't ever to to Wash for love advice. Ever. She's fucking oblivious as a fucking toaster oven or something. You remember how she was after Savo, right?**

 **Secondly, I fucking do not have a boyfriend. I have a friend who happens to be a man. That's fucking it, okay? He's. Not. Fucking. My. Boyfriend. There is no fucking of any kind going on, okay? None. Nada. I'm a battleship, not a fucking beauty queen.**

 **Thirdly, who do you think loves you? Your admiral, right? Make sure you're not just confusing his fucking… the way he loves you as a good ship for him actually wanting to dick you.**

 **Fourthly, it's called a fucking braid, and I can totally show you. You'd probably look better with it down though.**

 **PS: Yes, I've seen Star Wars. Have you seen Commando? If you haven't, get your fucking ass in a chair and don't move until it's over. That movie's so fucking manly. It might—no, it will get you pregnant if you watch it. But it'll be so damn worth it.**

Jersey tapped the send button, a slight smile on her face at the thought of her little cruiser-weight cousin seeing the perfect gloriousness that was _Commando_ for the first time.

But she still had one important message she had to send.

 **From:"USS New Jersey"**  
 **To: "VADM Samuel Williams"**  
 **Subject: An idea to boost morale.**

 **Admiral Williams,**

 **I'm sure you're aware of how dire the food situation is on Japan, but it's even worse for their shipgirls. They're too fucking 'honorable' to eat anything more than the most basic items, for fear of taking it away from their country or something. I'm not gonna say it's dishonorable or anything, but it can't be doing their morale any good.**

 **I gave one of the AA-destroyers some bacon and she just about cried. It was like I'd just bought her a brand new house and car. More to the point, all the mothers on the island came together to make sure the fleet returning to Japan had plenty of snacks to eat on the way back. Not just food, but snacks. Goodies, stuff to raise their spirits, not just fill their bellies.**

 **It got me thinking, we've got more fucking food than we know what to do with, and we've got a fuckton of sweet old grannies. What about, like, an "adopt a shipgirl" program? Get a family to bake, like… fucking… a plate of cookies or something. There's gotta be enough space on the freighters for an extra ton or so, right?**

 **It might sound like a token gesture, but I promise, it'll mean the world to those girls. I really think we should do this. Hell, I'll… fucking… I'll wear a fucking dress and dance the can-can if it'll get this done.**

 **New Jersey.**

 **PS: Sooo….. Star Wars is coming out soon. Could you do something admirally and get my girls and I tickets?**

With that e-mail fired off, Jersey sank back into her chair. On paper, at least, she should be done. She'd sent all the messages she'd planned on sending, and she even replied to one. But still… the skype icon hovered on screen. Taunting her.

"Fuck it," breathed the battleship. She tapped on the icon—after a few minutes of furious cursing as she wrestled with the touchpad because the DAMN COMMAND LINE was too fucking HARD for SOME PEOPLE—and watched the program fire up. She quickly typed in her login credentials then… stopped.

Jersey stared at the screen and slowly chewed on her lip. Did… did she really want to bother the doc? Nagato had suggested it… but she also thought he was a shaman… Fuck it.

Jersey hammered the call button with her finger, then waited as the program chipped its annoyingly cutesy "attempting to connect" chime.

The battleship scowled and glanced down at herself. Her blue puffer vest hugged her body, but the insulation wasn't… well, it wasn't the greatest for showing off what little she had. If she was going to call the doc, she might as well let him get an eyeful. Jersey wasn't sure _why_ she felt that was so important, but she carried on anyways.

She hurriedly shrugged off her vest and scowled down at her chest. Fucking… sports bra not making her tits big enough. The battleship grabbed at herself, squishing and squeezing as she tried to adjust herself to look more… battleshippy. In fact, she squished so intently that she totally missed the sound of the call connecting.

It took a cough from Crowning to break her concentration. Unfortunately, the battleship's focus was so precise the sudden break startled her, causing her muscles to tense slightly. Including the muscles controlling her hands. Which were currently planted on her breasts.

"FUCK!" Jersey yelped as her chest screamed in pain. "Fuck! Owowowowowowow!" The battleship panted as she ripped her hands off her chest. Bad idea. BAD IDEA, Bad Jersey. "Owwwwww"

On the screen, Crowning just let his head sink to his chest, his mouth quivering as he tried his hardest to suppress a smile.

"Fuck you!" bellowed Jersey, "that fucking hurt! Don't laugh at me!"

Crowning rolled his eyes, _"I saw nothing."_

"Oh," Jersey shrugged. "I am okay with this."

 _"So,"_ Crowning took a quick sip from his beverage. He always did seem to have a drink of some kind when he was calling her. Weird. _"How can I help you, Jersey?"_

"Uh," Jersey hid her face in her hand, "I had a bad dream."

 _"A bad dream?"_ There wasn't a hint of judgement in the professor's—if Jersey was being objectively honest here—handsome face. _"What happened?"_

"I was, uh," Jersey shrugged, "I was in the middle of a frozen sea. Just… fucking ice for every direction. But there was this guy… just on the horizon, thirty-five thousand eight-hundred fourteen feet away."

 _"That's… precise,"_ said Crowning as he furiously scribbled away on a notepad.

"Yeah," said Jersey. "But I fucking know it was that. Fucking… exactly, don't ask me how."

 _"I won't."_

"Anyfuckingway," Jersey shrugged, "I ran it by Major Solette. He thinks it means I'm lonely or some shit."

Crowning leaned forwards, his eyes perfectly focused and intent.

"I don't buy it though," said Jersey. "I… I know what I felt, and it sure as fuck wasn't loneliness. It was… like…" she drew circles in the air with her hands, "Like I had to talk to him. Report to him… some shit like that."

 _"Uh huh…"_ Crowning leaned back in his chair. _"Maybe it's Davy Jones?"_

Jersey blinked. "Is that a joke?"

 _"I'm talking to a girl who's also a battleship,"_ said Crowning, _"I'm honestly not sure."_

"Well… I'm going to assume no because that's spooky as fuck," said Jersey.

 _"That's all I got off the top of my head,"_ said the professor, _"Gale and I've been banging our heads against the wall trying to get the summoning going."_

"Oh, shit, yeah," Jersey winced. Actual important war effort stuff. Way more fucking important than her stupid-ass dream. "How's that going?"

 _"Frisco's back,"_ said the Professor, _"And I've got no idea why."_

"Well, uh…" Jersey blushed. Damnit, why'd he have to stop his actual work to talk to her… "I'll let you get back to it."

 _"Alright,"_ Crowning smiled at Jersey, the kind of warm, comforting smile that made her just want to curl up and go to sleep. Preferably with something to cuddle. _"We'll talk more when you get back."_

"Over pie, right?" asked Jersey. "I think you owe me pie."

Crowning laughed. _"Yes, Jersey. Over pie."_

"Yesssssss," Jersey pumped her fist in the air.

—|—|—

On the other side of the world, a predator stalked her prey. The abyssal princess smiled as the warm waters of the south Pacific ocean streamed past her broad hull, flashing to ice as they kissed her raked clipper bow. It felt good to be at sea, to be free to roam and hunt as she wished.

The princess closed her eyes as the sun beamed down against her snow-white skin, her talons biting into her heavy belt armor. For too long she'd been kept from the hunt, forced to hide in the snowy crevasses, forced to look to the sky with fear, always worrying the next strike would be her last. Forced to let her prey run rampant while she hid like a driven animal. Alone, afraid, powerless.

But no more. She threw her head back, a thundering laugh echoing from her machinery spaces, a roaring twelve-part harmony of fury and pride. Her triple screws bit into the water as she cruised past the Solomons, angling through the placid waters of Samoa and Fiji to the haven of Hawaii.

Waters rich with prey. Finally, _finally_ the princess would exact her terrible vengeance. The very thought of oil pouring like blood into the uncaring waves made her giddy. She would kill and gnash and _fight_. And she wouldn't do it alone.

The princess glanced over her shoulder at her beloved sister, a sister she'd never known. Fate had torn the two apart, and now it'd brought them back once more. Together, they would lead their fleet to glorious war, and the world would quake at the very wispier of their names.

The princess's smile turned downright venomous as her float plane radioed in. A convoy limping for what they so foolishly considered safety.

They would learn.

They would know fear.

And then they would die.

Hail Victory.


	91. Chapter 69: Best Docboat is Best

**Chapter 69: Best Docboat is Best**

He thought he'd been ready.

Professor Crowning stared at the unblinking screen of his laptop and ran his hands though his hair, a shaking, rattly breath sneaking out of his lungs. He thought he'd been ready, he'd thrown himself so throughly into unraveling the mystery of the summonings that… that he could push Jersey into a corner of his mind. Keep her at bay while he put his every energy into cracking an enigma the fate of the world depended on.

And it'd worked… until he saw her. Those ice-blue eyes, the way she winced when he accidentally startled her into pinching her own chest—a chest that, despite her many gripes, Crowning thought was absolutely flawless—, even the way her nose crinkled like tinfoil when she tried to deny her little bout of clumsiness warmed his heart.

No, _especially_ the way her nose scrunched, there was just something about the way she transitioned from a symbol of courage vested in fighting steel to… to a girl. A girl who smiled and laughed and _cared_ for the people she loved. All the mental blocks the professor had put in place crumbled at that smiling face, and it'd taken every shred of self-control he had to keep himself pulled together.

And then… and then she mentioned her dream. Some people might dismiss a strange dream as the result of some poorly cooked fish the night before, but Crowning knew better. When dealing with magical ship spirits, it wasn't wise to dismiss the time-honored tradition of prophetic dreams. Besides, he'd seen Jersey eat, there wasn't a thing on this earth that could give that girl's bottomless stomach a moment's pause.

It only worried him that the dream sounded so terrifyingly familiar. He hadn't told her, mostly because he didn't know the implications himself, but her description of an infinite icy plain matched almost perfectly with Dante's ninth and lowest circle of hell. The circle reserved for traitors and Satan himself.

And then there was that number. Thirty-five thousand, eight hundred and fourteen feet. That was too specific to be random, it had to mean something, but the professor didn't have a clue what. Luckily, he didn't have to.

Alt-tabbing away from the cool blue tones of his skype window, he hurriedly keyed the number into wolfram alpha to see if it turned up anything he could work with.

It did.

 _Challenger Deep._

Crowning felt his body tense with panic, his pulse pounding in his temples as he read the innocent looking characters. That distance… it was the exact depth of Challenger Deep, the deepest single spot in the enter planet. The closest any mortal being could get to the underworld—to hell itself.

"No," whispered Crowning. He wasn't sure why he said it out loud, he was quite sure he was alone in his study. But still…

"No." This time he said it loud, his voice quaking with fearful fury. Jersey was _not_ a demon, she did not come from hell _or_ deserve to burn within it. And on the off chance there _was_ someone from hell looking in on his little room at this very second, he needed them to know that he would _never_ accept it.

"Uh, Doc?"

Crowning spun around, his hand somehow closing around the worn leather grip of his longsword—one of the only personal items he'd thought to bring that wasn't some form of book. The polished, oiled metal slid out of its leather-wrapped sheath with quiet fury, lovingly-honed edge glinting in the light of his reading lamp.

It was a pointless gesture, but not in the way he'd expected. Waiting at his open door—that he was _sure_ he'd locked—were three little destroyer girls staring at his blade with rapturous interest and not a shred of fear between them.

"Oooooh," Kidd smiled from ear to ear, her big brown eyes following every move of the polished blade with rapturous interest.

"I like mine better," Bannie puffed out her little chest in defiance of the way her face followed the swish of the steel. "It's curved."

Dee just smiled and stood very still to avoid sticking herself. Not that it would matter, even the Professor's sword couldn't cut though structural steel.

"Oh, uh," Crowning let his blade slump to his side. He'd been meaning to save the dramatic reveal for the next time the girls stared a fencing match, "Hey girls."

"Hi!" Dee waved frantically.

"We figured, uh… since you came to pick us up around dinner time," stared Kidd.

"You probably missed dinner," finished Bannie.

"So we made you something!" added Dee.

The three destroyers shuffled over to his room in a tightly-meshed clump of chunky braids and—in Kidd's case—a ratty Jolly Roger do-rag. After a few minutes of what Crowning could only describe as 'frantic destroyergirl-ing' the three stepped back to show off their handiwork.

"Baked potatoes!" Bannie smiled as she waved her hands over two of the most ridiculously overstuffed potatoes Crowning had ever seen. The already large tubers overflowed with sour cream, onions, bacon, and what looked like a few carefully-placed bits of parsley. "And Lemonade!" Bannie helpfully slipped a coaster under a tall, frost-glass.

"Jambalaya!" Kidd wafted the sent of… well Crowning wasn't exactly sure _what_ it was, only that it seemed to involve rice and it smelled utterly delicious. "Also, rum!" The little girl let out a roaring laugh as she slammed a half-empty yet suspiciously-unopened bottle of Captain Morgan onto the table with a giggly "Yo ho!'

And then it was Dee's turn. The little destroyer shuffled to the desk and _very carefully_ set an unassuming plate down. "I made brownies," she said with a contented half-grin. And brownies they were, brownies so moist and fresh out of the oven they were slowly melting into a puddle of amorphous chocolate goo.

Even with all that was weighing on his mind, the professor couldn't help but smile at the girls' antics. Never let it be said that a DesRon couldn't get things done if they put their little hearts to it. "Thanks, girls."

The three destroyers shuffled over to surround his waist with hugs. "You're welcome," cooed Dee.

"I hope you like it!" added Bannie.

"What'cha working on?" finished up Kidd.

Crowning bit his lip. Part of him wanted to leave the little destroyers in the dark, but they had a frustrating tendency to always know everything that was going on. Besides, they weren't as young as they looked. He was pretty sure he didn't have to coddle them. "Trying to figure out a dream," he said.

The three girls stared up at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Jersey had a dream-"

"Oh, I like her," said Bannie.

"She's so pretty," Kidd almost swooned.

"She's like a beauty queen," concurred Dee.

Crowning blinked. While he'd never deny how gorgeous the battleship was… 'beauty queen' was _not_ the first image that came to mind when thinking of the amazonian battlewagon. "Anyway," he continued, "she had a dream, and we're trying to figure out what it means."

"Do ships have dreams a lot?" asked Kidd.

"Not…" Crowning gently peeled one destroyer at a time off his waist at a time until he could sit down. "Not like this."

The three destroyer girls stared at him like eager schoolgirls, each waiting with bated breath for the next tidbit of information he had to dole out to them.

"Sometimes they'll… you'll have regular dreams. Flights of fancy that don't mean a thing, that fade like dust when you wake."

The girls nodded in acknowledgment.

"But sometimes… sometimes it's more than that. Something that _means_ something. Nagato has them, apparently Arizona too, but it's never been more than a flash or a glimpse. This was… something more."

"Hmm…" Kidd hummed thoughtfully while sneaking closer to the bottle of rum she'd brought.

"Why's she so special?" asked Bannie.

Crowning shrugged, "If I knew…" He sighed, "With everything else that's happened, it's probably staring me right in the face."

"You'll figure it out!" cheered Dee.

Crowning ruffled her hair, "Thanks, kiddo."

Dee beamed, and buried her face in his chest.

—|—|—

Jersey strolled though the Alaskan train yard in what she hoped looked like an appropriately casual manner. Each step sent her sneakers crunching though the half-frozen gravel, their chunky rubber soles picking up a few errant rocks and sending them skittering over the industrial tundra. Every so often, a massively bundled-up figure would glance at her and do a brief double-take at her very long—very naked—legs.

Of course, Jersey knew they were more surprised that she wasn't freezing her cute little stern off in this weather, as well they should. But she liked to pretend they were admiring the graceful curves of her _Iowa_ -class stern.

Not because she was vain, though. Because everyone who worked on her, from the highest designers to the lowest welder, did good work. Beautiful work, a symphony of steel that deserved to be admired and respected. Okay, she was _kinda_ vain, but can't a girl want some attention?

Especially when Big-tits McMushi as getting her ass bounced off with free fucking drinks. Because fucking pagodas are _soooooo sexual_.

And so, Jersey made her way down the railyard, her hips swaying maybe a tiny bit more than they strictly-speaking had to. But there was one particular train she was interested in.

A train capped off by what had, at one point, been a passenger car. "Jersey!" the unmistakable voice of Major Solette rolled out from an overstuffed bundle army-camouflage cold weather gear standing next to the carriage. "It's five degrees out."

Jersey nodded.

"How are you not freezing?" asked the Major with resigned indignation.

"Fucking scarf, army." Jersey tugged at the fleecy fabric wrapped tightly around her neck, "How's my little girl?"

Solette clambered up into the car with all the grace a man-sized bundle of batting and gore-tex could. "Heermann's all set," he turned around to watch the battleship climb up. Jersey got the feeling he would've offered to help if she was anything _but_ a fifty-thousand ton war machine. But she doubted even he could muscle around that much steel. "Got her a blanket and everything."

Jersey smiled and gently put her foot on the ladder rung. Even with most of her weight still resting on her other foot, the steel groaned under her immense weight. "Army?"

"Speaking," said Solette. Jersey couldn't see his face though his parka, but she knew, fucking _knew_ he was shooting her a huge shit-eating grin.

"If you laugh," Jersey grunted and hauled herself up onto the rung. "I will eat your babies."

"You sure, Jersey?" The hood of Solette's parka quivered as he let out a ragged laugh. "Shouldn't you be _watching_ what you eat?"

"Fuck you!" Jersey threw herself up the last step, "My waist is fucking perfect." She pulled her shirt up and flexed her rippling stomach muscles, "See!"

Solette shook his head. "'s fucking cold." Without further comment, he shuffled into the—thankfully heated—train car with one pouting super-battleship in tow.

The car's interior had been almost totally rebuilt. The dividers and seats had been torn out to make room for a bathtub large enough to fit Heermann—in a swim suit this time, not her ratty uniform—, and the various medical tools and monitors the major thought he might need.

It slightly worried Solette that he now considered a plasma cutter to be 'crucial medical hardware', but less than it probably should. And _that_ worried him.

Jersey, of course, dropped any shred of bluster the moment she saw the destroyer napping in the tub. Her scowl melted into an honest smile and she bolted to the welded-steel side.

"Kiddo?" the battleship idly played with Heermann's hair, her voice quiet and warm as a mother's whisper.

"Mmm?" Heermann stirred, then bolted around to throw her little hands around Jersey's musclebound shoulders in a tight hug. "Mama!" she squealed.

Jersey's cheeks blushed beet red, but she returned the hug regardless. "Hey, kiddo." She pulled back to examine the girl's swimsuit, an American flag bikini, albiet one that covered far more skin than the battleship's FREEDOMkini. "Like the outfit."

"Thanks!" Heermann pulled at the brightly colored fabric and smiled, "Naka bought it for me. It's just like yours!"

"Well," Jersey ruffled the fletcher's braid, "I think you look fucking badass then."

Heermann beamed.

"Army treating you okay?" stage-whispered with a solemn nod to Solette.

"I'm right here," sighed the Major.

"Well, he gave me ice cream," said Heermann, "and he even gave me a little hug when I was scared."

"Hey!" Solette knife-handed the destroyer, "That was supposed to say secret. How am I gonna nurse if people think I'm caring!"

Jersey rolled her eyes, "relax, Army, your secret's fucking save with me."

Solette made a show of examining his selection of medical angle-grinders, letting the two women-who-were-also-ships have their moment.

"Where're your sisters?" asked the battleship while Heermann happily played with the tip of her braid.

"Out," explained Heermann, "Naka took them shopping for Christmas presents." She stopped, her little cheeks puffing out while she idly drew circles in the water with the end of Jersey's ponytail, "They're still riding back with me, right?"

"Oh hell yeah," said Jersey. "I wouldn't make you ride home all alone!"

"But docboat-"

"Is Army," Jersey held up her hands like a barricade. "Doesn't… doesn't count.

Solette rolled his eyes.

Jersey blinked. "docboat?"

Heermann nodded, as if that was all the explanation that was needed.

"O-fucking-kay then," said Jersey. The battleship glanced over her shoulder to make sure Solette was throughly occupied, then quickly leaned over to plant a kiss on Heermann's forehead. "Get better, okay kiddo?"

"Mmhm!" Heermann nodded enthusiastically.

"Good girl," Jersey ruffled her hair, then stood up to let her get some rest. "Yo, Docboat? You got a moment?"

Solette sighed, and gently set down the welding torch he'd been idly messing with. "Yeah?"

Jersey jerked her head towards the cordoned-off sleeping area, a ghost of a scowl on her fine features. The major didn't waste time tidying up his tools and half-dragging the battleship into the bunked-over sleeping section. The flimsy divider door wasn't quite soundproof, but it should be quiet enough to keep any personal secrets… well, secret.

Jersey planted her hands on her hips, her fingers clutching at her own body like it was a lifeline. Her neck—at least the part Solette could see above her scarf—was a mess of corded muscle pulled to the breaking point, and he could see her temples tense as she flexed and unflexed her jaw.

"So," the major slid the door closed behind him. Standing this close to the old battlewagon, he couldn't help but notice the glitter of bare steel still present on her cheekbone. "You doing okay?"

"I… sorta." Jersey's gaze drifted back to where Heermann was napping. Even with the mirrored sunglasses blocking her eyes it was painfully obvious the old girl was worried sick. "I just… if something goes wrong, I don't wanna abandon her, you know?"

"It won't," said Solette. "She's perfectly stable," he held up a thumbnail sized manila folder, "even got approval from her Chief Engineer."

Jersey smiled a soulless half-smile.

"Look," Solette sighed, "Engineer says she'll be back on her feet inside of a month even if I don't do anything. There's nothing you have to worry about."

"Yeah," Jersey sighed, "Yeah, you're probably right. Doesn't mean I won't worry though."

"Because you're a good officer." Solette followed her gaze back to the sleeping destroyer, "And a better momboat."

Jersey blushed, but her gaze barely twitched. "You know, there's uh… something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Hmm?" Solette arched a brow, "Anything."

"Fuck," grunted the battleship. She slowly turned back to face him, her towering stature seeming even more immense in the cramped train car, "I, uh…" her shoulders slumped and her voice suddenly got very small.

Slowly, almost timidly the battleship slipped her shades off. For a few seconds, she just stared at her toes, then her gaze slowly crept up to Solette's face. "Can I have a hug?"

The major didn't even have to think before he responded. "Of course, Big J." He took a step closer, wrapping his arms around her in a warm, gentle hug. A hug like he'd give his daughter. If… his daughter was taller then him, stronger than him, much older than him, and also a ship.

He felt her melt in his arms, the knots of twisted muscle in her broad back turning to taffy in his embrace. Her shoulders slumped, and he felt her thundering heartbeat settle down to a sedate four-piece sonata.

"Thanks," the battleship's voice was barely louder than a contented purr in his ear as she let herself be held. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her chest swelling against Solette's. For a second she held it, then she slowly let it out, and Solette swore he saw her anxiety slipping out with it.

"Anytime," said the Major.

"But," Jersey took a half-step back, "there's one last thing I gotta do before I leave."

—|—|—

On the other side of the Pacific, escort carrier White Plains stifled a yawn as she shuffled though the Yokosuka carrier dorms. She was feeling a lot better after her sprint across the ocean—and that minor arrow incident that she agreed never to speak of again—but that just meant she got to join the line of duty now.

White didn't begrudge the admiral for putting her on escort duty, it _was_ what she was built for. But as much as she enjoyed helping out, spending all day at sea was _tiring_. The little escort carrier just wanted to curl up in bed and nap. Ideally, she'd have a certain Iowa-class battleship to snuggle up against, but White was a sailor. She'd make do with a pillow if she had to.

She'd just ducked into her room—the largest one in the whole carrier dormitories, at the insistence of literally everyone else—when she heard a quiet knock at her door.

"Who is it?" said White, her chubby cheeks glowing in a smile at how adult she was being.

"Houshou, White-sama." The old carrier's calming accent washed over White's stubby hull. She was so nice, so sweet, almost as sweet as Jersey! "May I come in?"

White hopped off her bed, her shoes slapping against the wood floors with a loud, undignified _wumpf_. CVEs were dependable, CVEs were diligent, but the little jeep carriers were _not_ graceful. "Yeah."

Houshou slid the door open, her face—that was somehow ancient and youthful all at the same time—glowing in kind smile. Her traditional skirt-thingy—White knew it had a name, but she couldn't think of it right now—looked at odds with the brushed silver laptop she cradled in her hands. "I have New Jersey on the line," said the old carrier, "She would like to speak with you."

"Really?" White beamed as she bounced over to the carrier's side. "Jersey!"

On screen, the image of her beloved battleship momboat smiled back. _"Hey, kiddo, how's Jap-land?"_

"Oh, it's really nice," said White. She wasn't sure how, but she somehow ended up sitting in Houshou's lap while the older carrier held the laptop steady. Not that she was complaining or anything. "I'm teaching them all damage control!"

 _"Hell yeah,"_ Jersey held up a hand, which White obligingly high-fived, _"They any good at it?"_

White shrugged. "Eh," she held her palms out like a pair of scales, "They're getting there."

 _"Well out-fucking-standing, kiddo!"_ Jersey laughed, her breath flashing to frost as it rolled out of her mouth. _"Anyway, I'm at Elmendorf AFB right now."_

White froze, then slowly started hyperventilating. Elmendorf meant… it meant… oooooooooooooooo!

 _"Which means,"_ Jersey turned her camera around, including a bundled up airman in the shot, _"Oh, and by the way, this is Major Malcolm Steele. Fucking everyone up here has a badass name."_

The airman tossed a wave, _"Nice to meet you White."_

White bit her lip to keep in her squeal.

 _"And,"_ Jersey shot the camera a ridiculously shit-eating grin, _"What exactly do you fly, Major?"_

 _"That would be this."_ The airman patted the angular gray-painted nose of _A F-22 Raptor_.

White let out a loud squee of undiluted pleasure as she drank in the fighter's aggressive angles. "It's SOOO PRETYYYYY!" she screeched, her little hands flailing as adrenaline flooded her system.

Jersey winked at the airman, _"Told you she'd love it."_

 _"It's a Raptor,"_ counted the major, _"It's a mary-sue with wings."_

Jersey blinked, _"I don't know what that means, but whatever."_

White was too busy attempting to describe the awesomeness of a Raptor to Houshou via increasingly energetic squeals to react.

Then the airman noticed someone off-camera. _"Hey, Colonel, you got a minute?"_

Jersey followed his gaze to someone off-camera.

 _"You think I have an awesome name?"_ the airman shot Jersey a shit-eating grin as he motioned to yet another air force officer joining the frame. One who, while not as tall as Jersey, at least didn't looked dwarfed by her. _"This is our Wing commander. Colonel?"_

The colonel sighed, and shot the other airman the kind of look that promised severe and hilarious punishment the second cameras stopped rolling. _"Matrix, ma'am,"_ he said, offering a hand to Jersey, _"Colonel John Matrix, USAF."_

Jersey's cocky grin instantly melted into a slack-jawed stare of awe. _"Colonel…"_ she wrung her hands, her cheeks flushing a pale pink against the snowy backdrop of the base, _"Can… can I have your babies?"_

The colonel sighed, _"Major?"_

 _"Yesss~"_

 _"I am going to hurt you."_

White exploded in uncontrollable giggles, and even quiet Houshou laughed so hard she almost sent white toppling off her lap.


	92. A Certain Lady Part 15

**A Certain Lady Part 15**

 **By Old Iron**

The docks were filled with a tremendous hustle and bustle. The kind one would accurately expect on a Naval base preparing to launch a complement of warships out to sea for combat. It would be accurate to describe it as a controlled form of chaos.

In the rather spacious locker rooms, the scene differed only in the participants.

Hiei stood at the center of the maelstrom, barking orders in a manner befitting the Emperor's Ship. Her usually mirthful blue eyes cut a striking edge that commanded an absolute obedience to her word. It was plain as day that she had every intent of coming home along with each and every girl in the room.

All save one.

Off in a corner all to her own, clad in her winter school uniform and bundled up in a coat far too large for her, sat Jane Elaine Richardson. Atop her head rested askew the ensign cover she loved to wear whenever she had the chance. It was the symbol of her honorary rank after all. Regular civilians couldn't simply waltz into the shipgirl locker room. Or the docks for that matter.

Well, in all reality neither could she. But a lot of people tended to give her a bye when she was given express permission by the individuals who used those lockers to be there. And she knew there were some lines she simply didn't evenattempt to cross.

But that was neither here nor there.

Jane pulled the coat closer around her. It wasn't cold in the locker room. And with all the boilers getting up to pressure, is was even a little bit warm. The corner where Kaga was dutifully going over her preflight checks with planes would have made someone think it was midsummer.

The reason she pulled the coat closer was that it comforted her. The smell of steel, powder, oil, and the sea. It smelled like a warship. Like a battleship.

Her bright blue eyes glanced away from Hiei towards the coat's owner: Battleship Arizona.

The littlest Richardson had been handing out snacks for the shipgirls to take with them on the missions when Arizona had stormed in. There was little she could do for the war effort at her age. But a bundle of cookies was better than nothing. And a homemade cookie went a long way for morale in her book.

No one had questioned why the battleship's eyes looked red and slightly puffy. There had only been a nod from Hiei and a salute from Arizona before the latter had been ordered to get ready.

Arizona hadn't said a word to Jane when she marched over and began preparing herself for battle.

Jane had offered up a smile of reassurance and a small bag of cookies, which the standard had taken with a small smile of her own. It hadn't been long before the nine-year old found herself swimming in Arizona's greatcoat. And while she had been ready to laugh and be merry, she had held back after the mirth in the battleship's eyes had faded into a steely resolve.

Jane had only moved from her seat to give Kaga her share of the cookies. And even then, she had returned to Arizona's side with considerable haste.

She loved the Navy.

The people. The places. The ship. All of it.

Even at nine, Jane knew she wanted to join the Navy and follow in her father's footsteps. Of course, she would be a battleship, not just an Admiral. She was determined to be a Fleet Admiral who was also a battleship.

But it was moments like this that made her young heart tremble.

When these girls. These women. When they prepared to put their lives on the line and fight. To march into battle and accomplish their mission knowing full well they might never walk the grounds again. Might never sail again.

Jane hated it. She hated it so much.

She wanted to retain the image of theinvulnerable Navy where she didn't have to worry if she would ever see a friend, a sister, a mother, anyone ever again.

But she hated that she knew real life didn't work like that.

If it hadn't been for Albie, she wouldn't be buried in Arizona's wonderful coat right now. This coat would be adrift or at the bottom of the sea. Arizona would have died. And Jane knew she wasn't so innocent as to believe she was just lost on her way home.

Shimakaze ran by with a determined look on her face, mumbling about depth charges.

If it hadn't been for so many things... Jane knew she would have placed flowers at a lot of graves by now.

Jane shivered slightly and pulled the coat around her even more tightly. At a distance, one might not see anything of her save a few errant strands of hair poking out between the collar and the hat.

She inhaled deeply the comforting scent of battleship steel.

One of her classmates had asked her why she called Mutsu, Mutsu-mama. The same had been asked of Hiei-mama and Jintsuu-mama. The reply had been given in the blink of an eye.

"You call your mama, mama."

Jane knew none of them were her mother. It was a simple impossibility. And she had never known life with a mother for that matter. It had always been just her and her daddy. For better and worse, it was just the two of them. There were times she hated it. There were times she loved it. Perhaps too much of a roller coaster for someone her age, but that was her life.

And then the war started and her daddy became so busy there were days when he didn't sleep at all. Days when she had to remind him to eat. He had managed to always find some sort of time for her, even if that meant she had to eat dinner and do homework in the CIC. And she wouldn't trade those memories for anything.

It was... lonely though. Lonely and really, really hard. Just them.

But one day her daddy came home with someone. She hadn't known what to think even ignoring the fact that person wasn't... completely a person.

Battleship Hiei had been the first. The first to save her daddy from himself. From the war. From a lot of things. Then came Battleship Mutsu and Light Cruiser Jintsuu. And as they saved her daddy, they also saved her.

Jane didn't feel so lonely anymore.

That's why she hated watching them prepare to do what they flat out existed to do. She hated worrying that one of them might not come back. That they might get hurt so badly they couldn't come home.

That one day she'd wake up and Hiei's silly grin wouldn't be there.

That one day she wouldn't hear Mutsu' teasing lilt.

That one day Jintsuu wouldn't correct her for messing up her English homework.

She...

She wanted...

She wanted this stupid war to be over.

She wanted to have dinner with her family and not have to worry when someone wasn't there.

Jane sniffed as she felt her nose start to run and her eyes grow wet.

"Jane?"

The dark haired child looked up at the towering visage of Arizona. She saw Hiei nod in her direction out of the corner of her vision.

"Is... Are you alright? You don't have to be here." Arizona kneeled until she was eye level with Jane. The Admiral's only child's presence had been a surprise. Not unwelcome, but a surprise nonetheless. But not a word had been spoken by her.

"D-Don wanna..." Jane sniffed and tried to look strong. She wanted to look like the strong girl who was perfectly fine. She failed. "I don't want you to go. I-I'm scared."

"...Jane." Arizona reached out with a scarred hand, bereft of the usual glove, and gently adjusted a stray lock of Jane's dark hair. "We have to go. We can't do our duty if we don't. We cannot protect you or anyone else if we fail to stand up and do what it is we must do."

"B-But... Wh-"

"If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there'd be no work for tinkers' hands." Arizona lowered her hand enough to tap Jane's nose, still appearing as sleep deprived and stern as she had been before. But there was a subtle warmth in her tone. "I have failed at many things. I will at least succeed in making sure everyone comes home. Myself included."

"Y-You p-promise?" Jane's innocent question gave even Arizona pause.

"I promise. I will even swear it on Admiral Kidd. The stuffed destroyer, that is." Arizona cracked the slightest of smiles as Jane gave a shuddering laugh before wrapping small arms around her large hull.

"I d-don't want to b-be alone, Ari-mama. P-Please bring H-Hiei-mama an-and Jintsuu-m-mama home safe." No matter how mature. No matter how wise. Jane was still, at heart, a child. "Y-You. A-An me. And Daddy. And e-everyone!"

Arizona could not fathom the depths of Jane's wants. She had hardly known the girl for more than a month and change. And yet somehow this child had become so taken with her. So attached to this old, outdated battlewagon. She tried to form a reply, but a tapping on her shoulder drew her steel gaze upwards and away Jane.

"Arizona... It's time." Hiei's expression had softened considerably since Arizona had first seen it upon entry to the lockers and she almost appeared openly regretful at having to break up the moment.

"I..." Arizona appeared hesitant, not quite sure how to disentangle herself and retrieve her uniform at the same time. Her expression turned questioning when Hiei joined her, kneeling before the littlest Richardson.

"Come on, kiddo. We have to go." Hiei reached out to remove Jane's cover and proceeded to muss the girl's hair in an affectionate manner. "Don't you worry about a thing. We're strong. Really strong! We will march into battle with blazing spirits and come home with our chins held high!"

Arizona nodded in agreement.

Even a few of the other girls in earshot gave resolute expressions as they too nodded.

As Jane watched the fleet take their leave, she felt even more cold than before.

It wasn't until her daddy found her, sitting at the dock and gazing out to sea that she felt warm again.


	93. Chapter 70: The Gale Must Suffer

**Chapter 70: The Gale Must Suffer  
**

Professor Crowning was happily enjoying his breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast when a ragged Yeoman Gale lazily shuffled up to the table. Her messy brown hair was tied back in a what could be generously described as a bun that had to be kissing the very limit of what uniform regulations would allow. Her brows hung low over her eyes, and her face was stuck in an exhausted kind of scowl. Even by her standards, the poor girl looked spent.

"Morning," Crowning slid his tray over to make room. He'd offer her some of his coffee, but the sailor already had a full carafe resting in the corner of her tray.

"Hey." Gale unceremoniously collapsed into a chair, causing the worn pleather to let out an undignified _fpoofh_.

"Rough night?" said Crowning, a tiny sliver of a glint in his eye as he sprinkled more pepper onto his eggs.

"Ooooh yeah," crooned Gale. "But not… I wasn't…" She stopped. Her face screwed up and her brows knit into a palisade as she mentally rebooted. "It wasn't 'cause I spent the night with Wash or anything."

"You didn't?" Crowning cocked his eyebrow, honest surprise plastered on his face. "I thought you two were-"

"We are," said Gale. "At least… I am…" she trailed off. "I can't read her for shit, really."

"So then what?" Crowning tore a bit of toast off and popped it into his mouth. He smiled as he chewed, presenting a nice, calming visage for Gale to spin a tale to.

"So," Gale took a long, _long_ gulp of coffee, "We were watching the water, right? So close I could _taste_ her. Then fucking _Frisco and Borie_ come streaking down the road butt naked."

"Cruisers streak?" Crowning stifled a chuckle.

"That's just it," said Gale, "She was streaking because she was scared out of her wits. It's like Pearl all over again for the poor thing, only this time we can't even replace our losses."

Crowning winced, but let the sailor continue her tale.

"So, uh…" Gale sighed, and inhaled an envier breakfast burrito without even the courtesy to chew it first. "I gave her ice cream. Then Jen and I just watched _Star Wars_ with her until she fell asleep." The sailor slouch her shoulders, her hands idly drumming against her stomach as she let out a low sigh.

"She eats a lot, doesn't she?" guessed Crowning.

"Yeah," said Gale. "Yeah she does. Girl's got a waist like…" she held her hands up, making a circle with her thumbs and fore-fingers, "This big around and she scarfs down a half-dozen pints without breaking stride. I eat like… one of those and I feel like a fat fuck."

She let her hands fall back to the table, her glare hovering over the hearty shipgirl-approved mac'n'cheese on her tray. "I'd- I'd feel jealous of her if she wasn't so damn scared."

"You sure she's not just adjusting?" asked Crowning.

"No," Gale shook her head, "No you haven't seen her. The look in her eyes… poor girl _knows_ exactly how fucked we are, and it's scaring her shitless." She gulped down a mouthful of the cheese-soaked noodles, "Speaking of, uh, you make any progress on the summoning thing?"

Crowning shook his head. "Nothing I can think of fits right." He let out a huff and drew his hands though his hair. "And… and Jersey called me last night."

Gale's denouement instantly brightened, "She did? She feeling any better?" she blurted, "You gonna tell her you wanna marry her ass?"

The professor rolled his eyes, "Actually, she's having dreams." He scratched at the close-cropped stubble gracing the tip of his chin. "Very vivid dreams about very worrying subjects."

"That's happened befo-"

"No it hasn't," continued the professor. "Not like this. These are more vivid than anything a shipgirl's had before. By far."

"Shit," breathed Gale. For a second, she just stared into her meal with resigned indifference. Then, her brows started to scrunch, and her touge started to poke out from the corner of her pursed lips. "You know…"

Crowning leaned in, suddenly perfectly attentive.

"That…" Gale rubbed at her temples, "that almost sounds familiar but I can't remember why."

Crowning sunk back to his chair. "Well…" he scowled, pushing his half-finished breakfast away from him.

"If I think of it, I'll let you know," said Gale. She put on a weak smile, "Wouldn't want your girl loosing sleep with anyone but you, right?" She barely managed to duck the hurled bit of toast lobbed at her head.

—|—|—

There were many places battleship New Jersey imagined Musashi might be spending her downtime. The most obvious place would be a bar, or maybe a strip club. Somewhere where she could but those jiggly fuckhuge pagodas to work for a few free drinks or something. Girl was a fucking attention whore of the first order, and she was only the second of her class. Jersey paled to think about how insufferably arrogant fucking _Yamato_ might be.

So Musashi's true location came as a surprise so shocking the American battleship almost didn't believe it. Musashi was… in the fucking _library_ of all places. Libraries were the holdouts of stogies and nerds even in Jersey's time, and the decades had not been kind to the printed book.

Jersey would have been astonished if there were even ten people in there willing to oggle, grope, squish, and otherwise sexual the topheavy stripperboat. Which suited Jersey just fine. Musashi's ego was already massive enough without every male on the continent leering over those big, bouncy torpedo blisters.

Wait.

Jersey scowled, her already fine features hardening like steel in a tempering forge as she ducked though the library's door. Inside was, well, not _warm_ , but at least not as bone-chillingly cold as the outside she'd just left. She hurriedly stuffed her cap into a pocket and started to loosen up her scarf as a smiling old woman tottered over in that unique old-woman-gait.

"Hey," Jersey smiled at the woman—she couldn't have been taller than the battleship's ribcage—and scuffed the snow out of her shoe's treads. "I'm looking for-"

The old woman pressed a finger to Jersey's lips, an action that forced her to stand on the very tip of her toes. "Quiet," she said with what Jersey could've sworn was a conspiratorial wink. "She's in reference." The old woman pointed to the back of the building.

Jersey nodded. It made sense, a towering tanned girl with snow-white hair was hard to misplace even when she _isn't_ walking around with half the world's silicone production hanging uncovered off her chest. Not wanting another shushing, the battleship just nodded in response and headed off where the woman pointed.

And almost shouted—not squealed, shouted—when she felt the librarian give her ass a hard smack. Not… that Jersey was unopposed to people smacking her ass. From a purely objective point of view, it was quite a nice ass, the shipwrights at Philadelphia Naval Shipyard had done very good work, and Jersey was only being gratefully appreciative when she admired her own tush.

But still.

A librarian almost as old as she was was _not_ high on the list of people she expected to be smacking her stern. So she shot a dirty look at the old woman, who responded with the shrug equivalent of 'I'm an old woman. I do what I want.'

Jersey could understand that. Not _like_ it, but understand it. So she wandered off deeper into the library, letting the musty smell of books and well, and more books surround her like a blanket. She didn't know why, but something about the books made her smile. They felt so comforting, almost loving as they surrounded her.

Before she could contemplate it any further, the American super-battleship spotted her Japanese counterpart.

Musashi sat at a varnished wood reading table, her glasses perched at the tip of that slender oriental nose as she poured over her book of choice. Jersey didn't catch what book it was because she couldn't tear her eyes away from the way Musashi's colossal breasts piled up against the table.

She wasn't _jealous_ just… distracted. She had been filled with thousands of lonely sailors after all. Sailors who'd come back from the dead just to _smack the shit out of her_ if she passed up an opportunity to examine such a magnificent chest with the proper care. She was just doing good by her crew.

But when Jersey _did_ realize the book Musashi was pouring over, it took every bit of self control she had not to howl with laughter. For Musashi was pouring over _Janes' Fighting Ships of WWII_. And judging by her place in the book, she was in the 'late-war American battleships section.'

"Oh Muu-Shieeeee!" Jersey planted her hands on her hips and let them rock from side to side like a belly dancer, her tone modulating up and down in a verbal… tilde. Fuck, _that's_ how that tiny-skirted bitch did it!

Musashi yelped, her whole body—but some areas more than others—bouncing bouncing to attention as she frantically slammed the book shut.

Jersey hugged herself, squeezing with all her strength to keep from collapsing into uncontrollable peals of laughter. But even with her valiant efforts, a low rumbling 'hmhmhmhmhmhmhm' rattled past her gritted teeth.

Musashi straighted her glasses, her cheeks glowing crimson against her chocolate skin. "I, Musashi," somehow the battleship managed to bellow her name quietly, "was just… doing some light reading." Her gaze drifted over Jersey's much smaller bust. "Very light," she added.

Jersey rolled her eyes, and rolled her hips even harder until Musashi's gaze drifted back down. "You're pouting."

"Am not," was the Japanese girl's elegant reply.

"Yeah, what-fucking-ever," Jersey spun on her heel, making sure her hips were at just the right angle. "Get your tits in gear, we're feet wet in fifteen." The battleship sashayed back towards the door, smiling as she felt the air eat up from Musashi's impotent fuming.

Of course, she still had to make it past the perverted little librarian. _Iowa_ -class hips are infinitely more attractive than _Yamato_ class milkbags, so just having Musashi on her stern shouldn't be enough to loose the old woman.

Except, as it turned out, it was. Because the old woman had utterly terrible taste. Jersey scowled as she stepped back onto the snowing street, her cap snapping as she pulled it back on.

Musashi was, of course, drinking in every second of attention her stupid-ass topweight was getting. And Jersey was not jealous in the slightest. She was just furious at loosing a few more minutes before she could put to sea again.

Luckily, she didn't have to wait alone.

"New Jersey!" the unmistakable form of the fourth _Shiratsuyu_ -class destroyer sprinted towards her, her long flowing silk scarf trailing behind her like a landgoing wake. But in her forgivable enthusiasm to be near the walking symbol of American Excellence that was Jersey, Yuudachi had neglected to slow down in time, and the little blond destroyer slammed into Jersey's belly with a quiet "poi~."

Jersey rolled her eyes and ruffled the girl's hair. Which apparently had dog-eared tufts now. They were actually fucking adorable, but Jersey didn't have to _tell_ her that. "Hey, kiddo."

"Hello," Yuudachi smiled as she peeled herself off the American and dusted off her dark shirt.

"I like the scarf, kiddo." Jersey smiled a rakish, cunning kind of smile.

"Oh! Like… thank you!" Yuudachi spun on her heel to let the American see the full effect from all angles, "I think it, like, goes really well with my outfit!"

"You should keep it." Jersey tugged at her own scarf, "Badasses wear scarves."

Yuudachi nodded in agreement. "Oh, Jersey-sama?"

"Wut?" grunted the battleship.

"How do you, um," Yuudachi waved her hands in the air in inarticulate displays of inarticulation, "How do you make your hair do that, like thing, poi?"

Jersey bit the corner of her lip, trying to think of what she meant. She idly drew her braid over her shoulder, or what braid she had left. She'd taken to leaving half of it loose. Looked better that way and she didn't have to braid *all the fucking hair. Her icy-blue eyes traced down the carefully wound fibers. It started out a brilliant strawberry blond, only to fade to a fiery copper around the tips.

"Oh, you mean this?" Jersey waved her hand over the color transition.

Yuudachi nodded.

"I'll show you when we get back," Jersey ruffled the girl's hair—including those little tufts that were just adorable as _fuck_ —"sound good?"

Yuudachi nodded happily.

"Cool," Jersey smiled. "Now run along, I gotta drag big-tits McBusty over there away from her adoring public."

"Like, have fun!" said Yuudachi as she bounced down the road.

—|—|—

"Huh," Gale pursed her lips and squinted at the white board. Her years of indulging in gratuitous amounts of pop culture had taught her that progress in the business of cracking difficult riddles all but required a white board. And ideally some print-outs, red string, and coffee. But as the past several hours had proved, simply gathering all the ingredients together and _staring intently_ was not enough to force the universe to disgorge its secrets.

"What?" Crowning was by her side in an instant, "what do you see?"

"Ryuujou's smaller than White," said Gale, "I always thought it was the other way around."

Crowning scowled. In an attempt to shake out some kind of pattern, Gale'd had the idea to plot each success by tonnage. And it worked, to some extent. There was obviously a pattern, a very clear ebb and flow to the weight—the size—of ships coming back. It would spike, then slowly taper off to a trickle, only to spike again for no explainable reason.

There wasn't any pattern, the distance between two spikes—or even the size of the spikes themselves—didn't follow any rule or rhyme, it was all _random._ And other than occasionally interesting comparisons of size, it hadn't yielded anything of use.

"Also," said Gale, "You spelled it wrong. There's three 'u's."

"I did not," Crowning squinted as he leaned closer to the board. Only to read what was definitely 'Ryjou'. "Oh," he hastily erased it with the end of his sleeve and rewrote it properly.

"Told you," said Gale.

"Maybe it's-" Crowning stopped, his gaze going a little glassy as connections linked and unlinked faster than his mouth could keep up.

"Doc?" Gale spun on her heel, her pulse hammering against her chest. If he found something… maybe-

"No," Crowning shook his head. "No, doesn't work."

"Damn." Gale scowled. Then her face lit up and she snapped her fingers. "Wait."

"What?" Now it was Crowning's turn to round on her.

"I know why Jersey's having her dreams!"

The professor's face darkened by a shade, only to glow even brighter than before the next instant.

"She _naps_ all the fucking time!" said Gale with a triumphant smile.

"Gale," Crowning rubbed at his temples, "This really isn't the time-"

"No, uh… sorry, that's how my dad explained it," said Gale. "He was on her back in the 80's."

Suddenly Crowning was intensely focused.

"She kept catching cat-naps. Fought in World War II, nap," Gale ticked off the wars on her fingers, "Fought in Korea, nap. Fought in 'nam, nap. Fought in the gulf, nap. All that time in mothballs…"

"She was in limbo," said Crowning as he picked up the threads. "That's why she can dream so vividly, she's closer to-" He stopped himself. He was _not_ going to say Jersey was 'closer to hell' he simply refused to vocalize that thought, no matter how wrong it might turn out to be. "-To wherever ships go before they're summoned than anyone else."

"Yeah," said Gale. "Uh, doc?"

"Hmm?"

"Something wrong?" asked the sailor, "You just went white as a sheet."

Crowning shivered and stepped back to sit against the edge of his desk. "Not really, Gale." The professor sighed, then explained to Gale just what his beloved battleship had dreamed of.

"Oh…" Gale didn't quite loose her footing, but the sailor looked a hell of a lot more unsteady than she had a few moments before. "If… if she really _is_ seeing where she was-"

"Yeah," said Crowning, cutting off that trail of conversation before it could go any further. "That's not good."

"Maybe…" Gale trailed off. "Yeah, sorry, doc, I got nothing." She yawned, her shoulders popping as she rolled a kink out of her muscles. "Been staring at a board too long," she muttered.

Crowning nodded in sad agreement.

"Look, doc," Gale shoved her hands into her pockets, "I've been working at this too long, gonna take a run. See if that shakes anything out."

"Yeah," Crowning sighed. "Yeah, that's a good idea. I'll… I'll be here."

Gale pursed her lips, then pulled Crowning into a gentle hug. "Don't worry about Jersey, she's a tough bitch."

Crowning let a single tired laugh slip though his mouth.

—|—|—

Meanwhile, on a makeshift navy base on the Louisiana coast, large cruiser Alaska of the Combined Gulf Fleet sprawled out on soft carpet of her room and let out a contented sigh. She'd had a hard few days at sea, and that made her smile. Her life as a ship had been short and, if she was being truthful, quite meaningless.

But now, not she'd done so much in less than a week. She'd steamed heroically to the rescue of a little flotilla of fishing boats and their lone Fubuki-class escort. She'd baited a trap near a disused oil rig and bagged herself a cruiser and three panzerschiffs—ships she'd been _built_ to fight.

And now she was sitting on her floor, letting the evening sun soak into her snow-white skin while she enjoyed a good book— _Hunt for Red October_ by someone named Tom Clancy—, and a sleepy Hamakaze purring away on her lap.

Alaska smiled as she brushed the busty destroyer's hair out of her eyes. There was very little the two ships had in common. Alaska was American, Hamakaze was Imperial Japanese. Alaska towered over her friends, Hamakaze could hide under Atago's chest without even slouching. Hamakaze was quite chesty by destroyer standards, while Alaska was flat by cruiser—or even destroyer—standards.

But the two girls had almost the same hair. Alaska's was much longer—a loose mane that reached to the small of her back instead of a cute little pixie cut—, and hers sparkled like new-fallen snow in anything other than pitch black. But Hamakaze's gorgeous silver-white hair was close enough to Alaska's own for her to consider the little Kagero her honorary little sister.

It didn't mean much, the destroyer had more sisters than Alaska would ever know. But still, the girl's little—or not so little—chest swelled with pride every time Alaska choose to sit with her for dinner instead of, say, Nachi.

But just as Alaska started to turn the page, her door exploded open with a giggly "PanPakaPan!" and Atago—her division-mate and best friend—bounced in. And bounced. And bounced and bounced and bounced.

Alaska felt sorry for the _Takao_ -class cruiser. Her own chest got sore in harsh weather, even with her sports bra. She could only imagine how badly Atago handled high waves.

Hamakaze, being Hamakaze, dozed though the commotion without even batting an eye.

"Hey, 'tago." Alaska bookmarked her place and smiled up at the busty cruiser.

"Hey, 'laska." Atago giggled and dropped to her haunches next to the significantly taller American.

Alaska was proud of her own unique silhouette, being the flattest cruiser gave her a kind of distinction even her status as a _large_ cruiser never could, but she had to admit that Atago's dress and frilly little ascot thing looked adorable on her. "So, I tried on that gown you brought."

Atago's smile somehow managed to become even _brighter_. Her round, smiling face beamed like a searchlight in the large cruiser's ice-cold face. "And?"

"It's really pretty," Alaska smiled. "It's way to big in the, uh," she patted her own chest region. "But I think I stuff-"

Atago planted a gloved hand on Alaska's face and squished her cheeks in with her thumb and forefinger, "No no, we'll get it taken in."

"You sure?" asked Alaska, "That sounds like a lot of work for-"

"MmmMm," Atago shook her head. And… other areas. Alaska suddenly felt like she had to use her boat davits for something, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out how a motor launch would improve the situation. "You're so proud of yourself," said Atago, "And it's no trouble, really."

"Are you sure?" Alaska shook of the smaller cruiser's hand. "I mean… It's really no trouble. There's this place called youtube where they show you how."

Atago rolled those big sapphire eyes of hers, "Silly Alaska, you don't 'make due' for Christmas Banquet!"

Alaska blinked.

"I'll take it in for you!" Atago thrust her hand into the air with determination and a little teasing giggle.

Alaska shrugged. Atago's skills with a needle were legendary on the base. Every item of clothing she owned—that wasn't her uniform—had gone under her needle to fit it to her exceptional proportions, but you'd never know it by looking at them. "Really?"

"Mmhm" Atago giggled and slumped against the wall next to Alaska. "It's what friends are for!"

"Thanks, 'tago," Alaska smiled, her head lolling over to rest against Atago's blond tresses.

"Anytime, 'laska," Atago let out a giggling yawn and leaned over to rest against Alaska. The large cruiser might not have anything like her topside displacement, but Atago always _did_ manage to find the perfect way to nap on Alaska's breast.

And the large cruiser thought that suited her just fine.

—|—|—

"Fuck my life." Yeoman Gale mumbled with all the fury her exhausted lungs could manage as she shuffled into the women's locker room like a cardio-enthused zombie. Her legs burned and she could barely get her foot high enough to tear her shoe off. She'd always hated running, it was the reason she joined the navy instead of the army. Less walking around places.

At least… that's what she thought when she joined up. She wasn't entirely sure if that had been a wise course of action. But what's done is done, and not all of it can be undone.

Speaking of things that could be undone, though, she swore she could feel all the ice cream she'd gobbled down with Frisco sloshing around her stomach in mutiny. Frisco might not eat like a battleship, but she still devoured more than any human her size could possibly eat. And what was Gale going to do, let a scared cruisergirl eat ice cream _all alone._

She might be a non-commissioned officer, one of a breed known for consisting mostly of hate, coffee, and more hate. But she still had a heart, especially when it came to the girls. They went though hell before, they weren't going to have to do it again. Not if Gale had anything to say for it.

So she'd eaten ice cream with Frisco, pacing herself as best she could until the stunningly beautiful cruiser fell asleep in a heap of scars and gorgeous oriental features. Now she was paying the price for it. Having to run her ass off to keep her tummy from going doughy.

But, because Gale was an NCO, even what shred of luck she had didn't hold for long. Because she'd just managed to get her shirt off—exposing that soft stomach she was so sensitive about—when Wash walked in.

Gale bit her lip to keep from squealing. The battleship looked… unspeakably gorgeous. Her russet brown hair was matted down with just the perfect amount of sweat to look beautifully unkempt. Her running shorts framed the spectacular stern that all American fast-battleships seemed to share, and the less said about her shirt, the better.

Things only got worse when Wash started undressing for her shower. Gale scowled as Wash pulled her bra off. The battleship was facing away, keeping her privacy and demure dignity even now, but in doing so she put her back on full display. A back the rippled with powerful muscle and tense sinew. Gale hadn't really noticed it before, but the battleship was just as powerful as she was beautiful.

So pretty, so strong. Like a Valkyrie or—

And then she realized it. And she threw her head back in a howling laugh.

—|—|—

Gale found Crowning eating his lunch in his usual spot. What wasn't quite so usual were the three destroyer girls—Kidd's KanDesRon 2 if she wasn't mistaken—sitting around him with rapt interest. The girls were all but entranced by his tale—which Gale was pretty sure was actually _Beowulf_. Each one leaned in when he dropped to a quiet wispier, each one tensed when he lead up to a climax, and each one roared with laughter when he wove a choice bit of humor into his tale.

"Yo, girls!" Gale waved at the trio.

"Huh?" The spell of the Lit Prof broken, the girls spun around to face the new speaker.

"Don't you have formation in, like, now?"

The girls glanced at one another, then at Kidd. Then at the clock, then back to Kidd. Then back to Gale. "Yeah," said Kidd with a matter-of-fact nod.

Gale made a shooing guesture.

"Oh," Kidd nodded. "CRAP!" She exploded off her chair, her little legs spinning for traction against the slippery linoleum floor. For a split-second it looked like she was going to fall flat on her chunky little braid. But at the last instant, her shoes found purchase, the chunky rubber tread biting into the flooring and sending her bolting for the pier like the tiny murderball she was.

Her two division-mates followed hot on her heels—after begging Crowning to continue the story next time they met. Dee even managed to make it all the way out the door without tripping or running into someone once. Good for her.

"So," Crowning turned to Gale, a smirk on his face, "Spill."

"What?" Gale tried to keep a straight face. But her cheeks hurt from smiling as widely as she was.

"What if she's not a demon," said Gale, "What if she's a _Valkyrie_?"

Crowning crossed his arms across his chest, his face quivering in suppressed interest. "Unpack that for me," he said guardedly.

"It-" Gale blinked. "That's it. Jersey's a Valkyrie and that icy plain she saw was Valhalla."

Crowning shook his head, "Gale… that's not even remotely close to what Valhalla is."

"Sush," said Gale. "Shushhhshshs. I don't mean people Valhalla, I mean shipgirl Valhalla. Look, all the girls that've come back were either sunk or scrapped right?"

Crowning leaned forwards, suddenly interested again. "Yeah…"

"They all came back like they'd never left." Gale started waving her hands in rough figure eights,"They had to come _from_ somewhere, right?"

Crowning nodded for her to continue.

"That icy plain, it's not hell it's… it's…" Gale spun around on her heel and pointed to the kitchens, "Where do you stick something if you wanna keep it around for later? You _put it on ice until you need it_. She's seeing where the girls are… are spiritually mothballed."

"Gale," Crowning rubbed at the bridge of his nose, "Are you telling me that our girls _literally_ come from Davy Jones' locker?"

Gale shrugged, "It would not be the weirdest thing that's happened all day."

"This is true," acquiesced the professor. "So what does this tell us?"

"Uh," Gale stopped, her mind going blank. "That your girls not a demon?"

Crowning let out a tired laugh, " _That_ I already knew."


	94. Chapter 71: The Missing Piece

**Chapter 71: The Missing Piece**

Battleship New Jersey was a very, _very_ fast ship. She had claws, nine of the finest naval rifles ever developed by human hands tied into the most advanced mechanical ballistics computer the world has seen or ever will see, and that wasn't even counting the two entire _Fletchers_ she had strapped onto each hip.

She had armor, the finest American metallurgy could buy coupled with the finest damage control ever devised. Even if something managed to breech her belt, she could keep fighting. They wouldn't stop her unless they tore every limb from her body, and even then she could _still_ fight with her teeth.

She had eyes. Brilliant ice-blue eyes with precision unmatched by any of her kin. Eyes backed up by a radar system that made every other ship afloat shiver in reverent awe. Eyes that could pick her target out of the inky blackness of a moonless night. Eyes that could walk her fire onto the object of her fury without ever revealing herself.

But above all, she was _fast_. Her turbines made her the most powerful battleship ever built, even her stillborn sisters the _Montana_ s wouldn't have come close. At design overload, she pushed a quarter million horsepower though her shafts, her screws churning the sea to foam as they battered it to her will.

In her service against the Red Menace, she'd spent years fighting alongside _Perry_ class frigates. Ships thirteen times lighter than her and powered by literal jet engines. Ships she could overhaul with out even exerting herself.

During The War, Jersey and her sisters had been in constant demand precisely because of that speed. They, and they alone, could keep up with the precious fleet carriers and bring the might of their flak barrage to bear.

There wasn't a ship in the world Jersey couldn't outrun or out-fight, and a great many that fell into both categories.

But… sometimes even Jersey felt like slowing down and enjoying a quiet day at sea. Since Musashi was still nursing a ragged gash in her torpedo blister, the fleet had slowed all the way down to a relaxing twelve knots. But, regardless of the practical reasons, it was a _beautiful_ day for a nice relaxing jaunt down the coast.

There wasn't a cloud in the polished-sapphire sky. Warm sunlight beat down against Jersey's skin, bathing her with a pleasant warmness even as her slender bow skimmed though the chilly water gently lapping at her hull.

The ocean felt comforting, inviting even. The waves curling against her hull felt like the gentle kisses of a—probably French—lover, not the harsh battering she'd had to endure off Adak island those few days ago. Days that felt like months, now.

And to top it all off, Jersey _swore_ the wind blowing off the Canadian coast smelled faintly of fresh maple syrup. The sent wasn't quite pungent enough to make her hungry, but it was more than enough to put a smile on her face and a bit of spring in her hips. "Nice day for a sail, hmm?" she said to nobody in particular.

"Indeed," Musashi smiled. There was still a tiny catch in her side every time a wave hit her at just the right angle. The girl was built like fucking tank with tits, but even _her_ design couldn't completely compensate for shitty-ass Jap DC. Jersey made a mental note to corner the girl for some lessons once they made port, it'd be a shame if she sank.

"You doing okay there, Mushi?" Jersey lazily fell into formation a few dozen yards abreast of the super battleship, her shades glinting with the Japanese girl's pouting scowl.

"It's nothing my armor can't handle," said Musashi, "As long as we stay below…" she stroked her chin in thought, the action squeezing her colossal breasts together in a way that _had_ to be at least somewhat intentional. Not that Jersey was jealous or even particularly attentive to that region of her anatomy or anything. "Say, fifteen knots?"

"Want me to send a crew over?" asked Jersey, her hands resting on her broad hips to frame them for Musashi's viewing convenience. The American tensed her legs as her hull rode over a wave, the muscles in her massive thighs pulling her shorts even tighter over her General-Electric provided powerplants.

"I can manage," said Musashi, her glasses glinting in the sunlight as her gaze drooped down along the American's towering figure.

"You sure?" Jersey bit back a shit-eating grin, "You wouldn't feel better full of my seamen?"

For a split-second, Musashi didn't get the joke. After all, it only works in English. Then her snowy hair tufts quivered, and her face blushed a brilliant chocolaty-red color. "Jersey!" she hissed.

"Your face!" Jersey threw her head back and howled with laughter. "You should have seen your fucking face!"

Musashi aimed a punch at the howling American, but Jersey effortlessly pulled ahead. Even without the huge gash on her TDS, Musashi couldn't _hope_ to keep up.

"Jersey!" Musashi's voice thundered loud enough attentive Canadians probably heard it all the way to the coast. "Jersey, that's lewd!"

"And your fucking outfit isn't?" Jersey clawed at her stomach, trying to keep herself at least upright as she howled with laughter. "Oh man… that's too good."

Musashi scowled and folded her arms in her typical chest-squeezing pout.

"Speaking of," added Jersey, "When we get to the mainland, you're gonna have to wear your shirt like a fucking shirt."

Musashi cocked a snowy eyebrow.

"Look, uh…" Jersey shrugged, "If you're gonna be in America, you should follow our rules, okay? Do I come to Japan and tell you how to run your country?"

"Yes," said Musashi.

"Twice," added Kongou.

Jersey screwed up her face, "Wait, what was the second time?"

Kirishima rolled her eyes.

Before either battleship could speak up, a voice crackled though Jersey's radio room. A voice she swore the recognized.

 _"Hey, beauty queen, this is Frisco, ya you copy?"_ The cruiser's easygoing accent was just tinted with something a little darker, but Jersey could tell the cruiser was putting on a mask—either for her own morale or everyone else's.

Jersey tensed, her hands balling into fists as a memory she never wanted to repeat floated into her mind. "Frisco…" Her face exploded into a blush. The entire rest of her task force was staring at her, and Kongou was even flashing 'beauty queen?' at her in Morse. "Goddamnit."

 _"Oh hey, it's you!"_ Frisco's smile radiated over the radio, _"Hey, you gotta show me how you do that thing with your hair? It's really pre-"_

Jersey hurriedly downed out the signal with a husky grunt of her own, but it wasn't fast enough. Musashi was smirking, Kongou was giggling, Naka was smiling like a tiny orange shark, and Kirishima was scribbling so fast actual, literal smoke was coming off her pencil. Fuckers. "Frisco, now is neither the time nor the place."

 _"Yeah, okay,"_ Frisco paused. _"Anyway, we caught a few panzerschiffs trying to run down Juan de Fuca."_

Suddenly, Jersey was very very interested. "Continue."

 _"Wash bagged three, but there's still,"_ A brief pause punctuated by the quiet sound of Frisco counting under her breath, _"Four of the little bastards that broke for the Pacific. I'm shadowing them with Radar-"_

Jersey shot a triumphant glance to Musashi, who just pouted it off with a huff.

 _"Admiral-"_ Frisco's voice wavered for a second as she let the word slide though her lips, _"Wants to know if you gals feel up to a little interception. Shouldn't take you more 'n a day or two out of your way."_

Jersey bit her lip, "wait one, Frisco."

 _"Wilco, beauty queen."_

"Call me that and I eat you."

 _"Promises~"_ said Frisco with a sing-song lilt.

Jersey scowled and glanced back at the rest of her fleet. "Ya'll are in the loop I take it?"

The girls nodded back.

"Anyone not feeling up to a little smash 'n… well, more smash?" she asked, her gaze hovering over the hole in Musashi's TDS.

Musashi huffed. "German torpedoes a shit," she said proudly. "THEY CANNOT SINK MUSASHI!" she added at a deafening bellow.

 _"They already dumped their fish,"_ added Frisco. _"They might've reloaded, but it's hard as hell to reload your fish while running for your stinking nazi lives at twenty-eight knots."_

Jersey glanced at Musashi, who just flashed a wicked grin. "Okay, we're in," she said. "Since when is killing Nazis ever the wrong option?"

—|—|—

Back on the Washington shores, professor Crowning enjoyed a nice breakfast of oatmeal, orange juice, and staring fruitlessly at a white board. Or at least he _had_ been, until Yeoman Gale burst in. Dripping wet and dressed in nothing more than a towel that only nominally gave her any modesty.

Before the professor could react, Gale blurted out something enthusiastically and stared at Crowning like she'd just found the location of the Ark of the Covenant. Unfortunately, in her enthusiasm she'd slurred what might have been a coherent sentence into one indistinguishable blur of volume. "I'm sorry," Crowning put his spoon back down, "what?"

Gale huffed, her cheeks puffing out as water dripped down her features onto the carpeting. "I said," she stormed towards the board, one hand fumbling for a pen while the other held her towel close to her breast, "What if they're _drops._ "

Crowning blinked, "I'm… I don't follow."

Gale frantically scribbled on the board with her pen, only to find the poor thing had lost every scrap of ink. She shot the dead marker a look of utter disappointment and hurtled it at Crowning's head. "Drops!" her eyes beamed with rabid enthusiasm.

Crowning deftly dodge the hurled marker, "I…saying it again will not cause me to suddenly know."

Gale huffed, "Do you play _any_ video games?"

Crowning shook his head.

"It's like teaching a rock," grumbled Gale. "Look, just… If you kill something, they drop loot, and the bigger and badder the enemy, the better loot you get."

"Okay," Crowning nodded, his hands moving to his hips as his gaze shifted to the board.

"What if the girls are like that?" said Gale, "A… okay, I used to have cats growing up." Crowning shot her a look, but the sailor continued on regardless. "Every time you'd try and walk though the door one of those little bastards would just zip out between your legs."

Crowning's face glowed, "You think every time we kill one of those things, it leaves the door open for one of _ours_ to sneak back?"

Gale nodded frantically, "I just… help me plot this, will you?"

The two leaped into action, Crowning calling out the date of every major battle with the Abyssals while Gale marked it down on the board. It took them less than an hour to form a workable plot.

"Holy shit," breathed Gale. It fit. Everything _fit_. Every time an Abyssal was slain, the tonnage chart jumped up. Sometimes a little if it was just a small skirmish. Sometimes by a massive amount of it was a full task-force or a Princess-class. The correlation wasn't just close, it was _perfect_.

"We found it," breathed Crowning. His face twisted into a shaky smile as a numb rush crashed over him.

"And the last major battle was…" Gale's gaze drifted over to the very right-most mark on the board.

"The Northern Princess," Crowning smiled and let out a careless laugh.

Gale Grinned. "You know, there's something I've always wanted to do."

—|—|—

Admiral Williams hunched over his computer, attending to the million and one things an Admiral of his station needs to account for. Chief among them was satisfying everyone's impossible demands for fleet assets. He had an entire ocean to cover, and precious few ships—especially capital ships—to do it with.

Frisco, for all her… eccentricities…had been invaluable in plugging a few of the most glaring holes, but she was only one cruiser. One very damaged cruiser, if his Yeoman's report was accurate. But he couldn't afford to pull her off the line, not when he needed every ocean-going warship he had ten times over just to hold the line.

And then he noticed a new e-mail waiting for him.

 **From: "YN2 Sarah Gale"**  
 **To: "VADM Samuel Williams"**  
 **Subject: Think we found something.**

 **Admiral,**

 **The professor and I think we've found something. We're conducting an experiment, and we need you to come to the summoning chamber at exactly 1500 today. In your full dress blues. I can't tell you why.**

 **-Yeoman Gale.**

Williams sighed. He'd gotten his fair share of strange and inexplicable e-mails from Gale, the most memorable of which only said 'The poi is real', but this was certainly up there. But in all his time working with the yeoman, she'd never once let him down. So the admiral made a note on his schedule, leaving plenty of time to change uniforms and show up at the exact stroke of three like she'd asked.

Several hours later, Williams strode into the summoning hall with the glass-smooth stride that seems so natural when wearing a proper dress uniform. His head was held high, his sword clicked against his hip as he walked into the room full to bursting with every sailor and Marine who could be spared. Even with so many bodies dampening the sound, the room resonated with a rocking fuzzy guitar riff.

It was at that exact moment that Gale, who was standing up on the stage with a Marine band, croons out "every girl's crazy for a sharp dressed man!" and thrust her hand at him.

Williams shot her the most blank of Admiral Stares. The inscrutable mask of brass that could make even the saltiest seadog go looking for the nearest bit of shore. Yeoman Gale's antics were well known among the base, and she got a generous amount of slack simply because of how well she worked with shipgirls.

But this time… this time she'd-

Williams blinked. This time she'd get away with it too.

Standing in the middle of the summoning pool, her brilliant copper hair quivering in the breeze like a dancing flame, was a girl. She was maybe a hair taller than Frisco, but she had the same slender, wiry build. All sinewy and muscle and very little fat to go around. A treaty cruiser, she had to be.

But where Frisco's fine features presented a mask of solemn calm and dignity, this girl's toothy grin and blazing red hair painted the picture of a loose-canon. A gunslinger from the old west, as suggested by the heavy revolvers hanging off her belt. And under her shoulders. And by the looks of it, she had a fifth gun strapped to the small of her back.

On the other hand, she wasn't flashing her stomach like Frisco did. The newcomer's shirt might have the sleeves torn off at the shoulder, but it was at least tucked into her salt-spattered shorts.

Williams pushed though the crowd, ready to address the newly returned shipgirl. "Attention!" barked a Marine.

The crowd instantly snapped too, and even the girl followed suit—after a brief moment of confusion where she tried to decide if she should salute or not.

Williams strode right up to the railing, his shoes clicking in perfect time as he looked down at the flame-headed girl. "Report."

"USS _St. Louis_ , sir," The girl slammed a hand up against her brow, "Cee-ell-49, but you can call me Lucky Lou." She paused, "Or… just Lou, sir."

Williams smiled, and returned her salute with one of his own. "Welcome back, Lou. It's good to have you."

"It's good to be back, sir," said the girl. The _cruiser_. Not just any cruiser, one of the only ships to get underway during the Pearl Harbor attack. A ship who won eleven battle-stars, and who didn't even let a torn-off bow and a kamikaze hit keep her from the fight.

"Yeoman Gale," William's voice boomed over the suddenly-silent summoning chamber.

"Aye sir?" Gale's shoulders shrank, like she was trying to decide if she should try to hide or not.

"Good work."

Gale beamed.

"Saint Louis," Williams folded his hands behind his back, "Come with me, we'll get you briefed."

"Aye, sir!" Lou shot off a jaunty salute and half-ran half-skipped over to the ladder, her flaming hair following lazily behind her in a giant untamed mane of burning copper.

"And Gale," Williams smiled at the sailor, "Take a break, you've earned it."

—|—|—

"Hey, Doc?" Gale glanced over the half-eaten brownie she was working on. Calories be damned, she _earned_ a good brownie today.

"Yeah?" The professor cocked an eyebrow.

"I've been thinking…" Gale tapped her stocking-glad good against the carpet of her room, "The Northern Princess thing was a joint op, right?"

Crowning nodded.

"Shouldn't _they_ be getting a new girl or two?"

—|—|—

Admiral Goto stood at rapt attention in the Yokosuka summoning hall, his black dress uniform all but lost in the dimly-lit air. Incense, both the aromatic human variety and the burnt cordite stench Kanmusume preferred, lay heavy in the thick, still air. Thousands of candles burned low against the walls, adding their flickering glow to the desperate chanting of Shinto priests.

The thick gold braid on his sleeves weighed a thousand pounds, and the gold cord looping around his shoulder weighed ten times today… today they felt as light as a feather.

Standing in the quiet waters of the summoning pool was a girl. A tall, strong girl with a sea-green kimono tucked into a rust-red hakama. Her skirt was cropped short at the front, only to trail behind her down to the ankles of her heavy boots. Her humble chest was covered by a smoothly curving plate of armor.

But more importantly… _most_ importantly, she held in her gloved hand a bow nearly as tall as she was. A study bow, a _carrier's_ bow. On her back was an armored quiver in the shape of a warship's hull.

She was a carrier, a proper armored fleet carrier. Maybe Shoukaku, Zuikaku, or even Tahiho. Her name didn't matter, not right now. Goto only knew that this girl would save his beloved Japan.

"Hello," she said, her cheeks puckering in a timid smile. The girl, so strong and powerful, blushed. Her glasses glinted as her head dipped, and she tucked a strand of jet black hair behind her ear with the heavily-armored finger of her glove. "It's… are my sisters around?"

Goto was about to respond when he felt something very heavy slump against his side. He glanced over to see Ooyodo all but clinging for him for support. Her face blanched as white as a sheet, and she stared up at him in horror. "Su-supplies," she stammered.

Then the command cruiser fainted onto the deck with a very un-ceremonial crash of flesh and steel.

The newcomer blushed and looked away as the downsides of Ooyodo's incredibly short skirt suddenly made themselves known. "Um…" she plucked at the wrought-iron hardware on her chunky bow, "Is she going to be okay?"


	95. A Certain Lady Part 16

**A Certain Lady Part 16**

"Can I pick the music now? Jintsuu's won the last ten times in a row." Kawakaze muttered her complaint with no small amount of mock despair. "I'm tired of metal."

"Ou!? How can you be tired of metal?" Shimakaze frowned as she turned to glare questioningly at the other destroyer. Metal was amazing. It got your blood pumping. Your oil flowing. It was one perfect thing of many to invigorate the body and mind. She even managed an extra quarter knot while listening to a select few songs!

"Yeah, but she's always picking the same band over and over again. A little variety never hurt. Or even something Japanese!" The pink haired destroyer shot a despairing look at the blissful looking Jintsuu, who merely hummed jovially.

"Fufu... Maybe your should step up your game a bit? A little extra skill goes a long way." Tatsuta mild rebuke was delivered with a spine chilling smile. Not out of any real malice, but more because there were very few things in the world that would elicit any other sort of smile. "Then w-"

Hiei brought her hands together and it resounded like a thunderclap, silencing any and all idle chatter amongst the fleet. All members brought the full of their attention to her.

"Sorry everyone! No more fun and games, it's time to get down to business." Hiei trusted in each and every member of the fleet to do their part, even while having a little enjoyment at the same time. Hence the little games she allowed to choose what music they listened to while they steamed to the projected combat zone. Mutsu was the same way, but usually cut the winning streak at three songs.

They could sink in any engagement, so some music was the least she could permit to ease a bit of that tension. Especially for the younger or more... fragile members.

The roar of a flight of Zeros drew Arizona's attention to the sky as she looked away from the horizon she had been tasked with observing. Even the knowledge that those planes were allied now did not stop the slight tremble in her arm. They weren't Vals and they weren't Kates, but that distinctive engine still brought up terrible images.

It had been a testament to her control that she had only flinched when Kates were first sent up to hunt down any possible Abyssal subs.

She followed the flight back to Kaga, who recovered the planes expertly and immediately sent another squad into the air. Almost the entire time, the carrier had been cycling out her flights to keep planes in the sky. So far not a single weapon had gone hot much to her well hidden relief. Add in the air support from the JASDF they were expected to receive and the various radars in place, it was highly likely they would retain air superiority. But she refused to relax her four meagre anti-air guns.

"Commander," Takao chimed in after a few minutes, "I've got them. Steaming in formation and perfectly on schedule. Radio says nothing in the air and all three capitals accounted for."

"Good! Good. Kaga, you got that?" Hiei pumped her fist energetically while shooting a message back to base with an update.

"Yes. I'll coordinate my bombing runs with... Wardog squadron." There was the barest sliver of distaste in her words as she spoke the name of their support's name. She did not much care for many of the modern naming conventions when it came to air wings. It certainly did not help when Akagi practically begged her to name her fighter wings after some character or other ludicrous name from whatever television game she was playing at the moment. Not all names, but many. "Do we have a number on the escorts?"

"There are more destroyers than first reported, but we have the three Svetlana-class and the four Guissano-class accounted for as well. They haven't launched their planes yet either." Takao nodded as she spoke, continuing to sort through the data coming in over the radio.

Yamashiro cast her half-lidded gaze downward as Takao began spouting off more and more information. It was hard enough to hit a cruiser on a good day. Cruisers that outran destroyers? Outran every ship in her fleet save that boisterous stripperboat? Her shoulders shook in frustration. Was it too much to ask for a little less misfortune than usual?

Not even Shigure's discreet text message of reassurance helped. Of course her historical escort had been spending nearly all her time watching out for their precious carrier, so the words didn't carry much weight to begin with. It was just so... She didn't even have the motivation to come up with a term to describe her feelings. All she really wanted was to see her sister again. The one rock in her dismal new life.

But dismal or not, she would still fight for her home. She just wouldn't be cheery about it like so many others were.

Heedless of Yamashiro's depression, Kaga focused her attention on getting her wings into the air. Her flight deck was a mass of energy as her D3A Val squadrons fueled up and took on as many bombs as they could carry while a fresh wave of Zeros prepared themselves for launch. With one squad flying CAP already and a number of her Kates out hunting submarines, Kaga's hangars felt uncomfortably empty.

While in the past she might have been used to having a completely barren hangar, after training with White Plains it felt decidedly... odd. Keep the enemy reeling and be ready to react to anything. Don't dump everything into a single devastating strike.

Kaga drew back her arm and loosed an arrow from her bow with picture perfect posture. The arrow appeared to explode into a flight of Zeros as they flew from her catapult. They gained speed rapidly and climbed high into the sky, circling about to bleed distance as the Vals were prepared and hurled into the sky in a similar manner.

However before Kaga could issue further commands to her planes, one of the bombers broke off suddenly of its own volition and went into a wide, lazy arc downwards.

"Kaga, what's that plane doing?" Hiei demanded.

"Assurance." Kaga narrowed her eyes as she tracked the plane's course. "It claims it is giving _assurance_."

Arizona's steely eyes tracked the errant plane as well, not willing to give it the benefit of the doubt her allies were. The four AA guns on her deck followed her gaze until the aircraft dipped well below the altitude where it could pose any threat to her.

The Val swung around in another wide turn, bleeding just enough speed to buzz by Arizona's bridge without rattling her.

The Pennsylvania-Class battleship blinked in surprise as she watched the bomber climb rapidly to rejoin its wingmates. Had she just seen what she thought she saw?

"Arizona, what did...?" Kaga had an inkling of what the pilot had done, but could not be too certain. The only reply she received was one of assurance. And assurance could take on many forms. Her stoic expression was broken only by a blink when Arizona responded with a voice of some bewilderment.

"...saluted. The pilot saluted me."

It was the mostly silent Hatsuzuki who ultimately broke the awkward silence.

"I think... they want you to know that you're on the same side now." The anti-air destroyer nodded at her own hypothesis, providing Arizona with a stone-faced thumbs up.

"Ou! Come on! Let's get going!" Shimakaze broke the somber mood with her energetic declaration. She was sick and tired of all this drama. And even more tired of having to meet the enemy at such slow speeds. They could have been there by how if they weren't plodding along at what amounted to a geriatrics' pace through the mud.

Jintsuu palmed her face as Kawakaze belted out an agreement.

"I agree, we should pick up the pace." Arizona nodded after a moment's contemplation. There would be plenty of time to think on the actions of the Japanese pilot when they returned to base. But for now they had an enemy to slay. "Readjust formation and move in to finish the job."

"Alright! Everyone kick it up a notch. Let's make sure Kaga left us something!" Hiei roared jovially while said carrier returned the taunt with a mildly irate pout.

—|—|—

"Colonel, we've got Zeros inbound escorting Vals."

"I see 'em." Colonel Akira Yamamoto, acting under callsign Wardog 1, glanced out her cockpit to see the approaching aircraft. Aircraft that should have absolutely no business existing, much less keeping pace with them. The F-4 wasn't state of the art by any modern definition, but it sure should be out-flying anything that was built in the 40's. "Looks like your girlfriend sent up the good stuff. You should have brought flowers, Major."

"She's not my girlfriend. I've never even met her!" Major Titus Wolfenstien protested fruitlessly. "I made one comment about wanting to land on that deck and suddenly the whole wing is going nuts."

"Can't blame us, Handy. You haven't been on a date since the USAF tossed you onto our plate and all the spooky shit has us all but grounded until crap like this happens." The latter fact being something that irritated her to no end. She hated being bored. Hated it. "And then you make a crack about wanting to land on Kaga's deck?"

"Yuck it up, Sandbar. Yuck it up." The Major sighed and looked out his canopy window to see no fewer than two of their accompanying Vals shaking and trying to maintain some sort of stability. "Uhh... Sir?"

"What? You gonna confess to little 'ol me now?"

"No. Something's wrong with the Va-" He stopped himself when he saw the pilot of one of the Vals waving him off and shaking. There was even some sputtering coming over the radio. Wait... "Those fuckers are laughing!"

"Yeah... I might have opened the frequency while I was giving you a hard time." Akira was trying not to laugh herself. But if the most disciplined of the Imperial Japanese carrier-based aces were losing it? She was well gone.

"Eat a dick, Colonel. All of you. Yes even you, you spirit, pilot, ghost thing. Eat _all_ the dicks." He very nearly devolved into a mass of obscenities when even some of the Zeros began shaking.

"Well, hate to break up the fun. Especially since I'm having tons of it. But I think we'd better tighten our pants. Unless I'm mistaken, Takao's scout is reporting floatplane launches from the Italians and the Global Hawk is confirming that." It still bugged her that apparently they needed eyes on from one of these shipgirls before any of their really nice modern gear would pick up on an Abyssal. Or the Abyssal just really wanted to be seen.

"I can confirm that as well. This is Wardog 2 to Green 1, you see 'em?" Titus received a short string of gibberish that he was somehow able to understand. Which he would be far more concerned about if they weren't about to tangle with a bunch of demonic floatplanes and their equally evil minders. The leading Zero wobbled its wings in an added confirmation. "They're all yours. Good hunting!"

"Wardog 2, aren't I in command?" Akira arched an eyebrow as she tossed out the amused sounding question.

"Just picking up the slack, Wardog 1."

"Ass."

"Bitch."

The pilots of the Zeros would have rolled their eyes in exasperation if the two members of Wardog hadn't fallen into formation with the Vals of Red squadron. It was good to have some fun, but at least these two knew when to get down to business.

Down below, far below their current altitude, the glints of eight CANT 25's circled about. They were pathetic mockeries of fighter craft, even accounting for their carapace covered black frames. But it was the only aircraft the Abyssal task force could muster. They would have to pray to every foul god in their pantheon to last more than a moment in their resistance.

A futile resistance against the Zero.

The six members of Green squadron turned over one by one and descended as though birds of prey.

"This is Wardog. Beginning our attack."

Exactly four seconds later, the nine members of Red squadron and the two of Wardog joined the descent.

At thirty thousand feet, there wasn't a damn thing that could touch any of them. And as the seventeen dropped from the sky, there was only vivid blue ocean marred by enemy presence. None of their number needed to worry about the Italian biplanes. They would be tissue paper before the Zero's guns.

When they cut through twenty, the world opened up and became fire.

The Orions did not have a single skyward gun between them and the myriad cruisers put up a valiant screen. The pilots only barely took notice of the destroyers' guns. In total, their threat was great. But not enough to force their hand away. Tracers and flak and steel flew by at an alarming rate, past their wings and far behind.

The pom-poms blazed and the machine guns cackled their death-song, but the members of the attack force were listening to their own tune. One which ended most poorly for anything bearing the Abyssal standard.

However there was one who would not allow her song to be ignored.

"...How _cute_."

Tosa's anti-air suite opened fire and what was once fire and smoke to irritate them at best, became an all encompassing storm of brimstone. Orders of evasion were barked over all channels as the seventeen did their utmost to stay on target and not be minced by Tosa's screen. Over a hundred 1 inch guns and her four dual purpose twin two's belched a malevolent field of death into the sky with such ferocity it was if a foul black cloud of smoke was reaching up to devour them.

In a flash, four Vals were ripped from the sky and two Zeros were torn to shreds. Wardog 2's right wing had the outer fifth blown away and it nearly sent him into a deadly downward spiral.

But the Phantom is a tough bitch to kill, even for the Abyssal guns.

True to their intent, the surviving planes were set upon by the CANT's, allied formation and firing solutions thrown into disarray by the sheer volume of anti-air fire. Only one of the surviving Zeros managed to cleave into the floatplanes on the initial descent and claimed two kills before being forced to take evasive action.

Colonel Yamamoto could hardly believe what she was flying through. This was a minuscule task force. And not even close to the kind of storm that could be put up by a proper group. But she had never known an era where the gun reigned. Her missile alert warning would never flash in this maelstrom.

This was the storm her great-grandfather flew through. And only now could she appreciate the hell he described.

But they would not fail. They would loose their bombs upon their foe and laugh over their burning corpses.

She and the Major would team up on one Orion while the Vals broke up the formation with attacks on the cruisers. If there was one advantage she could claim her bird had over her allies of the past, it was the sheer volume of bombs that could be strapped on.

"Hey Sandbar, you alive?"

"Somehow. This screen is something else!"

"No shit. The spooky sure as hell isn't helping." Major Wolfenstien maneuvered his wounded plane to hook up with his commander whilst doing his damnedest to keep from eating any more of the Princess' flak. "...How the Hell did they do this?"

"Got me. Stay on my ass, we've got a bitch to pump full of iron before the next wave gets here." The Colonel watched the leader of Green squadron cut another CANT in half before she poured on the speed.

The two Phantoms dove again, through fire and through flames, dead set on scoring a hit with every single piece of ordinance they had. The roar of their engines echoed over the cacophony. All weapons primed.

Were it not for the Vals and the efforts of the Zeros pulling fire while hunting floatplanes, neither Wardog would have made it to the drop point. And the very second they reached it, the trigger was pulled. Thirty-six bombs were dropped in that moment. Each carrying nearly two-hundred pounds of explosive. Overkill for one. But not a chance was being taken.

The sky above the Orion darkened with Mark-82's.

And were it not for evasive action taken by the Abyssal battleship, those bombs would have reduced it to a burning smear on the waves. The blanket of explosives coated the sea, nearly all splashes.

"We get any!?" roared Titus as they pulled up and angled away from the combat zone.

A tremendous fireball rose into the sky. And through the hellish smoke steamed the Orion. Burning and dying, its bridge and two aft turrets a blazing wreck, but still alive.

"Fuck!" Akira swore and nearly punched her console, watching Kaga's planes continue their battle. Up high she swore she saw more planes coming in, but neither she nor her wingman had the fuel or armament to continue. A single, devastating drop and back to base to rearm. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. "It's dying, but it's not dead."

Explosions continued to litter the sky as Gold squadron began their attack.

"They'll finish it. I know they will." The Major dripped his flight controls so tightly that he would have sworn they began to creak. It could have been his imagination. He was missing a chunk of his wing and there were half a dozen or more nicks in his plane now.

"Hey, Handy?" Something was bothering Akira. Something she definitely should have noticed by now. "The big bitch isn't shooting anymore."

"What? But the only..." His eyes widened as he snapped his eyes towards the horizon.

The only reason for a battleship to silence one set of guns was to fire another. A very specific set of guns.

As one, ten sixteen inch cannons roared.

The sea cratered and the blast-wave knocked the last surviving CANT from the sky, sent tumbling into the water like a fly being swatted down for flying too close.

Tosa was speaking, and she would suffer no interruption.


	96. Chapter 72: Support Meets Jeep

**Chapter 72: Support Meets Jeep  
**

As Admiral Goto glanced from the limp form of his unconscious supply officer—who was also a command cruiser from the Imperial Navy—to the towering young woman doing her darnedest not to look up said officer's very short, hipless skirt—who was also a fleet carrier of the Imperial Japanese navy—one thought ran though his mind on a constant loop. 'I've lost control of my life.'

"Um," The towering young woman stifled a stiff stage-cough with her gauntleted hand, her cheeks flushing a pale rosy color as she stared anywhere _but_ up Ooyodo's skirt. "Is… will she be alright?"

Goto sighed and stared down at the cruiser. "Knowing her, probably," he said. The officer hurriedly unbuttoned his jacket, laying the thick wool fabric over the cruiser's hips to hide her—Goto _still_ wasn't sure of the exact term when it came to a shipgirl. Keel? Bilges?—from prying eyes.

"Mm… okay," the new girl nodded. The heels of her solidly armored boots raised off the water she stood on with a creak of thick leather. Her cheeks still glowed in a girlish blush, but she wasn't quite as fidgety as she had been a few moments ago.

Looking at her, Goto couldn't help but be struck by how _young_ she looked. Akagi and Kaga both looked like stunning young women well into their twenties. Youthful, but still full-grown adults.

Not so with the newface. Even though she easily towered over everyone else in the room, she had a youthful glow to her round face, a timidness in her motions and a… a softness to her features that made her look so much younger. Goto couldn't help but think of timid terror of a college freshman stepping onto campus—and out of her mother's arms—for the first time. Hell, she didn't look much older than eighteen!

"What's your name?" Goto kept his voice calm and inviting. Suddenly rejoining the land of the living couldn't be easy on the girls, even ones who didn't look frightened just to be alive.

"Oh!" The girl almost jumped out of the water, her heels clicked together with the sharp rap of their steel armor plates crashing together. "Sorry, uh," she fumbled with her bow, dropping the long, thick piece of iron-reinforced bamboo into the water with a very undignified _plop_.

The carrier stared at her bow for a moment, then slowly drew herself back up to her full—towering, Goto couldn't get over how massive the otherwise young girl was—height. "Support carrier _Shinano_ of the Imperial Japanese Navy," she rattled off. "Just give me a chance to fight, sir."

Goto blinked. Shinano… it explained so much. Not only was the girl—was _Shinano_ —towering, her whole body seemed to tense with furious strength. Her mostly-bare legs rippled with the kind of muscle tone he'd only ever seen on a cruiser—or Musashi—and her thick neck flowed into a powerful back just peeking out of her kimono. Her armored chestplate bulged over her breasts, a plate much thicker and heavier than the simple lacquered wood breastplates CarDiv1 wore, and even her boots looked fit to stroll though a mine field with.

But… but she was still a support carrier. Her aviation complement was smaller than even _Ryuujou_ , and if her appetite was anything like her half-sister's limitless gluttony… Goto hated himself for thinking it, but he would've given anything to switch this girl for a _proper_ fleet carrier. One of the Cranes or Dragons.

But if he always got what he wanted, he wouldn't be an Admiral. "Welcome back, Shinano." He offered the girl a hand to help her off the summoning pool's still waters.

Normally, it was more a symbolic gesture. But given the clumsiness she'd displayed so far, Goto was starting to think he might _have_ to support her.

"Thank you, sir," Shinano took his hand with a grateful smile—a toothy smile that fit ever so lopsidedly in her youthful face—and carefully tested the cool stone floor with her toe.

"You should be aware," said Goto, "Things have… have changed since your first tour of service."

"The Americans won, didn't they?" asked Shinano. There wasn't any anger in her voice, no bitterness or even a note of curiosity.

Goto nodded. "How'd you know?"

"They," Shinano smoothed the rusty fabric of her Hakama, "We, I guess… the admiralty sent me into battle when I was only half-finished," she explained. "I didn't even have a proper airgroup, just…" she shivered, " _special units_. That's not something you do if you're winning, Admiral."

The Admiral nodded solemnly, his gaze drifting over to where Ooyodo was stirring herself from her shock-induced coma. He'd check in on her, but he'd learned that anything worrisome enough to crash his logistics officer would cause a freak-out when she woke again.

And right on cue, Ooyodo sat bolt upright with a rabid look of horror on her face. The same one she'd worn after Kaga's first dining binge. "Supply!" she howled, her voice little more than guttural cry of horrified rage that somehow managed to force itself into coherent meaning though sheer fury.

"…" said Shinano. She actually pronounced ellipsis, Goto wasn't sure exactly how. It was an ability all shipgirls seemed to share, though none of them could explain it to him.

It worried Goto that nothing of what just happened gave him even the briefest moment's pause.

Ooyodo, meanwhile, tore the jacket off her hips and stormed off towards her office in a seething rage, leaving a trail of superheated air and steam in her wake.

"Um…" Shinano pointed the heavily-armored finger of her archery gauntlet at the angry command cruiser.

"It happens," was all the response Goto could produce.

"Uh huh," Shinano let her hands fall to her hips. "Are you always so calm about this?"

Goto motioned broadly to Shinano's towering form.

"Point," the carriergirl sighed, her muscled shoulders drooping to a slump. "So… who, uh… who are we fighting?"

"Demons from the Abyss," said Goto.

Shinano opened her mouth to ask a question, but all that came out was a truly thunderous rumble from her stomach. The carriergirl winced, her hands suddenly clutching at her waist as her knees almost buckled. "Owww…." she moaned. "Uh, sir?" Shinano clawed at her belly even as she forced herself back upright, "Can we maybe-"

"Of course," said Goto. He knew better than to argue with a carrier's mealtimes. _Especially_ the mealtime of a carrier who'd just come back. "Right this way."

"Thank you," Shinano offered a weak smile as she fell in behind him. Only to stop and bolt back to the pool after taking less than three steps. Goto watched her sprint over to the summoning pool, and nearly trip on the ancient stone as she skidded to a stop. She stammered out a few weak apologies to the priests in attendance and fished her bow out of the water before bolting back to Goto's side.

"Sorry," she blushed beet red and slung her bow over her shoulder, the massive weapon simply vanishing between moments with the rest of her rigging as she settled herself solidly into 'girl mode'.

Goto scowled at the horizon. The poor girl needed a _lot_ of work.

—|—|—

Shinano hugged herself as she walked, her teeth gritting as she tried to squeeze her stomach—stomachs? She had separate tanks for fuel oil, avgas, and ammo, did that mean she had three stomachs?—into ceasing its/their furious demands for sustenance, but to no avail. The girl was starving hungry, so hungry the only reactions she could offer to her Admiral's concise and impromptu briefing were even more concise nods and grunts of acknowledgement.

She wanted to be more eloquent. She was a carrier of the Japanese navy, she knew she was supposed to be the elegant lady of the seas. She who's wake was cherry blossoms or something. But her _tummy hurt_. It took everything the carrier had just to squeeze down on her waist and pray her belly didn't just up and incite a mutiny. She didn't know why, but she felt like that latter possibility had a very real chance of happening.

"You're taking this very well," said her Admiral. He'd given her his name,Goto,but it didn't matter to her. He was her Admiral, and that was enough for her.

"Hmm?" A pathetic grunt was all the ravenous shipgirl could manage. Her eyebrows curled up in a pathetic attempt to apologize for her inarticulate responses.

"Not many girls take our new allies so well," said Goto. The man slid a little closer to offer the girl some support, only to back off once he realized how immensely heavy she was.

Shinano let out a wimpier. She was close enough to _smell_ lunch cooking. Rice, fresh-caught fish, spices… the air was heavy with food. It wasn't enough to vanquish the ravenous beast living within her stomach—she'd decided she only had one—but it was enough to _sate_ it for a while. "It's nice," she said.

Goto cocked an eyebrow at her.

"I fought against an endless wall of steel," explained the carrier, "Now that wall's on our side."

Goto smiled. It was a resigned, joyless smile, a smile conjured up from a half-forgotten memory instead of any actual mirth, "That… a good way to think about it." The Admiral obligingly held the door open for Shinano—something that made her blush an even deeper shade of red than she had before.

But any sense of embarrassment vanished as the sights—and _smells_ —of food assaulted her senses. Shinano couldn't even put a name to half the things she saw and smelled as she wandered over to the serving line as fast as her long legs would carry her.

A tray ended up in her hands—she wasn't sure if she'd asked her body to pick it up, or if her stomach had overruled her own command to satisfy its own desires. At the moment she didn't even care. She was hungry, hungrier than she'd ever thought it was possible to be. And she had a banquet waiting for her _right there_.

Shinano mutely shuffled from one station to the next, loading up her plate with mountains of rice, sushi, curry, dumplings, and things her brain couldn't even find the right words for. It didn't matter how high each cook piled her plate, almost half of it was gone by the time she reached the next station.

"Suh guuuh~" she let out a weak-kneed moan of pleasure as her stomach finally started to cool its heels. Eating was a new experience for her. She wasn't full, wasn't even close. But just the _act_ of eating was lifting her spirits higher than she ever thought possible.

"Ahem," a voice coughed a few feet back the line from Shinano.

"Murh?" was the carrier's eloquent response as she spun on her heel.

A tall Myoukou—who Shinano instantly recognized as Ashigara—pursed her lips with both hands balancing a tray that wasn't nearly as overflowing as Shinano's. "Could you find a table?" she asked with sweetly-smelling force, "you're holding up the line."

"Oh," Shinano glanced down at her tray. There was so much… but somehow she _knew_ she wouldn't be able to fill herself with what she had. Oh well, she could always make a second trip, "Sorry, ma'am."

Ashigara tensed, then bit her lip and held her breath until her face turned a very interesting shade of blue.

Shinano let the cruiser continue uninterrupted. She looked so old and dignified, the carrier couldn't bring herself to butt in, so she busied herself with looking for a table to sit at.

She didn't have to wait long, she saw an open spot not twenty feet away from her. With the tiniest, cutest carrier she'd ever seen frantically waving for her attention right next to it.

Shinano popped a dumpling in her mouth—something to tide her over on the walk—and made her way over to the table. Only to stop three steps in after her chopsticks fell off the side of her tray. "Umh," Shinano gulped though a mouthful of dumpling.

"Don't worry about it!" a _Kagero_ -class destroyer picked up the fallen pair and offered Shinano a fresh set.

"Thehk yuh," Shinano smiled, and the destroyer bounced off to rejoin her division with a hasty "No problem!"

The carrier shrugged and made her way—more carefully this time—to the seat waiting for her. She'd barely even sat down when the cute little carrier girl introduced herself.

"Hello!" She thrust her little hand at Shinano's heavily armored breastplate with more vigor than Shinano thought possible. "USS _White Plains_ , nice to meet ya!"

Shinano smiled and shook the girl's tiny little hand with her much larger gauntleted one. Then she stopped, blushed, and pulled off her heavily armored archery glove and gave the little carrier a _proper_ handshake. "Support carrier _Shinano_ ," she said with the closest approximation of a bow she could offer while sitting—and without planting her face into her heaping mountain of food.

"Shinano, huh?" White Plains smiled and settled down onto her stool. The little American might be full of precocious energy, but it was almost comical how much smaller she was then the towering Japanese girl. "Oh, and you can call me White."

"White, hmm," Shinano let the world roll around in her mouth—along with four dumplings and a heaping helping of rice. "I like that, it sounds cute."

White beamed, "I think it fits me!"

"I do too," Shinano smiled and took a bite of her rice. At least, she tried to, her chopsticks missed the bowl, and she had to step back and try again. "Sorry, I'm…" she slumped, the muscles of her thick neck going slack, "I'm still getting used to this whole thing."

"Being a girl?" asked White as she sipped on a tall glass of some pink liquid.

"Being… anything," said Shinano. "I was sunk without even a proper crew…" The carrier gave up on trying to get her chopsticks to play nice and just shoveled at the rice with her hands.

"Oh," White sighed and set her glass back down. "Well, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it!"

"You really think so?" Shinano said. Or at least tried to say, the rice filling her mouth turned her sentence into a confusing mix of mumbled syllables and individual rice grains flipping through the air. But White seemed to get her meaning regardless.

"Mmhm!" White nodded so enthusiastically her pigtails kept bouncing for a good minute afterwards. "I'm teaching carrier classes until my next convoy," her little chest puffed out with pride, "I'd be happy to teach you!"

"I'd like that very much," said Shinano. Her memories of the war were little more than ghostly shadows. But even then, the legendary toughness of American carriers stood out like a gleaming pillar in the gloom. If she could learn even a _tenth_ of what they knew…

"Hey, Shinano?" White stood up on her stool so she was almost eye-to-eye with the towering support carrier, "Can I see your planes?"

Shinano stopped, the bulge in her cheeks slowly fading as she gulped down her latest morsel. "Uh," she said, "Uh… I don't really… I don't have any."

White cocked her head to the side.

"I was sunk with, um…. 'special' aircraft." Shinano winced as she said it. White winced too, and her face morphed from curiosity to pained sympathy. "My pilots don't even know how to land on me," she said, "And even if they did… I don't have any planes for them to practice in."

White carefully pulled herself up onto the table and shuffled over the off-white surface to wrap the towering Japanese carrier in a hug. "I'm so sorry."

Shinano leaned into the hug, grateful for the comforting warmth of the little American's embrace.

"I can lend you a few," said White. "Some FM-2s and TBFs… it wouldn't be your full airgroup, but… it'd be something to practice with. At least until your real planes get here."

Shinano smiled and peeled herself back from the little carrier. "Really?"

"Mmhm!" White nodded energetically, "Could even send a few damage controlmen over while I'm at it!"

Shinano let out a very undignified squeal and squeezed White into a crushingly tight hug. "Thank you!" Tears of unmitigated joy welled up in her eyes as she squeezed the American tight, "Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!"

White just giggled, apparently she was enjoying the attention.

And then Shinano's stomach had to ruin the moment by letting her know it wasn't done being fed with a thunderously loud roar. The support carrier's eyes went wide as she carefully set White down. "Um…" she glanced down at her midsection—which was still grumbling at her—then back to White.

"Strawberry milk?" White smiled and offered her glass to the carrier.

—|—|—

The quiet, repetitive thunk of an exhausted, constantly-suffering navy NCO banging her head against the pile of leafy lettuce and… well, mostly more lettuce daintily piled up in the center of her tray tore Professor Crowning's attention from the country-fried steak he was working his way though.

"Fuck my life," Gale's moan was almost lost in the salad currently trying to swallow her face whole. Her shoulders slumped against the worn wooden table and even her healthy—if a little bland, especially considering the _excellent_ comfort food the galley produced—meal seemed to wilt in her presence.

Crowning dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, and cocked an eyebrow at the grumbling, ever-suffering sailor.

Gale, who somehow read his expression even with her face buried in salad, simply extended a finger in the direction of the doors and let out a quiet grumbling moan of frustration.

Crowning set his fork down on his plate with a gentle sound of stamped-steel on plastic and turned to follow the sailor's finger. It didn't take him long to spot the source of her apparent discomfort.

USS _St. Louis_ —or 'Lou" as she apparently liked to be called—strolled down the chow line with a carefree smile on her face and a springy sashay in her step. The light cruiser—Crowning was rather proud of himself that he'd finally got the distinctions nailed down—was still in the same outfit she'd been summoned with: Shorts that showed off slender, sinewy legs, a sleeveless shirt that covered a chest not nearly as perfectly sized as Jersey's, with her flaming hair tied back in a ponytail that didn't do a thing to keep her shimmering copper mane from dancing like a bonfire in the wind.

But more to the point, she still had all her guns. Crowning hadn't seen an American warship walk around with all her guns summoned before, at least not this long after summoning, but somehow… the look just _suited_ Lou.

Two long, sleek-looking revolvers that Crowning couldn't identify hung low off her hips, supported by crossed gun-belts decorated with rows of spare bullets. Another pair hung from a heavy leather-and-canvas harness wrapping around her shoulders and back, while yet _another_ gun was strapped sideways in the small of her back, nestled in the curve of her slender waist.

Watching her fill her tray up with one of every item on offer—and offering a bright smile and gangling curtsy to each and every cook filling her plate—Crowning was starting to see just _why_ Gale hated interacting with the shipgirls so much.

Lou was thin—one might even go so far as to call her skinny. Her waist looked tiny enough even in her loose-fitting sailor top, but her broad hips and sinewy muscle kept her from looking even close to malnourished. She looked like a featherweight boxer; small and light, but every inch a fighter. And she was carrying a tray laden down with enough food to feed Crowning three times over.

And now she was sashaying though the mess hall looking for a spot to sit. Crowning hated to admit it, but he had a hard time _not_ noticing the way her hips swooshed back and forth with each hip-swinging step.

It was… it was almost like the way Jersey walked, only not as… fluid. Crowning would never call a girl like Lou ugly, but that didn't change the fact that she wasn't nearly as pretty as Jersey. Her hips weren't as wide as the battleship's, her thighs not nearly so muscular and toned.

When Lou walked, it was a showy, girly bounce of barely-contained energy. But when Jersey walked… Crowning hated to duck back to the ancient cliche, but it truly was poetry in motion. The way her whole body flowed into each step like quicksilver on a mirror. Jersey moved like no woman he'd ever seen, she moved like a symphony of steel and muscle, even when—no, _especially_ when she didn't think anyone was looking. The girl had a grace all her own, a grace that-

"Doc?" Gale flashed Crowning a toothy grin, a loose piece of lettuce stuck to her forehead.

"Hmm?" Crowning pursed his lips.

"You're thinking about Jersey, aren't you?"

The professor offered Gale a timid smile. He'd long since learned never to try and sneak something past the seemingly omniscient NCO. "I miss her," was his only explanation.

Gale opened her mouth to shoot back a teasing retort when a smooth twang cut her off at the turn.

"Pardon me," said Lou, her hair all aglow as she beamed at the two with that luminescent smile of hers, "This seat taken?"

Crowning bit his lip. He couldn't say no to a smile like that, the girl looked so… so _happy_ just to be alive and back in the land of the living. But if Gale didn't want to watch her eat, the professor would find the coldest part of his heart and ask her to eat elsewhere.

At least that was the plan before Gale spoke up. "No, uh… go ahead."

Crowning shot her a questioning look, which Gale replied to by furiously jerking her head at Lou's beaming grin.

"Thank ya!" Lou set her tray down with a heavy _thump_ and offered the two a curtsy. Or at least the closest to a curtsy she could manage in shorts while strapped with gun after gun. "Admiral told me you two helped figure out how to bring me back, yeah?"

"It was mostly-" Crowning and Gale launched into explanations over one another, only to shrug and sheepishly retreat back to their own chairs.

"It was a joint effort?" offered Gale with a shrug.

"Let's go with that," said Crowning. "Arthur Crowning," he offered her a hand which she shook so vigorously it banged against the table a few times.

"Yeoman Second Class Sarah Gale." Gale offered her hand, which received another equally enthusiastic shake.

"Oh…" Lou let out a proper southern sigh and leaned back in her chair. "It's so very nice to be back in the states again."

Crowning shot her a confused look, "Back in the states?"

Lou nodded, and popped a tater tot in her mouth. "After the war-" she squealed with pleasure as she bit into the potato-based nugget. "Mmm, these are delicious."

"We try our best," said Gale. Crowning thought the sailor did an admirable job a hiding her envy that 'doing our best' mostly meant cranking out the most artery-hardening dishes imaginable to keep the shipgirls happy.

"Well, I thank you from the bottom of my…" Lou bit the corner of her lip, her cheeks puffing out as she stuck the tip of her tongue out in thought. "Should I say heart? Or boilers, maybe?"

Crowning shrugged, "I've been studying you girls for more than a year. Even I'm not sure half the time."

"Well regardless," Lou popped another tot into her mouth with another purr of delight, "Thank you so much for your effort, Yeoman!"

Gale blushed, "We do what we can, ma'am."

"Aw, don't call me ma'am!" Lou flipped a lock of flaming copper hair out of her eyes and smiled at Gale with that irresistible million-candlepower grin of hers. "How old do you think I am, anyway?"

"Well…" Gale shrugged, "You're a treaty cruiser, gotta be at least in your seventies, right?"

Lou froze, her smile fading into an even more adorable pout. Her brows knit together and the leather of her harness creaked as she crossed her arms with a huff. "Don't have to tell everyone."

Gale rolled her eyes and stuffed a mouthful of lettuce into her mouth.

"So," said Crowning, eager to get the conversation back onto some sort of rails. "You said you were happy to be back in the states?"

"Oh, yes," Lou's pout vanished in an instant, and the old smiling cruiser was back. "After the war, the Navy sold me to the Brazilians." She shrugged, "Don't get me wrong, they're nice people. But… it's not.. not home, you know?"

Crowning nodded and took a sip from his drink.

"Anyways," Lou took a huge bite of a loaded baked potato—one of massive ones Kidd's DesRon had helped prepare—and dabbed a few spots of sour cream off the corners of her mouth. "I hear Frisco's back. That true?"

Gale nodded.

Lou sighed. She actually sighed, like girl in a bad fifties movie fawning over her high school crush. Her cheeks glowed even redder then her flaming hair and she settled her head against her hand, "She's so pretty, isn't she?"

Gale's fork clattered the the floor. "What?" she said with the level of utter flatness in her tone that only a Navy NCO could manage.

"Frisco!" said Lou. "I know she's real sensitive about being Nisei and all, but-" the light carrier let out another of those happy sighs, "She's just so _pretty_ , you know?"

"Uh…" Gale glanced from Lou to Crowning and back. "You know her?"

Lou nodded. "I was tied off next to her during Pearl," she stopped, "Well, not _right_ next to her, but I could see her." Her smile faded until it suddenly seemed forced. "I, uh…" she scratched at her chin, "You should've seen her Poor girl was in port for a defouling, her hair—hell, her whole outfit—was a _mess_. She kept fretting every time she thought someone was looking at her."

The cruiser stared at something a few miles behind the table for a moment, her eyes glazing over before she shrugged back her demons. "Yeah…" she sniffed, her gaze drifting back up to Gale and Crowning, "And now she's back. And I'm never gonna let her forget how silly she looked."

"You sure that's wise?" asked Crowning, "She's pretty crafty."

"Well I'm craftier!" Lou banged her fist on the table with a wild-eyed grin. "More crafty? Craftier?"

Crowning nodded.

"Okay, Craftier. I'm craftier than her!" Lou sat back in her chair with a happy grin, "You know, I got underway on the seventh. Went out hunting for the Jap flatops." She sighed and patted the butt of one of her guns, "Might've caught 'em too if I didn't have to put my guns back together." She shrugged, "Well… maybe."

"That why you carry them with you?" asked Crowning.

Lou nodded, "You never know when something might need to get shot."

"Well," somehow, the leafy sprig of lettuce hanging out of Gale's mouth as she chewed only added to her dry sarcasm, "Brazil didn't take the America out of you."

Lou beamed happily and popped another tater tot into her grinning mouth.

—|—|—

Akagi let out a long, happy, but above all exhausted sigh as she shuffled though the flimsy sliding door to her tiny little room. Kaga wasn't home—she usually wasn't. The only reason the two carriers shared a room is because neither of them could stomach taking an entire bedroom to themselves only to leave it empty half the time.

But the absence of her sister—by fact, if not by design—didn't do much to temper the carrier's happy mood. With so little coastline to defend, Akagi rarely ever _saw_ her CarDiv 1 sister. She'd learned to treasure the odd moments when they were both off duty as delicious deserts, not a staple food to build her life around.

It didn't matter anyway. As Akagi flopped onto the heavy blankets resting on the bed she shared with Kaga, she noticed they were still warm from Kaga's superheated body temperature. Akagi smiled and burrowed deeper into the residual warmth still clinging to the heavy quilts. Kaga might have a heart ice, but she was still _soooo warmmmm_.

It would've taken every last shred of self control Akagi had not to sigh with pleasure at the warmth of her beloved sister curling around her like a gentle hug. But Akagi wasn't feeling very stoic, so she didn't even try to stop her sighs.

But as much as she would have loved to curl up into a tight little ball and fall asleep under the heavy blankets, Akagi was still a fighting carrier. That meant she had certain responsibilities to take care of. Responsibilities like unpacking her stuff in some kind of order that wasn't just 'dumped on the floor' so she didn't upset her beloved half-sister.

Akagi allowed herself one more minute to curl up under the blankets before pulling herself free and shuffling over to her seabags. She was halfway though folding up the swimsuit Ryuujou had suggested to her—Akagi still had to thank her properly for that. The little light carrier _really_ had an eye for color—when yet another responsibility made itself apparent.

She had to find out what that noise was. It almost sounded like a Zero roaring up and down the halls, accompanied by heavy foot falls and childish giggling. Akagi was equal parts confused and amused as she opened the door.

At which point the confusion jumped though the roof. As, somehow, did the amusement.

A carrier she didn't recognize—a carrier who utterly _towered_ over her, stood frozen between steps in the hall.

Her long, heavily muscled arms were held wide like the wings of a plane, her fingertips so far apart they almost kissed the walls. Her lips were pucked, like she'd been making engine noises with her lips, and her face—her incredibly youthful face. Akagi was pretty sure Ryuujou looked older—was rapidly blushing out of the visible spectrum.

On the mystery carrier's shoulders was a much tinier carrier Akagi couldn't help but recognize. Little White plains beamed from cheek to chubby cheek. She too held her arms out like the wings of a—much smaller—airplane, while her legs were crossed over the mystery carrier's heavily armored chest to keep herself in place.

"Um," the mystery carrier somehow blushed even redder. "Hi… Akagi-sama."

"Hello!" White waved so fast her arm turned into a blur.

Akagi smiled and offered a lazy wave in return. "Hello, White. Carrier-san."

"Shinano," said the mystery carrier. Her hands were still frozen in the air as she gave Akagi a stare that wouldn't be out of place on a doe crossing the road. Something that made Akagi giggle, given how the mystery carrier—how Shinano—looked like she could effortlessly break her in half if she wanted to.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Akagi. "What're you two doing?"

"Uh," Shinano slowly let her hands fall to her side, "Flight training?"

Akagi raised an eyebrow.

"I- I didn't come back with any planes," admitted Shinano with a sheepish shuffle of her massively armored boots.

"So _I'm_ her planes!" said White with a giggle. The tiny CVE slipped off Shinano's shoulders and shimmied down the massive girl like she was little more than a timid jungle gym. "Also, Akagi?"

"Ye- _oof!_ " Akagi grunted as White slammed into her stomach at flank. Her chubby little arms wrapped around Akagi's waist and squeezed her tight.

"Thank you for watching over Jersey," said White. Her face was barely visible past the bulging lacquered plating of Akagi's breastplate, but the Japanese carrier could still _feel_ the little CVE's thankfulness radiate though the air.

"You're very welcome, White." Akagi couldn't resist ruffling the little girl's hair.

White giggled and shuffled off to her room, leaving Akagi and Shinano alone in the hallway. Shinano looked like she wanted to say something, but the towering monster of a carrier kept fidgeting and glancing down at her armored toes instead.

Akagi was the one to break the silence, "Shinano, you were a battleship last I recall."

Shinano nodded sheepishly, "I was converted to a carrier to…" she blushed, "To make up for your loss, Akagi-sama."

"Please, Akagi." Akagi placed a hand on the much taller girl's shoulder, a note of surprise flashing across her face at the sheer amount of muscle hiding under Shinano's loose kimono. "And that's nothing to be ashamed of. I was a conversion too."

"Yeah, but," Shinano shrugged, "You're Akagi. Of the Kido Butai. I could never replace that."

"Maybe you can," said Akagi, "You have a very good teacher."

Shinano bushed and mumbled something as she scuffed her boot against the carpet.

"Where are they putting you up?" asked Akagi.

"Oh, with White," said Shinano. "She, um… she offered to share her room. It's really big and…" the towering girl fiddled with the end of her loose half-ponytail, "And I think she just likes having something around to escort."

Akagi laughed, "I think you've chosen a very good roommate."

"Thank you," Shinano bowed from the waist, but because of her towering height she managed to plant her youthful face right into Akagi's bountiful chest. "I, Uh…" she stammered out an apology and sheepishly shuffled back. The poor girl looked like she wanted nothing more than to melt into the wall like a ninja.

"Don't worry," Akagi offered Shinano her very warmest smile. The one she usually held in reserve for well-deserving destroyers. "It's hardly the worst thing a newly returned girl has done. You're still getting used to your new body."

Shinano seemed to accept the explanation. Her blush at least seemed to fade by a fraction.

"I usually get breakfast at six," said Akagi, "I'd be happy to have you join me."

Shinano let out a squeal of unmitigated joy. "Really?"

Akagi nodded. "Of course. Now-" she stifled a yawn. "Good night, Shinano. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Akagi-sa-" Shinano coughed. "Good night Akagi."

Akagi was almost to the door of her room when she heard the other carrier cough.

"Um… Akagi?" Shinano rubbed the armored toe of one boot against the heavy canvas upper of the other, "Can… can I have a hug goodnight?"

Akagi smiled and drew the towering girl into a warm hug. "Of course you may."


	97. Chapter 73: POInt

_E/N: Woulda got these up sooner, but then HOI4 happened and I am a prime WW2 grand strategy sucker.  
_

 **Chapter 73: POInt  
**

Jersey squinted at the steel-gray horizon, her terrifyingly blue eyes burning like icy daggers behind her mirrored shades. It was a pointless gesture, her targets were well beyond the horizon, she could only 'see' them by way of her Kingfisher's observers. But still, it felt _right_ to squint. The simple, mechanical action never failed to bring some degree of clarity to a confusing situation.

Except for the current one.

Which was just fucking _weird_.

"Yo, Dessboat?" Jersey waved her hand in the general direction of Kongou's bouncy buns. And also her hair-thingies.

"Hmm?" Kongou let out that little tea-scented humming noise she did when she didn't feel like Dessing.

"Abbys don't fly flags, right?"

Kongou put a slender finger to her lips, her gaze going a little slack as she rifled though her logbooks to double-check. "No," she said, her head bobbing in finality, "Not that I'm aware of, no. Kirishima?"

The other Kongou glanced up from her ever-present notebook, her glasses flashing in the light as glasses—at least ones worn by Japanese girls—are wont to do. "Yes?"

"Have Abyssals ever been spotted flying flags?"

Kirishima thought for a second while a gaggle of tiny faerie in IJN duty blues clambered down her arm to examine her notebook. The tiny creatures worked as one to flip the page, then imminently started arguing with increasingly frantic high-pitched "desu"s that reminded Jersey of dial-up tones. After a minute, they seemed to come to a consensus.

"No," said Kirishima with an air of resolute finally. "Never."

"Well… fuck," was Jersey's eloquent response. She scowled, her arms folding across her chest with a huff. "Hey, Mushi. Vector one of your Petes over, I want another pair of eyes on this."

Musashi nodded, her chest swelling as she prepared a suitably cutting jab about Jersey's eyes focusing on certain… _areas._ But whatever snark she'd built up evaporated when she caught Jersey's glance. There was something haunting in the American's glare. Something had her worried. Worried enough to _show it_. "Of course," the Japanese superbattleship relayed the command to her floatplane.

"What is it, Dess?" asked Kongou. Her long hair streamed behind her as she steamed to within a scant few hundred yards of Jersey. Her lips were pursed in concern, and those beautiful gray eyes of hers glowed with compassion at the towering American.

"Well, I found our targets," Jersey idly worried the tip of her long braid. "Four Panzerschiffs hauling ass for the Abyss right where Frisco said they'd be."

"But?" asked Musashi, her gaze flickering up to meet Jersey's as soon as the American glanced in her direction. "There's a 'but', isn't there?"

"Kinda," said Jersey. "They're flying Nazi flags."

For almost a full ten seconds, the sound of waves crashing against fighting steel was all the noise that could be heard.

"You mean-" Kirishima's slightly haughty correction was cut off by a glare from Jersey.

"The _Kriegsmarine_ flag? No." Jersey shivered as she glanced 'out' at her target though her floatplane. She'd know that banner anywhere. A giant blood-red field with a swastika displayed proudly— _proudly_. Jersey didn't know how, but she _knew_ those abyssal bitches were _proud_ of the evil mark they bore—in the center.

"I see it too." Musashi's muscles tensed under that lovely chocolate skin, her jaw clenching with a groan of stressed steel.

"Something's not right," muttered Jersey.

"Does it, like… matter?" Yuudachi raised her little hand in the air, her scarlet eyes huge with honest curiosity.

"Eh?" grunted Jersey.

"I mean… like…" the destroyer put her arm down and started sketching out the general shape of a box with both hands. "You said it's always good to kill Nazis, right?"

"Well, yeah," Jersey rolled her shoulders, hoping she came off more cockily sure of herself then she felt. "That's always good."

"Then why do we care that they're flying flags? We're still gonna sink em, right?" asked Yuudachi with a curious "poi?"

"Because," Jersey blinked. "Uh… it's spooky."

Kongou hung her head with a sigh.

"What?" Jersey shoot the hyperactive britboat a scowl. "That's a perfectly legitimate military reason to be upset!"

"She has a point, sister," added Kirishima. "The actions of the enemy cannot be simply ignored because they don't fit into _our_ theories of them."

Jersey smiled. "Clever girl." She shrugged, her hands going to rest on the two massive revolvers hanging off her hips. "But Poi-McPoiFace is right."

Yuudachi beamed.

"Those bitches are Abyssals," said Jersey. "More then that, they're Abyssal _Nazis_. That's evil fucking squared." The battleship felt the wind blow though her hair, tossing it back in a shimmering strawberry-blond wake. It was time for battlethings. "No way in hell are we letting them just sail into the sunset."

Her voice grew from its usual dusky contralto to… an equally dusky contralto that just happened to be THUNDEROUSLY LOUD. "Leave this flag shit to the philosophers, we've got boats to kill."

Kongou beamed and flashed Jersey a typically unsubtle thumbs-up before whipping out a pencil and notepad from… somewhere. "What's our plan?"

Jersey pursed her lips and glanced towards the only real pacing element she hat to worry about. "Yo, Mushi!"

Musashi puffed out her chest until her bandages strained over her breasts and glanced over. "Yes?"

"How fast you feel like going?" Jersey waved to the massive gash in the Japanese super-battleship's torpedo bulge.

"ChEng says twenty-one knots max," said Musashi, "Though he'd appreciate it if I stayed under fourteen."

Jersey bit the corner of her lip and flipped though her copy of _Janes' Fighting Ships of WWII_ , stopping briefly to examine the beautiful line drawings of the heavily-armed British battleships for reasons that weren't at all lustful. Okay, maybe a _tiny_ bit, but her main focus was double-checking the speed of the soon-to-be shipwrecks sailing just over the horizon.

"Okay, here's the plan," Jersey flashed a grin at her little fleet. "Kongou and Kirishima-"

The two fast-battleships snapped to attention.

"Take two Akatsukis each and loop around to encircle them," said Jersey. The Kongou sisters really didn't have the belt armor to reliably keep out eleven-inch shellfire, but they _did_ have the speed and firepower to catch anything that tried to escape the killbox.

The two battleship nodded in agreement and steamed over to collect their destroyer screens from Tenryuu's kindergarten.

"Fubuki," said Jersey, "you're on me-"

"Hai!" Fubuki almost jumped out of the water in her eagerness to salute. "Fubuki will to her best!"

Jersey blinked. "Outstanding. Naka-"

"Hi~ hi~!" Naka giggled and threw up a peace sign in front of her eyes, "Naka-chan desu~!"

Jersey blinked again. "I thought we agreed you were never going to do that again."

"I forgot," said Naka with a sly wink.

"Fuck you too, handlebuns," Jersey flipped her middle finger at the singer, who just rolled her eyes with exaggerates slowness. "I want you and chunni-"

"I'm not chunni!"

"-boat plus poi screening Musashi. Do _not_ let her take any torpedoes, she'll be fucking insufferable if she tanks another fish."

"I'm not insufferable now?"

Jersey wheeled around to flip both fingers at the snowy-haired battleship. "Fuck you, tittybitch."

"Aww," Musashi made a show of swooning with one hand pressed to her chest. With her arm 'accidentally' squishing right into her seemingly limitless cleavage, "She really does love me!"

Jersey's scowl grew to truly legendary proportions. "What-fucking-ever. I want you as my anvil. I've got the speed advantage, I'll murder 'em with the long sixteens and drive the stragglers into your eighteens. Sound like a plan?"

Musashi stroked her chin. "Simple, brutal… I, Musashi, approve!"

Jersey smiled. There were a number of things she wanted for Christmas. Pie comprised about half that list, but getting to hunt down and murder Nazis with her newfound friends, well… she couldn't think of any better way to celebrate the season.

—|—|—

White woke to the telltale sound of something hard and metal smashing against the slatted wood bottom of her bunk. A sound that was followed mere seconds later by quiet muttering and a few even quieter sniffles. By her count, it was just past one-thirty in the morning.

"Shinano?" White rolled onto her tummy, her head hanging just far enough off the side of her bunk to see the towering carrier.

The poor girl barely even fit in her bunk, she looked like a sock monkey someone had wedged into place with a liberal application of grease and hammers. And she was crying quietly into her hands.

"Um," Shinano glanced over at White. Her hands quivered in the still air, and her already pale skin looked almost deathly white. "Did… did I wake you?"

White nodded, "It's okay though. I don't need much sleep."

"Oh," Shinano's massive shoulders slumped, her face sinking as it tried to retreat behind the cover of her forest-green kimono. "I'm… I'm sorry, White."

"It's _okayyy_ ," White dragged out the last syllable to make sure Shinano got the message. "Bad dream?"

Shinano nodded dejectedly. "But… but I don't remember anything. I just woke up…" she sniffed. "White, I'm scared. Can-" The giant carrier sheepishly looked over at White's hanging head and inverted pigtails, "Can I sleep with you? Just for tonight?"

"Um," White shifted her weight just slightly, causing her bunk to creak and groan under her immense displacement. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Okay," Shinano sniffed again and let her head fall back against her pillow. Before she could say anything more, the sound of a tiny escort carrier crawling down a ladder in the dark drowned her out.

"I can always sleep with _you_ though," White smiled a toothy smile as she crawled into bed with Shinano. Or actually, _on_ Shinano. With the massive Japanese carrier sprawling over the mattress, there was precious little room for even someone as tiny as White to lay down.

So White contented herself with curling up atop Shinano's warm tummy and resting her head on the carrier's breast. "You're really soft," she said with a smile. All the Japanese girls she'd cuddled with were really soft. It was nice and comfortable, but still… White would've given anything in the world to snuggle up to Jersey's rock-hard stomach just _one_ more time. These soft Japanese girls were nice but… but they weren't her mama.

Shinano smiled. Actually smiled and wrapped her arms around White. "Thank you, White."

"'ny time," mumbled White. The little carrier smiled as she felt Shinano's chest heave with a sigh of contented happiness. And then she shimmied up the carrier's body to plant a quick kiss on Shinano's cheek.

Shinano blushed and gave White a powerful squeeze.

For what felt like hours, but was probably just a few minutes, neither carrier said anything. They just smiled and listened to the sound of each other's breathing. Their hearts slowly fell in sync. A gentle harmony conducting the two carriers into the warm embrace of sleep.

—|—|—

Meanwhile, on the Gulf Coast, a large cruiser pranced around her room with the giggling joy normally only found in ships of destroyer tonnage or below. Her high-top sneakers—one of the first things she'd bought with her own money—scuffed across the carpet as she pranced from one corner of the room to another.

Her long, shimmering silver hair trailed behind her in a loose rippling wake as she bounced around, cutting a stunning contrast against the deep midnight blue fabric of her ball gown.

The cruiser stopped to admire herself in the mirror. She let her hands run down her sides, smiling as the smooth, almost velvety fabric slid under her fingers like freshly-polished steel. She'd fallen in love with this dress from the moment she saw it, but…

But she'd never imagined it could look _so good._ Her best friend Atago had gone above and beyond with the needle and thread. All Alaska had asked for was a little less room in the bust, but Atago had tailored every inch of the dress. It hugged her body, playing up her distinctively petite chest and broad hips without even feeling tight. In fact, if Alaska closed her eyes, she could almost forget she was wearing anything at all. Atago even added some bits of fur around the collar to mimic Alaska's wolf's fur-lined parka.

"So," Atago stifled a giggle at her friend's obvious enjoyment, "What do you think?"

Alaska sighed, running her hands down her flanks one last time. "It's perfect!"

"PanPakaPan!" Atago threw up her hands in celebration, her whole body glowing with the intensity of her huge smile. "You look so good in it, you know!"

Alaska blushed bright red and pounced on her friend, easily wrapping the shorter, bustier cruiser in a tight hug. "Thanks to you."

Atago had long since gotten used to pouncing Alaska hugs. She didn't even let out a surprised 'eep' at the bigger American's pounce. "You deserve it, 'Laska."

"Mmm," Alaska squeezed Atago tight, "What'd I ever do to deserve a friend like you, 'tago?"

The two cruisers just smiled as the hugged one another, Alaska with her sneakers flat on the deck while Atago stood on tip-toe to at least approximate the American's height.

"Wait," Alaska blinked. She felt… something press into her chest. Something about the shape of….

"What?" Atago blinked.

"One moment," Alaska shoved her hand down Atago's cleavage. Her tongue peeked out the corner of her mouth as she rifled about her best friend's excessive chest.

"What-" Atago giggled, "what are you doing?"

"I think…" Alaska concentrated. It was almost within her grasp… just a few inches more and she'd have it. "I found…" she felt her hands close around something. Something cool and metallic in the sea of warm, squishy Atagoness. She smiled and yanked the something out. "My hotwheels."

Atago tilted her head as Alaska held a trio of the tiny little cars up with a giggly smile on her face. "I…" the Japanese cruiser glanced down her chest, "Thats where those went?"

"Apparently." Alaska smiled and held the cars up next to her cheek, a gentle coo slipping past her lips as she welcomed her beloved toys back to her.

Atago, meanwhile, was more preoccupied with staring down her own cleavage while making a mental list of every small item that'd gone missing from the base in the past few months. "Huh." Apparently she needed to have a meeting with her faeries about the exact definition of 'scrounging.'

—|—|—

Back in Japan, Akagi and Shinano ate their breakfast together. Or, to be more accurate, Shinano ate her breakfast while Akagi looked on in stunned, mortified horror. Akagi knew her own appetite was vast, to the point of having an entire licensed anime devoted to a cute drawn representation of herself eating things. But… but even she couldn't eat like this.

The fleet carrier clawed at her stomach as Shinano popped yet another pile of pancakes into her mouth without breaking stride. Just watching the newcomer eat made Akagi's stomach hurt. The carrier knew her tummy would explode if she ate even half that much.

Quite literally, in fact. Akagi just didn't have enough room aboard for that many supplies, storing them all would mean stacking barrels of AvGas and crates of bombs anywhere they'd fit. All it would take would be one spark and _Foom!_

Akagi winced as Shinano gobbled down an entire carafe of coffee in one gulp, her own stomach sending pangs of sympathetic worry up to her bridge. Even the ever-cheerful White looked worried at the newcomer's unimaginable gluttony.

"Um," Akagi coughed, forcing her shaky voice to respect her commands. "Um, Shinano?"

The young carrier stopped, her food-stuffed cheeks slowly sagging as she swallowed her latest mouthful with a timid smile. "Y-yes, Akagi?"

Akagi forced herself to look anywhere _but_ the enormous pile of licked-clean plates Shinano had accumulated. A pile that could feed her _and_ Kaga with room to spare. And Shinano didn't even look like she was slowing down.

"Um," Akagi shivered and bit her tongue to force a reboot in her brain. "When… when are you going to start flight practice?" She asked, "I could loan you a few reppus if you need more planes."

"I, uh…" Shinano's face got somehow more sheepish, and the towering carrier tried to make herself very small. It didn't work, given how she was easily a head taller than the already quite sizable Akagi. "I'm… I'm not rated for flight ops yet."

"You're not?" Akagi cocked an eyebrow and tried very hard not to stare at the other carrier's plate.

Shinano shook her head, "When I went to Akashi for a checkup, she… uh… almost fainted."

"Six times," added White.

Shinano nodded, "It was really scary, but…" she glanced at White, who gave her a subtle thumbs up. "But when she finished, she said I'm supposed to go straight to the docks after breakfast to get my watertight bulkheads fixed."

"I lent her some faeries," said White, "But, there's only so much my guys can do without a proper drydocking."

Akagi smiled and ruffled the little American's messy hair. "That's very kind of you, White. I'm quite looking forwards to joining one of your classes." Akagi meant what she said, she'd seen impossible things from American carriers during the war, and she'd heard even more amazing things from her fellow carriergirls.

But she mostly said that to get her mind off the _nine entire coffee cakes_ Shinano just ate like they were nothing.

"Awwwww" White fidgeted in place as she tried to figure out where to deflect her praise. "Thanks, Akagi!" The little carrier reached for her glass of juice, only to notice the watch on her little wrist. "Oh, darnit!"

"Hmm?" Akagi glanced over with a confused tilt of her eyebrow.

"I, uh," White sheepishly piled her dirty dishes onto her tray, "I have to get going. Lesson plans… setup… stuff…" she blushed and tottered over to give Akagi a hug.

"I look forwards to it," said Akagi.

White smiled, then walked over to give Shinano an extra-long hug before bolting off like her usual hyperactive self.

* * *

 _E/N: And now, a little something special from the author. He says it is non-canon by the way. I think..._

 **Atago's Launch Day Special  
**

Normally, beaching a warship is an act of great drama. Either it came the result of some gross incompetence, in which case the drama would occur once The Powers That Be got wind of said incompetence, or it was a last-ditch measure to save a crippled ship from sinking all the way to the inky abyss. In the latter case, the Drama usually happened before the beaching, and continued on afterwards for some while.

But that all changed when shipgirls returned. For the very first time, warships could _enjoy_ laying on the beech and basking in the sun. They could smile at the sensation of sand grains against their hull, and soak in the warm rays.

And one of the warships enjoying a lazy day off at the beach was one heavy cruiser _Atago_ , second—or first, depending on how you count—of her class, currently fulfilling detached service with the US Navy Gulf Coast Command.

Actually, no, that wasn't accurate. Currently, Atago was laying on a pristine white beech in a baby-blue bikini her best friend Alaska had picked out. The heavy cruiser's long blond hair splayed our around her like a shimmering bow-shock. Her pale skin was just starting to soak up a proper sun kissed tan, and her lips were set in a goofy smile.

Yes… yes, this was the life.

"Hey, 'Tago!" Something very large flopped onto the sand next to her, sending a few strands of salt-slick hair up Atago's smiling face.

Atago didn't need to open her eyes to know who it was. There's only one girl she knew with that sweet, caring, and ever so slightly confused voice. A girl she'd spent enough time sleeping on she knew the taste of her hair by heart.

"Hey, 'Laska." Atago propped herself up on her elbows, her generous fuel tanks straining the absolutely adorable swimsuit Alaska'd picked out. The American had an eye for color—how could she not with those elaborate camouflage measures—but she really didn't understand the first thing about _sizing_. especially for someone of Atago's extreme… displacement.

Alaska blushed. It was a very pale rosy blush, a blush that could only be called such because of how pale the rest of Alaska's snowy-white skin was. For someone who spent all her time working in the sun, the big American cruiser did _not_ look like it. "You-" Alaska blinked. "Um… hi."

Atago rolled her eyes and flopped over onto her belly, her hips bouncing against Alaska's and causing the American to let out a tiny 'eep!' of surprise. "Heheheh," Atago was hard pressed to contain a giggle. So she didn't even try, "You're so cute when you're like that, you know?"

Alaska blushed even more and buried her face in the sun-warmed sand. "'s nah-" She abruptly stopped, pulled her head out of the sand, and started spitting.

"You just inhaled sand, didn't you?" Atago helpfully held a handful of the American's gorgeous shimmering snowy hair out of the way. Because she wanted to be helpful, not _just_ because Alaska's hair was the prettiest thing—even soaking wet—that Atago had ever seen.

Alaska sheepishly nodded. "Mebbe," she mumbled.

"You're a derp, you know that?" Atago smiled and smoothed her best friend's soaking wet T-shirt. Try as she might, Atago couldn't get Alaska into a bikini if she had a crowbar. Which, honestly was probably for the best. Atago might have a hard time finding clothes she could squeeze into, but Alaska had an even harder time finding clothes she wasn't swimming in.

So, instead of the cute red-black two-peice Atago had _tried_ to buy for her, the Large Cruiser had settled for a pair of baggy board shorts and one of her hot wheels shirts. It should have been boyishly unflattering, but then again… Alaska.

"You need some water?" Atago giggled in spite of herself and offered a chilly bottle to her best friend, a tiny faerie—in swimtrunks—darting down her arm to remove the cap.

"Where'd you get that?" Alaska narrowed those sharply angled brows of hers. She looked so mean and focused, at least she did until you'd known her for more than ten seconds.

Atago giggled.

Alaska's gaze dropped to the heavy cruiser's limitless cleavage. Then slowly crept back up to her face with a sheepish wince. "Right, forget I asked."

Atago beamed and handed the bottle over. "It's a nice day, isn't it?"

Alaska nodded and gulped down the water.

"So," Atago played with the belt loop on her best friend's loose fitting shorts. "You been having fun?"

"Oh yeah!" Alaska nodded enthusiastically, her soaking hair whipping around to smack her on the nose. "Ow."

Atago rolled her eyes.

"I went swimming," Alaska brushed her hair out of her eyes, "And then I went body-surfing—it's really just like sailing, and I'm _beat._ " Alaska sighed and flopped onto her best friend's bosom with a happy smile. "Suh suhft."

Atago smiled and ran her hands though Alaska's hair. There weren't many people she'd let co-opt her fuel tankage into their pillows. Besides Alaska, just… actually, yeah. It was just Alaska.

"So, did you meet anyone fun?" said Atago. She'd long since resigned herself to indulging Alaska's need for cuddles. She might be big for a cruiser, but Alaska was downright gigantic. There wasn't really anything Atago could do to prevent the much bigger girl from getting her cuddles.

Not that she'd ever _want_ fewer Alaska cuddles, but that was beside the point. Especially because the moment Atago finished her sentence, Alaska started blushing so hard Atago could _feel_ the warmth in her chest.

"So," Atago giggled, "You met a boy."

"Mebbe," mumbled Alaska from between the cruiser's breasts.

"He cute?"

Alaska nodded.

"You just ran away screaming when he asked you out," Atago sighed, "again."

For a long while, Alaska did nothing. Then she _slowwwwly_ nodded.

"'Laska," Atago sighed. "You're such a derp."

"'knooo," mumbled the American.

"Tell you what," said Atago, "If you find him and ask him out…" Atago made a show of putting a finger to her chin, "I'll buy you another hotwheels car."

That piqued the American's interest. Her head rocketed out of Atago's cleavage—with a TV-remote, three AAA batteries, $5.43 in loose change, and a roll of smarties sticking to her face—"Rhel-ah?" she mumbled.

Atago giggled.

Alaska grimaced and spat out a Lego minifigure. "Oh hey! I've been looking for this one!"

"'Laska!"

"Hmm?"

"Focus," Atago scowled down her own cleavage. She _really_ needed to talk to her crew. Alaska _loved_ her Legos.

"Okay." Alaska dutifully sat back on her haunches, looking for all the world like an eager first grader waiting for instructions. Albeit, a first-grader who towered over even Nagato.

"Boy," Atago waved her hand down the beech.

"Right," Alaska nodded with determined purpose, bounced up to her feet, and starting loping down the beech with that distinctive Alaska gait where it was never quite clear if she was in control or not.

Atago watched her best friend run with a smile. Yes… it'd been a _good_ launch day


	98. Chapter 74: Flight Deck Envy

**Chapter 74: Flight Deck Envy**

Destroyer Fubuki, first of the Special-Types and mother of all modern destroyers worried the end of her sky-blue neckerchief as she steamed a few hundred yards of Jersey's flank. Her short ponytail streamed behind her in the gentle winter breeze, and her sleek hull glided over the water like polished steel on velvet. Still though, she couldn't help but feel a tiny bit antsy.

"Yo, snow-cone," Jersey ruffled the girl's hair with a smile, "Something the matter?"

"Ah!" Fubuki tensed as Jersey… as her new _sempai_ didn't just address her. She called her a cute pet-name while lovingly caressing her hair. Her _hair!_ If Manga had taught her anything, it was that headpats were one of the most intimate and loving things someone could offer. "Ah, Jersey-sempai, it's-" The destroyer's mind ground to a halt. "Snow cone?"

"Yeah," Jersey nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fubuki tilted her head to the side.

"Your name means snow-storm," said Jersey, "So… you know… snow-cone."

Fubuki blinked. "You speak Japanese?"

Jersey rolled her eyes. Fubuki couldn't actualy see the American's eyes though her shades—something that made her infinitely thankful. Those icy-blue eyes terrified her—but she could just tell from the battleship's posture. Jersey didn't do anything subtly.

"I spent years with you as my enemy," said the towering American, "And decades with you as my ally. Yes, I know fucking moon-moon."

Fubuki's mouth chomped at the air for almost a solid minute while her brain spun its wheels against nothing in a frantic attempt to make sense of this new revelation. "But…" She wordlessly pointed to where Yuudachi happily poi'd away a few thousand yards away, "But…"

Jersey followed the destroyer's gaze, then looked back to Fubuki. "Yeah?"

"So," Fubuki waved her hands in inarticulate attempts to communicate 'poi' though gestures."Um."

"What?" Jersey's nose scrunched up.

Fubuki blinked. "Never mind.

"Yeah," Jersey nodded. "Good talk. Anyway, the fuck's up with you lately? You've been acting squirrelly for the past half hour."

"Oh, um," Fubuki pulled her shirt smooth. Her heels clicked together as she got ready to address her commander. "I was worried we might be steaming into a trap."

Jersey cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Fubuki nodded. "But… you don't seem so worried…"

"RCN's got this area locked up pretty tight," said Jersey. "They got P-3s, P-8s, Flowers… hell, there's probably enough active sonar buoys in the water that you can _walk_ all the way back to Tokyo."

Fubuki coughed, then looked at her feet. Which were currently skimming over the water like water skies. "Um…"

"Well, not _you_ you, but uh," Jersey scowled, "Fuck, um… that… that fucking metaphor works better when you're not a boat."

"Poi~," opined Yuudachi.

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!" bellowed Jersey.

Yuudachi just flipped her flowing silk scarf over her shoulder and shot back a smiling wave.

Jersey growled something angry and American in return.

"Jersey-sempai?" Fubuki tried to hide a snicker. Tried and failed. "If you speak Japanese, how come you don't know what 'poi' means?"

"Because," Jersey's entire body seemed to fume with impotent rage, "every fucking time I duck into my radio room to ask for a translation, all I get from the shithead radiomen is 'poi means poi. Ain't gotta explain shit, poi'."

Fubuki blinked.

Kongou Dessed.

Something purred.

Fubuki blinked again, "Was that-"

"A K-type?" Jersey smirked, and waved to something in the sky. The slightly squashed spherical shape of an enormous silver-gray cat staring down at the little surface fleet with furious disinterest. "Yeah," Jersey smiled and waved at the hovering feline. "That's the other reason I'm not worried about subs or any shit."

"Oh," Fubuki timidly waved at the hovering cat, who just returned a look that made her feel inexplicably guilty. "Oh… okay."

Jersey smiled and ruffled the girl's hair. "Relax, okay? Frisco's been poking them for the past day or so. They've changed course three times." Her smile shifted from a pleasant kind, like she was reassuring a daughter or friend, to a bloodthirsty slasher grin, "They're not running _to_ anywhere. They're running _away_ from death."

"And into us?" added Fubuki.

"Hell fucking yeah, kiddo." Jersey planted her hands on her hips. "It's good thinking though," she added. "Why don't you sprint 'n drift for a while, see if you catch anything."

Fubuki's little chest swelled with pride. "Fubuki will do her best!"

Jersey smiled and gave the little destroyer's hair another ruffle. Then her gaze went slack and she did that 'finger-to-ear' thing she did whenever her radio room was getting a message from The Admiral.

"Go for Jersey," she said. Her head bobbed as she took in the message, her free hand tensing at her hip, then going slack once more with a quiet chuckle. "Heh, told you he was a smart one." A pause, "Yeah, I'll tell her. Thanks for letting me know, sir."

The battleship lowered her hand and smirked.

"What was that?" asked Fubuki.

"Well, doc Crowning" Jersey crashed to a halt and thrust a finger at Fubuki, "Who's not my boyfriend, so don't you start."

The special-type held her hands up defensively.

"Anyways," Jersey coughed, "He figured out the riddle of the summonings," Jersey smirked and drew in a huge breath. "Which means… YO, MUSHI!" she bellowed.

"SPEAKING!" thundered back Musashi.

"Got a call from The Admiral," Jersey's voice dropped back to its usual register, "Your lil' sister's back."

Musashi opened her mouth to snap back a retort, then her face froze mid-bluster. Her snowy hair tufts twitched in the breeze as her chest deflated a little. "Wait, did you say _little_ sister?"

Jersey nodded.

"Huh," Musashi started to smile, then caught herself and covered it with a suitably bombastic brooding scowl. "I never met Shinano, I wonder what she's like."

Jersey laughed, "They didn't say. But knowing you…" The American made a show of staring up and down Musashi's undulating deck, "Ego the size of the sun and tits the size of a moon, probably."

Musashi flashed Jersey a scowling pout, then glanced down at her chest. Her bombastic smile turned into a thoughtful expression, her lips pursing as she gently sized up her own pagodas until she came to the only clear conclusion. "Accurate."

Jersey rolled her eyes. "You two will be fucking insufferable."

—|—|—

Shinano clasped her hands to her breasts and awkwardly shuffled along the slick dockhouse tile. She kept her stern close to the wall and her shoulders slumped, trying her very hardest to make herself small and easily missed. It wasn't really working, even the faint steam clouds coming off the warm baths weren't enough to hide her towering frame, but it was a fiction that the carrier clung to like a drowning man.

Because she wasn't alone.

Shinano let out a whimper that echoed back at her off the polished tile. She wasn't— actually, yes. She _was_ scared. She was naked, she didn't even have a single qualified pilot to her name, and she was sharing a dock house with other carriers. _Proper_ carriers. Girls who'd done their nation proud.

Not… like her. She could feel their eyes on her as she shuffled over to the pier where Akashi's repair faeries were milling around waiting for her. A pier… right next to a sleeping Ryuujou.

Shinano whimpered again, and stared down at her chest. The towering carrier sniffed and glanced over at the sleeping warship. The former flagship of _CarDiv 1_. A proper carrier, a ship with a carrier's deck, not… not the bulges of a battleship.

At least Ryuujou was asleep. It gave Shinano a few precious moments to get herself hidden under the sweet-smelling water. After testing it with her toe—it felt… right. That was the only way Shinano could think to explain it. 'right'—she slid her towering body into the water as fast as she could without generating enough turbulence to nap her piermate.

The steaming water enveloped the giant carrier like a blanket as she struggled to get her towering frame to fit. Her legs were just too long to fit right, even crossed and bent at an odd angle, her thighs breached the water's surface. And the water, no matter how warm and calming it might be, was as clear as crystal.

The tiny rainbow shimmer of oil wasn't enough to hide Shinano's submerged bulk. The instant Ryuujou woke up, she'd see everything.

And then she'd probably laugh, because _she_ was a real carrier.

If only White was here. Shinano liked White, she was nice, and she taught her how to be… how to be useful. That's all Shinano really wanted, she could leave being Symbols Of The Nation to her big sisters, she just wanted to be worth her steel.

That's when the repair team Akashi'd left waiting for her jumped aboard. Their teeny tiny faerie feet poked into the muscle of her belly, ticking her as they shuffled up and down her body with miniature clipboards held at the ready. One of them—one of the few wearing itty-bitty officer's uniforms—clambered up her fat braid only to rappel back down her bangs and give her a report while perched on the tip of her nose.

Shinano stifled a giggle as tiny fae feet tickled their way up and down her hull. She could feel them shuffling around inside her watertight bulkheads, sense then welding up watertight doors that… weren't. Her stomach tensed and the carrier balled up as waves of tickle-fused laughter flowed though her giant body.

She smiled and twisted around in her berth, water splashing around her with each motion. For the first time in a while, she fell happy. Purely, totally happy, without a shred of worry at all.

"Mmmm… whazzat?"

And then the worry came back.

Shinano slowly rolled over to where Ryuujou was sleeping. Or _not_ sleeping as the case may be. The Proper flattop rubbed at her eyes and let out a loud yawn. "Hiya," she said, tossing a lazy nod to Shinano.

"Eep!" Shinano clapped her hands to her breasts and squeezed, her body sinking under the water until nothing above her nose was visible. And then she went very still, hoping that somehow Ryuujou wouldn't notice her if she wasn't moving.

For a moment, it looked like it was working. Then Ryuujou leaned over to rest her arms on the dividing pier, those big kind eye focused right at Shinano's glasses. The little carrier smiled a toothy, friendly smile at Shinano and waited for her response.

"Um," Shinano tried to sink even deeper, but her stern was already kissing the tiled bottom of the berthing pool. Curse these shallow, annoyingly clear waters. They might have been good for repairing her damaged hull, but they were useless at _hiding_ it. "Hi."

"Don't recognize ya," Ryuujou let her chin slump against the tile. Her lazy, friendly Kansai accent should be soothing to the giant carrier, but Shinano couldn't help but feel condemnation in every friendly note. _She_ didn't have to prove anything. _She_ was a proper carrier. _She_ was useful. "What's your name, hun?"

"Sh-shinano," was all Shinano could stammer out before sinking down into the warm, soothing water until it lapped at her nose.

Ryuujou made a face. One brow crept up as she glanced down the towering carrier's giant body, examining every curve of her frame though the crystal-clear water with confusion. "Third of the Yamatos?"

Shinano nodded timidly.

"Ya know," Ryuujou made herself comfortable on the pier dividing the two girls. "Battleship docks are on t'other side of the building. I could show ya if-"

"Not a battleship," muttered Shinano, her cheeks all but glowing red as she crossed her massive legs. The giant carrier squirmed under the water, trying her hardest to keep Ryuujou from getting a good look.

"Huh?" Ryuujou tilted first her head, then her entire upper body. "But…"

"I… I was converted," said Shinano. "After Midway, um…" She pushed her glasses up her pert nose with a sniffle, "They needed more carriers, so… they decked me over."

"That so?" Ryuujou puffed out her cheeks and huffed.

For a moment, the little carrier just stared into the distance and thought. Shinano was just happy she wasn't staring at _her_. Even if the former CarDiv 1 flagship was too _nice_ to outright laugh at her… her gaze burned the converted battleship's hull.

"Fleet carrier docks are one door down," said Ryuujou. "You'd probably fit a lot better in Kaga's bear-"

Shinano shook her head, her chunky braid swishing around below her. "Not a fleet carrier."

"Huh?" Ryuujou did that whole-body tilt again, her gaze drifting back along Shinano's enormous body. Incredulity was painted so large across the little carrier's face, Shinano could read it even without her glasses.

"I…" Shinano willed herself small, "I only carry forty-seven planes."

Ryuujou's look of confusion only deepened. Her gaze bounced from her own flight-deck chest, to Shinano's bulging—though obviously _not_ aviation-rated—breasts, then back to her own upperworks. "Well… uh…" the little carrier coughed.

Shinano sunk lower into the tub, trying desperately to turn herself into a submarine. A very, very small submarine that could avoid the light carrier's judgment-heavy gaze.

Ryuujou thought for a moment. Then her face recoiled in a wince and she shot Shinano the warmest, sweetest look the big carrier had ever seen coming from someone who wasn't White. "Shinano, you don't… you're not comfortable around me, are you?"

Shinano glanced down at her obviously unfit-for-aviation… _everything_. "Mmhm," she mumbled.

"I could leave," Ryuujou pulled herself up onto the side of the pool, water cascading off her lean, naked body and painting a picture of just how superior she was to the half-assed conversion.

"No!" Before she knew it, Shinano's muscular arm shot out across the tile, grabbing hold of Ryuujou's slender leg in her tight grasp. "P-please," she blushed and awkwardly withdrew her hand, "I… I don't want to be alone."

Ryuujou sighed and slipped back into the pool. "I just don't like seeing… anyone like that."

Shinano nodded sadly.

Ryuujou sank against the warm tile, her own slender body disappearing beneath the perfumed water in ways Shinano's enormous, unwieldy bulk never could. For a few moments, the carriers just started at the other wall in thought.

Shinano sniffed and a team of Akashi's faeries handed her a hankerchief.

"You know," Ryuujou made a point of looking anywhere but at her piermate, "Americans dock in swimsuits."

"Hmm?" Shinano dabbed at her nose and glanced over.

"If…" Ryuujou shrugged, "I mean, think you'd be more comfortable with somthin' covering you?"

Shinano glanced down at herself, then offered a barely precipitable nod. "Where… I mean… I'm kinda big."

Ryuujou shrugged. "Think you could fit into Akagi's-"

Shinano shook her head. "No.. I'm… She's almost half my displacement. What about my sister?"

"Musashi?" Ryuujou shook her head. "I think she took all her stuff with her, and… well…" The little carrier shrugged, "She don't exactly wear much."

"Oh," Shinano's countenance somehow dimmed another shade.

Ryuujou sighed. Then she snapped her fingers, "Although…" She vaulted out of her berth and sprinted for the showers, her bare feet slapping a fanatic rhythm against the tile. "I'll be right back!" she said as she skidded around a corner, "I just had a really great idea."

Shinano blinked. She glanced at one of the fae balancing on her knee, who just offered a teeny tiny stare in return. "Um… okay."

For a few moments, nothing happened. At least nothing other then the sounds of furious improvisation and ad-hoc remodeling coming from the shower room. Tile cracked, metal bent and gave way, and some sort of heavy fabric rustled.

A few minutes later, Ryuujou trotted back with a pile of the semi-opaque shower curtains in her arms. "Togas!"

Shinano just mouthed at the air while her brain struggled to catch up with the sudden turn of events. Being a girl—no, being _around at all_ was hard. Everyone on this base was crazy. "Um…" Shinano rolled onto her belly, "Yay?"

"C'mon!" Ryuujou tossed Shinano a pile of fabric, and busied herself with lashing one of the curtains around her much smaller form.

Shinano sheepishly swam over to the slowly-sinking pile of waterproof fabric and bundled it all into a… bundle. "Um, Ryuujou, would you mind…?"

"Oh, yeah, no prob'm!" Ryuujou nodded and spun on her heel. She was there if Shinano needed her, but she wasn't going to cast her gaze over the carrier's attempts to get decent.

Which was a good thing, too. It took almost fifteen minutes for her to rig the heavy fabric into something approximating an article of clothing. She still didn't feel totally comfortable, it was awfully short and ever breath she take made her feel like her breasts were going to come spilling out of every jury-rigged seam.

Still… it was better than being naked. "Okay, um," Shinano sank back into the water, "It's okay, now, Ryuujou. I'm decent."

"You look good," Ryuujou said as she turned on her heel. The much smaller carrier had managed to rig her outfit into a beautiful, almost floor-length gown that flowed behind her as she moved. "You feel better?"

Shinano nodded.

"Good!" Ryuujou leaned over to give the giant carrier a hug. Or at least the closest approximation of a hug she could manage when her arms weren't quite long enough to close around her. "Heal up, okay?"

Shinano pushed her glasses up, "Okay."


	99. Chapter 75: The Dragon and Her Hoard

**Chapter 75: The Dragon And Her Hoard**

Admiral Goto shuffled through the darkened hallways of his own command center like some kind of coffee-fueled zombie. A steaming "World's Best Admiral" mug of strong, half-burnt coffee hung half-forgotten in his hand. Every so often, the mug—a present from Kongou on the one-year anniversary of her return—would wander seemingly on its own initiative to his lips and offer him a quick sip of the life giving elixir.

On the one hand, his secretary ship had returned. Judging by the muffled kissing noises and gooey, giggling "Kawaii~" coming from Nagato's office, the battleship was cuddling the hell out of the hamster everyone on base knew she kept but pretended not too.

On the other hand, Ooyodo, one of if not _the_ most mentally stable shipgirls in the entire JMSDF had flown into a rage like a dragon guarding her precious treasure horde. He'd never seen the old command cruiser get quite so agitated, especially without a twenty-slide powerpoint presentation to back up her anger. But, he'd _also_ never seen the girl get upset over nothing.

Goto made a mental note to check in with his logistics ship as soon as possible. If there was some new fire he had to put out, he'd rather know of his impossible task sooner than later. But first, the Admiral allowed himself a brief moment to check in with his secretary ship.

And by 'check in', he meant 'bully.' The Admiral cracked a tired grin and tapped his knuckle against the heavy wood door, "Nagato?"

The battleship's voice stopped mid "chu~". Goto could _hear_ her tense up. Her heavy fabric and steel uniform rustled as she furiously checked for anyone who might have seen her unbecoming antics. Then she coughed, "Yes?" she asked, her voice back to its normal dusky rumble. "Come in."

Goto slapped at the handle, shouldering his way through the door with gross motor functions only. "Morning, Nagato."

The battleship nodded at him. She was every bit the picture of a stern battleship of the big seven: back straight as a ramrod, shoulders thrust back and chest held forward, fingers laced over her heavy wooden desk. Only the tiny tuft of hamster fur protruding out of her cleavage ruined the illusion.

Goto coughed, and glanced at the battleship's torpedo bulges.

Nagato cocked an eyebrow at him before glancing down at herself. Her face instantly flushed a brilliant crimson, and she frantically shoved her beloved animal deeper between her breasts until there wasn't any evidence of it at all.

"Smooth," said Goto. "Smooooooooth."

Nagato tossed a lock of ebony hair back with a flick of her head, her pink-red eyes glowing in frustrated defiance. "Can I help you, sir?"

Goto smiled at her flustered face. Really, genuinely smiled. "You just did, Nagato."

The Battleship's chest puffed out with pride. Then it quivered a little as her hamster squeezed up until its tiny face hung out between her generous breasts. The tiny creature yawned happily and settled against the battleship's surprisingly soft chest pillows. Goto would have sworn he saw the tiny thing wink at him.

But while the hamster was making itself comfortable, Nagato looked like someone just shoved an ice-cold iron bar up her stern. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates, and the muscles in her neck tensed. "A-admiral…"

"I saw nothing," Goto leaned over to give the hamster a little scratch between its ears. "Just wanted to make sure you were settling back in well."

"I am." A crash of steel on steel rang through the office, the tell-tale sign of a battleship scuffing her boots together to snap herself out of a moe-induced bluescreen. "Thank you, sir."

"Anything I should know about our allies?" Goto gave the hamster a final scratch before pulling his hand back. "Or Musashi, for that matter."

"The Americans are…" Nagato put a finger to her chin, looking every part the stoic samurai she so often claimed to be. Other than the tiny animal shooting Goto a shit-eating grin from between her breasts. "Loud," said the battleship. "Boisterous in battle, boorish on shore leave. Their sense of decorum is as limited as their bravery is limitless." The battleship took a breath, "They are warriors of the highest caliber, and I would be honored to fight alongside them again."

Her hamster nodded sagely.

Goto cocked an eyebrow, "High praise, coming from you."

"You expected anything less, sir?"

"Point," Goto sighed. "And Musashi?"

"Her Ego is boundless and her skills dull and unpracticed," said Nagato. "But she is brave, and I believe she'd found a cause worthy of her immense talent." The battleship clasped her hands on her desk, "I can have a full report on your desk by the end of the day, sir."

"Excellent." Goto raised his mug to her. Even in all the craziness that came with running a naval base full of warships who were also girls who were mostly admiral-sexual, Nagato never failed to be polite and professional. At least as long as small animals weren't involved. "I'll leave you to it."

"Thank you, sir," Nagato nodded, and Goto would've sworn the tiny animal reclining in her cleavage offered up an equally tiny salute.

The Admiral didn't stop to ponder that little sighting. Nagato needed her alone-time if she was going to keep sane, and Goto had other girls he had to check in with. He closed the door behind him, and the gooey sounds of Nagato cuddling and kissing her beloved animal followed mere split-seconds after the deadbolt slammed home.

Goto shook his head and shuffled over to Ooyodo's office. He raised a hand to knock against the door, only for it to swing open at the lightest tap. Inside was… _not_ Ooyodo's office.

Inside was a disaster area.

Coffee, and the shattered remains of at least three of the command cruiser's prized sixty-four-ounce coffee mugs splashed against the floor. The monitors mounted to every wall glowed with arcane spreadsheets that even Goto's twenty-first century computer knowledge couldn't decipher. And square in the middle—seething with a rage so furious moisture in the air flashed to steam when it touched her bare skin—was a wild-eyed Ooyodo.

Goto blinked, and took a long drag from his mug. A year ago, this kind of thing would have sent him into a blind panic, but the months had hardened him, tempered him against the insane realities of shipgirl command. The admiral let a mouthful of burnt coffee sit on his tongue, savoring the familiar—not _pleasant_ , but familiar—taste. "Sup?"

Ooyodo let out a hissing breath that warmed the room by five degrees. Her nostrils flared as her gaze flicked from Goto to her spreadsheets. "Admiral," the cruiser spun one of her monitors around on its mount and gestured furiously at the impossibly arcane spreadsheet. "Our stockpile is gone."

Goto blinked. "Run that by me again." He set his coffee cup down on the cruiser's desk—only to have her immediately steal it and chug the remaining contents in one long gulp. Goto didn't say anything, the girl looked like she needed it and then some. "You've been building that horde for… what, six months now?"

"Yes," hissed Ooyodo through gritted teeth. The cruiser's protective husbanding of her supplies was legendary among the JMSDF. She was a logistical god among men who treated her spreadsheets with the kind of tender care and devotion that put a mother to shame. "And it's _all gone_."

"Where did-"

"Shinano." Ooyodo pointed at a spreadsheet cell labeled 'jlkhjfh;lkl.' "She ate almost a quarter for breakfast today. Her gluttony is…" Ooyodo stopped and forced some shred of composure into her shaking voice. "I could feed Akagi _and_ Kaga _and_ their plane guards for that."

Goto scowled and rubbed his temples, "She's fresh off the yards, Akashi said-"

"Akashi _said_ " Ooyodo slapped a file against her Admiral's chest, "that whatever dent in Shinano's _insatiable_ appetite completing her rebuild makes will be canceled out by maintaining her aviation element."

Goto's scowl deepened, "How bad we talking?"

"Bad." Ooyodo tapped though her multitude of tabs—the girl apparently didn't believe in ever closing one—until she found a report she'd done months back when the Akizukis came back. "She's a late-war ship. The ruined state of Japanese industry at that point-"

"Makes it that much harder for her to reconstitute planes." Goto sighed, "Yeah, I got it. Where does that leave us?"

"With enough food to last this country until the next convoy," Ooyodo tabbed up another graph. "With _absolutely no margin for error._ "

"Damn," Goto rested his knuckles on the cruiser's desk, his fists finding the helpfully placed divots Ooyodo's slightly smaller but _much_ studier fists had made in the hardwood. "Alright… let's find some room."

"Where, sir?" Ooyodo shook her head. "We're already fishing the Sea of Japan at capacity. I've got whaling ships working the Bonins 24/7, but their crews need sleep, and with this… Tosa-princess we might lose them as well. There _is no room_ for me to give you."

"Our allies then," Goto bit his lip, trying to think of some stone he hadn't turned the past thousand time he went looking for a rock to look under.

"America has more than we could ever need," said Ooyodo, "But it's five thousand miles away along the Arctic route. Six-five via Hawaii. That's a hell of a long trip to make, even in peacetime. Factor in escorts, hostile action, turn-around time-"

"Okay, I get it," Goto held up his hand. "There's not _any_ slack?"

Ooyodo shook her head. "The same as the last nine times you asked, sir. The docks can only manage so many ships."

"Fine," Goto stared at the map tacked up on Ooyodo's corkboard. "Russia then."

"Russia's fully committed to supporting Europe."

"Damnit," Goto wasn't surprised. He read the newspaper the same as everyone else. But in a world where literally magic warship spirits fought monsters from the deep, he kept hoping for a miracle. "China-"

"The last anyone heard from China, the country was one big food riot," Ooyodo didn't even look up from her spreadsheet, "That was six months ago, sir."

Goto bit his lip and hissed out a frustrated puff of breath. "Australia then."

"They have the calories," Ooyodo said as she tabbed over to yet another window. "But how do you propose to _get_ them here? The South China sea?" Ooyodo pointed at a section of her map marked with the bloody red of Abyssal-owned waters. "The Banda perhaps?" More red. "Perhaps the Bismarck or the Solomons," Ooyodo slashed her hand out at the Abyssals' latest conquest. "We're damn lucky we didn't lose the Coral sea too. And that Haruna made it down there in one piece."

"I know," Goto's voice was little more than a murmur as he stared at the map.

Ooyodo blinked. "Sir?"

"If we take the South China Sea—if we even punch a corridor, we buy a whole mess of breathing room."

Ooyodo stood up, her hand cradling her chin as she stared at the map. "Uh huh…"

"Riau-" Goto circled a cluster of islands at the very southernmost tip of the sea, "Paracel-" he circled another cluster at the north-west corner, "And Spratly islands."

"Sir?" Ooyodo fingered the hip openings of her skirt.

"Those are their bases, they have to be," said Goto. "Reports said they were sorting shorter-ranged ships. PT-boats and coastal battleships, right?"

Ooyodo nodded, "Yeah."

"If they lose those, what's the next closest place for them to launch from?"

Ooyodo squinted at the map, then consulted her spreadsheet. Then back to the map. "Palau, sir."

"Fifteen hundred miles just to get to their hunting ground," breathed Goto, "And there's no way they can slip past the Philippines without getting spotted."

"I see where this is going, sir," Ooyodo smiled. It was the first time Goto recalled seeing her look honestly happy in… months.

"Have Nagato meet me in my office in half an hour," said Goto. "And tell Richardson I want a report on his battle with the Tosa Princess the moment the battle's over."

"Sir!" Ooyodo snapped off a crisp salute. "Oh, and Admiral?"

"Hmm?" Goto wheeled over on his heel.

"About Shinano…" Ooyodo scuffed her boot against the floor, "She came back with just one outfit. I've called every store in town, but nobody has her size. At least not anymore."

"I'll…" Goto smirked, "I'll call Richardson. He's got a suu-" he caught himself, "-upply expert who can help us out."

"We still have to feed her, sir," said Ooyodo. "That's a lot of rice for forty-seven planes."

"Easy enough," Goto shrugged, "Williams' been begging me for a carrier. Let him pick up the tab."

Ooyodo's face flushed with joy. "You mean-"

"You don't have to worry about her, no."

Ooyodo blinked, then threw her arms around her Admiral in a tight hug. "Thank you!"

—|—|—

Jersey hunched over her CIC's mapping table and smiled. It was a vicious smile, a slasher grin that ripped across her aquiline features in a mess of glinting teeth and predatory rage. The battleship, one of the _last_ battleships stared at the tiny symbols wandering around her plotting board and allowed herself a brief moment to laugh.

Before, she was little more than a glorified barge. First a platform for anti-aircraft weapons, then a hauler of cruise missiles reactivated for reasons more political than military.

But not anymore. Now… now she was _queen_. There were no aircraft to worry about, no submarines lurking to mess up her day with a well-timed spread of fish up her nonexistent skirt. Today, it was just her, her targets, and nine of the finest rifles ever forged by human hands.

"Kongou," The American's voice seemed calm, but there was an edge to each syllable, a tension in her breath signaling the furious bloodlust pumping though her veins at a thousand psi. "Kirishima, you ready?"

 _"Hai!"_ The two Japanese battleships answered as one. They might not share Jersey's hatred of the Nazi-ships with their flags of blood and ash, but there wasn't a shred of hesitation in their voice. All business, ready to hunt.

"Open fire," breathed Jersey.

The two battleships spoke their acknowledgements over the radio, but they needn't have bothered. The titanic report of their sixteen fourteen inch rifles thundered over the water, a booming report the world had gone too long without.

Jersey allowed herself a brief moment to soak in the supernatural power of a battleship's full broadside before turning back to her map. Kongou and Kirishima sat off each flank of the fleeing Panzershiff division, hammering them with ragged brackets from twenty-thousand yards.

The battleships weren't scoring hits—yet—but they didn't need to. The two Japanese battleships formed the sides of a long tube, funneling the abyssal pocket battleships down the center as they fled from the fourteen inch might of a pair of _real_ battleships.

 _"They're right on course, dess,"_ Kongou's sweet accent cut though the air like honed steel. There wasn't a drop of the murder-happy bloodlust filling Jersey's veins in her voice. Just limitless amounts of utter righteous anger.

 _"We're straddling them,"_ said Kirishima. Where her sister's voice oozed with the upper-class anger that only a truly outraged Englishwoman could truly summon, Kirishima's voice was cold as frozen iron. A mathematician warrior bringing her foe down with cold indifference. _"A few more salvos and we'll have the range."_

Jersey smirked. The Abyssal pocket battleships were fleeing as fast as their exhausted turbines could push them. They weaved and dodged between the splashes, frantically buying time as they ran their genocidal little hearts out.

Ran right down the funnel Kongou and Kirishima formed. Right into Jersey's guns. And unlike them, she _wouldn't_ miss.

The battleship narrowed her eyes, her gaze locked on her targets as she slowly brought her twin revolvers into her field of view. Her target was turning hard in, finishing off a zig at sixteen-thousand-five-hundred yards.

The American held her fire, her mechanical brain whirring away as every instant new data was fed into the fire-control computer. Range, gravity, wind-resistance, Coriolis force, roll of the ship… every variable was measured and accounted for by the computer. She just needed the ship to sit still…

And then it did. The pocket battleship straightened out from its zig, smoke pouring from its stacks as it tried to mask its position from Kongou and Kirishima. Not that it mattered, even if the smoke had been between it and Jersey, her radar saw though smoke like glass.

Jersey smiled, her fingers closing around the triggers of her guns when _BOOM!_.

Nine mark seven rifles spoke in glorious harmony, cratering the ocean with their thundering voices and momentarily turning the deary winter evening into a burning summer noon. Shells ripped though the air as the battleship's turrets dropped back to their loading angles. Gun crews scrambled with carefully-ordered chaos, bringing fresh shells and powder up from the magazine in prepration for the battleship's next salvo.

Her fist was a tight bracket, splashing salty plumes dyed ice-blue by her shells high over the pocket battleships' masts. The ship shuddered, shaken by the mere concussion of Jersey's colossal rounds landing nearby. Spooked—no, _terrified_ —the twisted mockery of a warship turned to flee.

A pointless gesture, Jersey's next salvo caught it square on. Sixteen inch shells punched though its three-inch belt like tissue paper, tearing vast holes in the internal machinery with their sheer mass. Turret Anton exploded out of the hull, toppling head over tail on a towering pillar of burning powder as the forward third of the pocket battleship simply vanished into fine steel mist.

Steel crunched and screamed as eight more of Jersey's enormous sixteen-inch mark thirteen high-explosive shells tore though the mockery of armor before tearing the hateful abomination of a ship to shreds with their explosive filler. The flag the pocket battleship flew so proudly held on just long enough to burn to cinders in the explosion before it too slipped beneath the waves, leaving nothing but an oily slick as memorial.

"Boom," breathed Jersey, her sighs already slewing to her next target.

The Abyssals were pouring on whatever speed they'd held in reserve in a frantic bid to be _anywhere_ but in front of the bloodthirsty American monster. The bravest of them held its turn a second longer, swinging its bow around to fire a full salvo of six eleven inch rounds at Jersey's oncoming hull.

Jersey didn't dodge, she didn't even try. The six-hundred pound shells slammed into her armor with all the murderous hate of an entire Reich behind them. And then they _bounced_. Their penetrators utterly defeated by Jersey's belt, the swords of hate blunted by the shield of Freedom.

Only freedom didn't _just_ have a shield. Freedom had big-ass guns. "RUN SOME MORE!" bellowed Jersey as her fore six guns thundered in chorus. Jersey smiled as she felt the concussion rip over her slender bow, blasting all the surf that'd piled up on her deck flashing off the sides.

Shells arced though the air, splashing down in a bracket straddling her target. Most missed, but one hit just ahead of the torpedo tubes and burrowed its way deep into the pocket battleship's hull.

The explosion was muffled and muted, a deep _fwuMP_ more felt than heard as the ship's bottom blew out, lifting the ship by its center up before smacking it back down into the freezing North Pacific. Jersey lined up a second salvo just to be safe, but there was almost no point. The ship was listing heavily to one side and belching smoke from every orifice. Flames poured across the decks as burning diesel sloshed around the torpedo tubes and boat davits.

Jersey put the writing warship down with a final salvo of high-capacity shells. Two down, two more running for freedom at the other end of the rapidly closing pocket created by Jersey and the two Kongous.

Only… there wasn't freedom waiting on the other side.

"Yo, Mushi," Jersey smiled as her gun crews slammed fresh shells into her hot guns. Adrenaline coursed though her veins, mingling with the traces of barbarian fury still lingering in her system to form a deadly cocktail of pure freedom-fueled ferocity. "You ready to sling lead?"

For a second, nothing. Then the horizon erupted in a silent ball of flame. With the colossal range of the fourty-six centimeter rifles, it took more than a minute for the sound to catch up.

But the _sound_ the glorious music was well worth the wait. "I, MUSASHI!" the big-titted Japanese super-battleship's voice thundered over even the report of her own rifles, "WILL FIGHT!"

Her shells landed short, their diving noses keeping them steady as they plunged under the water, gouging enormous holes in the pocket battleships' bellies before exploding against their keels. Pocket battleships they may be, superb firepower and value for their size.

But they were nothing against the sheer firepower of the two most powerful battleships that had ever or will ever exist on this earth. One ship split into four chunks bleeding burning diesel as they slipped beneath the waves, while the other sagged pathetically amidships but somehow kept itself together.

Jersey's guns were the first to reload, and she hammered a six-gun salute into the limping warship, pulverizing its bow into nothing more than twisted metal scrap. Musashi replied a second later, tearing the already weakened middle section apart with a precise salvo before Jersey savaged the sinking hulk with her own rifles.

The battle had lasted less then two hours, and all that remained of the four fleeing pocket battleships were a few puddles of burning diesel.

"Well," Jersey held out her fist to Musashi, who obligingly smacked it with her own. "We're fucking badasses."

"Aren't we just?" Musashi threw her head back in a howling laugh. Her breast heaved as she came down off the adrenaline high, her chocolate skin slick with sweat and salt as she howled to the sun.

Jersey swatted the super-battleship's stern before turning her mind to more important matters, "Anyone hit?"

Kongou shook her head.

"Two hits." Kirishima held up the end of her flowing sleeve, poking her fingers though the two neat little holes punched at the tip, "Through-and-through, shouldn't take long to fix."

"Good," Jersey ruffled the Japanese girl's hair and grinned, "What about you, Pagoda-boat?"

"I was hit-" Musashi clawed at her stomach to keep herself from devolving into another bout of uncontrollable laughter. "I- I was hit thirteen times!"

Jersey rolled her eyes, "Did even fucking one of 'em pen you?"

"Nope!" Musashi arched her back, her deliciously tanned arms flexing in a gun-show that Jersey just _knew_ she could beat if she wasn't wearing long sleeves. She puffed out her chest until her bandages looked like they were nanometers away from giving out and thundered "I, MUSASHI, AM INVINCIBLE!"

Kongou offered an earnest golf-clap and a huge smile before pouncing at Musashi with a hug.

"Good lord," Jersey rolled her eyes, "You people have no fucking decorum what so-fucking ever."

"You're just mad you didn't think of it first," countered Musashi.

Jersey rolled her eyes even harder. "Look… let's just, uh… form up on Frisco, eh?"

The four battleships and their assorted destroyer escorts lazily formed back up into line astern. Jersey led the formation, both because she was flagship, and because her radar was unquestionably the best. Also, she had the nicest stern. Not bragging, just being objective here.

It wasn't long before the fleet caught sight of Frisco happily steaming towards them at a solid twenty-eight knot clip. But as the shockingly pretty Nesai shipgirl closed the distance, her speed dropped to a crawl until she dropped to nothing a few thousand yards away. Her eyes narrowed even further and her head tilted to one side, sweeping up and down Jersey's towering hull with utter confusion painted on her fine features.

"Uh… Frisco?" Jersey felt her heart skip a few beats before roaring into overdrive.

The cruiser held up a finger.

Yuudachi poied.

"Jersey," Frisco glanced up at the towering battleship, "the _hell_ are you wearing."

Jersey gulped, her gently-tanned skin suddenly flushing to bone-pale. "Uh… Uh, clothes," she stammered. "Clothes, you know… like _some people,_ " she shot a glare at Musashi's bandage bra, "Wear."

"Should she, like," Yuudachi waved her hand to ask permission to speak, then went ahead anyway, "Wear something elseish?"

"Is there something wrong with her outfit, dess?" asked Kongou.

"According to my calculations," Kirishima looked up and down Jersey's body, "Her current outfit fits her very well."

"Hey!" Jersey flipped her middle finger at the littlest Kongou for lack of anything more intelligent to do. She turned to Frisco, her hands clasped in supplication as she pleaded with the heavy cruiser, "Frisco…"

Frisco ignored the battleship's pleas with a smile, "You know, I'm _sure_ you wore a dress last time we hung out."

"Friscooooooooooo!"

"A really nice blue dress," Frisco dragged her hands across a bustline much bigger than her own treaty-compliant bosom, "With like, your tits all hanging out-"

"Please shut up," begged Jersey.

"-And white thigh-highs and everything!" finished Frisco with a smile.

"I will cut you," hissed the battleship..

"Nah," Frisco smiled and tossed a lock of that beautiful raven-black hair over her shoulder, "You love me."

Jersey snarled at the cruiser, her brows knit into a dense line above her mirrored aviators. Then she shrugged and ruffled the cruiser's hair. "You're right, I do," she said. "But still…" the ruffle transitioned into a playful noogie.

"Ow! OwOwOwOw!" Frisco yelped and slid out of the battleship's grasp. "You know, your old look's in _Janes'_."

The battleship froze again, "Did Cr-"

"Yes."

"FUCK!" Jersey kicked the water.

"He thinks you're cu~te~," teased Frisco.

"FUCK YOU!" thundered Jersey.

"Excuse me," Kirishima wandered over to the cruiser, notebook held at the read, "San-Fransisco-sama?"

Kongou and Jersey shared a resigned sigh, while Musashi slapped her palm to her hand with a loud grunt.

—|—|—

Yeoman Gale ducked out of the mess hall with a belly full of Bannie's special loaded baked potatoes and an equally hearty portion of Lou's delicious pizza. She could feel the fat starting to form around her middle with every step she took, and she figured she'd regret her decision in the morning. But right now, she couldn't imagine herself being any happier.

Those girls could _cook_. It took every bit of self-control she had left to excuse herself before she gobbled down seconds, thirds, and fifths of everything they'd made. Note to self, never make shipgirls thankful during bikini weather. At least her turtleneck and fatigue blouse did a decent enough job of hiding her belly pooch. She'd the gym… _later_.

Right now she had to…

Had to…

Um…

Gale's train of thought was suddenly and utterly derailed by the single most beautiful sight she'd ever seen in her life.

A few feet away, Wash jogged down the chilly concrete in _athletic wear._ Her snug-fitting heather gray T-shirt hugged her body tightly enough to hint at the lime-green fabric of her sports-bra. A bra that really wasn't doing enough to support the battleship's big round upperworks as she ran. The battleship's whole body swayed with a kind of precise, rhythmic grace. _Swoosh, Swoosh, Swoosh._

Gale clutched at her chubby belly, instantly regretting indulging herself at dinner. Or at least _almost_ regretting, Lou and Bannie were _amazing_ cooks. It was like watching a dozen virtuosoes play a concert. Only instead of a symphony of music, this was a symphony of curves in motion. Gale was so entranced with the way Wash _moved_ , she almost missed the battleship's swinging hips in those short, _tight_ shorts. Almost missed the way her russet brown hair streamed out behind her like a ship's wake.

Almost missed the way Wash's foot hit the ground a little funny near that one bit of sidewalk that was tilted a little bit, sending the battleship off her balance and flying onto her belly.

Wait.

"Wash!" Gale yelped and bolted for the battleship.

"Ow," Wash let out a pathetic moan as she rolled onto her back. The concrete was scored with deep gouges where her immense mass had carved furrows in her wake.

"Wash, are you okay?" Gale dropped to her knees and tried to help the battleship up.

Wash panted in response. Her colossal chest heaved as she struggled to suck down enough air, jiggling just enough in that lime-green bra—that looked suspiciously like one Gale had lost a few months ago—to short-circuit what few neurons the sailor still had. She held up a finger, her pale skin drenched in sweat as she struggled to get her wind back.

"W-wash," It took everything Gale had not to leer at the sweat-slicked battleship, and even then her imagination was running away with her. But… but that was an activity for another time. Right now, Wash needed her to be a _friend._ She could lust over the _North Carolina's_ curves later—that _was_ what _Janes'_ was for.

But right now, Gale needed to _love_ the battleship, not lust after her. She needed to be more like Crowning. "Are you okay?"

Wash panted in return, her cheeks flushing red from exertion as she flopped forward. Her breasts piled up against those toned thighs as she clutched her head in her hands, her face contorted with the pain of a mean stitch in her side.

Gale bit her lip, tore her eyes away from the _interesting_ way Wash's figure squished, and gently pulled the battleship's sweaty hair out of the way. Even drenched in sweat, the battleship's russet brown mane fel- NO! No time for that!

"I'm…" Wash's voice was little more than a dusty croak, "I'm okay," she panted."

"You want some water?" asked Gale.

Wash nodded glumly.

Gale looked around. She wasn't about to leave the battleship all alone, not like this… but… ah! "Hey, Sailor!" Gale waved down a gangling kid with the deer-in-the-headlights look of a freshly-minted E-1.

The kid gulped a few times like a goldfish abruptly torn from its bowl and patted his chest.

Gale nodded, and waved him over. "Run into the mess hall," she ordered, "get me a jug of ice-water and a salt shaker."

The kid nodded, then bolted for the kitchen in the gangling all-limbs run of someone who hadn't quite grown into their body yet.

Gale sighed, then looked back to the utterly gorgeous battleship quivering on the concrete. Her back was arched, showing off not just the masterfully sculpted muscle of her back, but the quivering of a scared, exhausted girl in the midwinter chill.

"Oh, honey," Gale muttered to herself and draped her NWU blouse over Wash's shoulders. So what if it was chilly and Wash might get a peek at her squishy winter belly pudge. If Gale stood a snowball's chance at getting with Wash, it hinged on her being _nice_ to the poor girl. "That better?"

Wash nodded, her breast still heaving as she struggled to get her wind back.

"How long were you running?" asked Gale. She hadn't seen battleships run much, especially proper, demure miss Washington. But she _had_ seen Jersey sprint a few times. _That_ girl could run mile after mile at a dead sprint without even panting.

"Thr-" Wash coughed, "Three hours."

"Dammit, Wash!" Gale scowled, but her face softened when the rating popped back with the pitcher she'd asked for. Gale hurriedly dumped a goodly amount of salt, stirred the water with her fingers, then offered it to Wash.

Wash smiled sweetly—even drenched in sweat and shivering in the cold, she still managed to be a proper lady—mumbled a few words of thanks, and gulped down the entire thing in one long drag.

"Better?" Gale smiled and brushed a loose strand of hair that was glued to Wash's brow by sweat.

Wash nodded sheepishly. "Thank you."

"So," Gale slouched back on the concrete next to Wash, letting the battleship's curvy bulk rest against her side, "We wanna talk about why you were running for three hours?"

"'m not fast enough," said Wash.

Gale blinked. "Dammit, Wash, you can do like…twenty-eight knots."

Wash shook her head, "No… I… I can do twenty-seven. On a good day." The battleship wiped at her soaking brow, "My powerplant, my screws… they never worked right."

"It's still fast," mumbled Gale.

"I can't _shoot_ at speed," said Wash. There wasn't any indignation in her voice, just glum acceptance. "I shake too badly to find the range. If… I can't help thinking that maybe if I was a little bit faster, those pocket battleships wouldn't have gotten past me."

"We caught 'em in the end, though," Gale wrapped one arm around Wash's sweaty shoulders and pulled her into a sideways hug.

"Maybe next time you won't," said the battleship. "So… I was… running."

"Wash," Gale bit her lip.

"I know," the battleship hung her head, "that's not how it works for us. For me. But… but it's all I can do."

"Oh…" Gale screwed up her face and pulled the battleship into a full-on hug. There was something she knew she could do. Something that never failed to cheer up a glum shipgirl. And unfortunately, it was _murder_ on the poor sailor's waistline. "Uh, Wash?"

"Hmm?"

"Do…" Gale bit her lip, "Do you wanna swing by my place for movies and ice cream?"

Wash shook her head, "I'm a mess, I wouldn't want to-"

"No!" Gale shook her head even more vigorously. She kicked herself for even proposing it, then started making a mental list of the shirts she wouldn't mind getting horribly stretched out by her battleship friend's first-rate torpedo bulges. "I'll, uh… you can borrow something of mine."

"Really?" said Wash, her face brightening for the first time that evening.

"Mmmh,"Gale nodded. "I'll even let you use my shower." The sailor glanced over Wash's sweaty body in a way she hoped didn't come off as lecherous, "You kinda reek."

"I know," said Wash with a small laugh. "And thank you. You're the best friend a battleship could ask for."

"Well…" Gale's face blossomed a brilliant crimson, "Uh… yeah…" she bit her lip. "Room," was her eloquent response.

"Of course," Wash somehow managed to curtsy in skintight running shorts, then fell into line-abreast with Gale, one arm hooked though the sailor's arm and a tired smile on her face.


	100. A Certain Lady Part 17

**A Certain Lady Part 17**

"Kaga, sitrep," demanded Hiei.

"Red squadron has been eliminated and Gold squadron has lost six planes." Kaga's usually cool and detached voice had taken on characteristics far more in line with a searing fury. Sea spray would occasionally fizzle out in a burst of steam when it touched her hull. As she prepared to launch Gray squadron, her next wing of Zeros into the sky, she revealed Green's fate, "Green is down to one."

Hiei bit back a sharp curse as she took in the report. Losing her temper wouldn't do her or anyone else any good.

"What damage were we able to do? And what of Wardog?" Yamashiro queried.

"Both took some hits, but they managed to deal significant damage to one of the Orion-Class battleships before leaving the field. Kaga's planes were able to sink a Svetlana-Class and damage a Guissano-Class. Not much, but that anti-air did a lot of damage." Takao chimed in with the data she was receiving from her floatplane. The Jake was weaving in and out of anything that remotely came close to striking it, fully intent on staying in the field to keep an eye on the situation. "But we have bigger problems."

"They have air support," Kaga all but growled out.

"It has to be operating at an extreme range as well. I can't see any kind of carrier nearby." Takao looked skyward for a moment as her radio room received a long distance transmission. "And nothing from the Global Hawk. Wherever and whatever it is, it's well out sight."

"FFfffffiddlesticks..." Hiei's anger sputtered out as the bad news continued to mount. At that kind of range, the Abyssal platform was likely being held in reserve for a decisive strike or to maintain a CAP over the task force. And she certainly hoped it was the latter. It would be nice if one thing went their way today.

A CAP they could deal with. The scratches and raking fire from fighters was infinitely preferable to the knockout punches that torpedoes and bombs could deliver.

"Whatever their plan is for the mainland, it must be important." Tatsuta cast a dark eye in Hiei's direction. She idly twirled her polearm with one hand, paying no attention to the paths it traced but still handling the weapon with a practiced ease. "Abyssals don't send their precious little planes out just for fun. Even just to keep the skies clear."

"Which is why we're changing formation!" Hiei barked as she pointed to Kaga. "Kaga, pull all your kids back and stow everything that isn't a Zero. I want you ready to lock down any enemy planes. Get into the back of the formation and as far away as you can. Shimakaze, you're on guard duty. If something even looks at Kaga funny, I want it at the bottom."

"Ou! You can count on me." Shimakaze saluted and peeled off to marry herself to Kaga's retreating stern. She was the closest thing to an interceptor that had ever been put to sea and she would make absolutely certain that her speed kept one of Japan's few carriers was safe and sound. Her rabbit ear-like bandanna bobbed energetically in tune with the waves she cut through. "I've got enough speed for both of us."

"I am counting on it." Kaga allowed the barest hint of a smile to grace her features while her crews worked triple time to change gears and her radio operators called back the surviving attack force.

"Hm!"

"Next! Jintsuu, take center with Kawakaze and Shigure. The fox and the hound are going hunting and they'll need a minder."

"We need a minder?!" Kawakaze blurted out somewhat indignantly despite falling into formation with due haste and without question. "If anything, she's the one who needs a minder. Yeoman Third Class my a-!"

"Language, ensign." Jintsuu's slight smile belied the sharp edge to her words. So she had a bit of a reputation. Just a little one. Nothing for anyone to worry about. Least of all her assigned charges. She just hoped they could keep up with the pace of battle. Things tended to get a little hairy in the thick of it.

Shigure merely pulled up alongside Kawakaze, casting a glance in Yamashiro's direction as she did so. Her fists clenched to the point of eliciting a groan of creaking metal. She did not relish the idea of leaving the battleship's side, but she had been given her orders. And unlike some ships, she wouldn't raise a fuss about them just because of certain wording. Besides, she liked dogs.

"Ugh. This is crazy. Can't we just kill them and go home?" griped the pink haired Shiratsuyu.

"Now who's the crazy one, hm?" Takao shot back with good humor. Kawakaze was a bit too hot-headed for her own good at times. And paired with the right fleet and someone was about to come out with a bloody nose.

"Lieutenant, this formation is..." Yamashiro began voicing a growing concern she was having as she started piecing together what Hiei seemed to be planning. And she really hoped she was wrong.

"Don't worry. This won't be like last time. We've got plenty of spirit now. Enough to last us for this and more." Hiei smiled a brilliantly reassuring smile. "And both armor and ammo to spare! Now get your spotter in the air, Takao's is due for return soon."

Takao snickered as Yamashiro sighed and did as she was ordered.

"Now... Arizona, I have something special in mind for you and that belt of yours."

"My... belt?" Arizona spoke up for the first time in quite a good long while. While on base and at least amongst the Richardsons and a select few ships, she felt comfortable enough to be more sociable. However given the debacle with Kaga, Jane's worries, and the large number of unknown Japanese boats, the redhead was feeling less than talkative. She hadn't even really felt the need to harangue Shimakaze for that accursed ensemble.

That last bit was made all the worse thanks to the destroyer's seemingly professional and dedicated demeanor. It did not make sense to her. And she didn't have the spare thoughts to dwell further on it.

"Yup! No one in this fleet has a shred of hope in tanking Battleship Princess' big guns. Not without a miracle and the best angling on the seven seas. No one except you and Yamashiro. And you're packing even more than she is." Hiei thumbed in said battleship's direction and ignored the suddenly sickly pallor the dark haired woman's face had taken.

"My, But I don't think even her armor could handle something that big." Tatsuta remarked offhandedly with a finger on her chin.

"Not for long, no. But she doesn't need to," prompted Takao as she tried to keep a straight face. "Right?"

"Bingo!"

"So what is this formation you have in mind that will utilize our armor so well? Particularly given our speed." There was a mixture of doubt and hope in Arizona's voice. Doubt in the unknown, but hope in Hiei's vast experience. But there was an eagerness as well. A burning desire to fight that taunted her boilers.

Arizona felt her blood chill when Hiei smiled.

—|—|—

A towering splash exploded out of the sea to Arizona's starboard as she steamed ahead at flank.

The pitch black dye slapped against her hull and stained her coat a foul color. Unlike the simple black of Hiei's shells, this seemed to burn and crawl against her flesh as if trying to devour her. She shoved away a shiver whilst cutting a hard shift to port, ending the zig to her zag.

Behind her by a fair number of ship lengths, Yamashiro did the same.

All down the formation did the high speed snaking movement continue until it ended with Shimakaze's snappy turns.

It was an insane plan for fighting an insane enemy.

Arizona felt the massive weight of responsibility crushing against her shoulders. A weight that grew with every splash and near miss of Tosa's massive batteries. What's more, her meagre anti-air guns could not swat the Abyssal spotter from the sky. Even other skyward guns had trouble keeping a sight on the wretched plan. Her only saving grace was that the extreme range threw any real sense of precision out the window. The salvos were relatively accurate, but their precision was horrendous.

"I've lost my plane!" warned Yamashiro as the mayday of her scout reached her ears. One of the Abyssal planes had gotten a good eyeful and decided it wasn't fond of being spied upon. The Fusou-Class scowled, but kept her eyes on the horizon where Tosa's guns continued to thunder. Unless they wanted to risk setting up another launch, they'd have to make due with what their own range-finders could manage. Unfortunate, but they would make do. They had little other choice.

But with the distance closing as rapidly as it was, even for just over twenty knots, the longer ranged guns of their fleet would be able to open fire far sooner than later.

"Is everyone ready?" hollered Takao. A chorus of affirmatives was her reply. Some more high spirited than others. Hiei was perhaps the most enthusiastic of them all, but part of her figured it partly had to do with the fact the brunette was the flagship. Appearances had to be kept up for morale and all. But she wasn't so sure she'd be able to quite match up if put in the same situation.

Arizona for her part merely narrowed her eyes as the distance grew ever shorter and Tosa's guns tightened up more and more. Even with their evasion patterns, all it would take was one lucky shot to punch through her deck. Even easier for the thinner armor of her allies.

That was why she had been ordered to lead the charge. Golden bullets aside, only the sixteen-inch shells posed any real threat to her. Which made it her job to draw as much fire as possible.

"Here it comes..." Hatsuzuki's stern warning was all that preceded the sky being filled with steel.

The massive broadside from Tosa was bad enough. But now the Guissanos were adding their own to the mix. Inaccurate and imprecise. But there was a quality in quantity as thirty-two shells came raining down. Small, but with plenty of range.

A few of the shells managed to strike Arizona, bouncing off her armor with loud clangs and leaving little more than dents from their sheer velocity. But the vast majority splashed all around her. One even managed to fall so far past her that Yamashiro felt a spray of sea land on her deck. However one of the Italian rounds managed to score a lucky enough it to impact against Arizona's conning tower.

She ignored the itch on her cheek in favor of turning her guns ever so slightly in preparation for their next maneuver.

The distances closed far more rapidly than Arizona could have expected and it was not even minutes before Yamashiro, Hiei, and Takao began returning fire in earnest. But not her. No, she had been ordered to hold fire at her most extreme ranges. Even as every other gun that could reach out and touch someone began to roar and scream in fury, she was to remain silent and let them treat her as more than she was.

Fire was thrown about in earnest with Arizona and Yamashiro taking the brunt of it as they fell into range first. Secondaries were smashed and structures damaged when the malevolent artillery managed to strike home. But nothing was stopping them.

Up high the howling of engines filled their air as Kaga's Zeros began tangling with the Abyssal planes. While it wouldn't readily permit her to launch bombers or torpedo planes, it would keep the skies busy and let those with anti-air crews focus more on the surface.

Shards of stricken planes and tumbling fireballs fell from the sky like the scene from a nightmare.

A salvo of shells measuring thirteen and a half inches each from the healthier of the two Orions slammed into her side with a brutal ring and nearly staggered her. But they did not penetrate. Her armor held. She remained the wall moving forward, unstoppable. Even as her superstructure bled, her will and her crews pushed her forward.

The ear-splitting crack of snapping steel accompanied a pained wail from Yamashiro. One of Tosa's shells had found it's mark and bracketing fire had managed to tear away a portion of the battleship's pagoda mast. It had not struck anything crippling, but it had still torn a bloody gash out of her neck.

"G-Go! We k-keep going!" With blazing red eyes, Yamashiro steeled herself and pushed forward. She refused to be the weak link.

"Start rolling over them! Jintsuu, hunting time!" Roared Hiei over the din of her guns as she took note of the Abyssal destroyers beginning to make their move. "Broadsides! Arizona, weapons free."

As one entity, like a great war machine, the three battleships and one heavy cruiser snapped about in a great arc. Their broadsides were bared to hungry enemy fangs. But no longer was their T crossed. They were not pinned in. This was not the Strait where the last great battle between battleships took place. This was wide open ocean.

Now all guns could fire. Now their rifles would speak as one.

And with a rolling roar, their guns thundered down the line.

A veritable wall of steel, fourteen and eight inches thick, slammed into the Abyssal formation.

While it did not shatter their spine, it did draw first blood.

One of the two remaining Svetlanas was far too slow to evade the deadly salvo and found itself torn asunder with such ferocity that no one was certain who dealt the killing blow. And the dying Orion was given its last rites, finally taking the lethal shell from Takao and giving up the fight in a sputtering, gurgling explosion of burning fuel and black steel.

Yet for all it's impressive display, little more than superficial damage was done to the enemy vessels. And hardly a scratch had been put into the mass of destroyers as they cut violent arcs into the frothing sea.

Some of the more attentive girls would have sworn they heard a malicious and mirthful laughter emanating from Tosa as her well armored belt bounced nearly every single shell that managed to strike her. Kaga in particular, despite being held so far back that even Tosa's guns could not touch her, nearly froze as a hellish timbre seemed to crawl out of her bones to reach her ears.

But as the Abyssal destroyers began charging through the firestorm as though Hell itself was hot on their heels, three plumes of seaspray fell in behind a pair of Shiratsuyu and one Sendai.

"Go get 'em!" Shouted Shimakaze over the radio.

"Hahaha! They don't stand a chance." Kawakaze's boisterous reply was met with a maelstrom of small arms fire. The sea erupted all around them as the Abyssal forces split their fire to accommodate the haymaker that followed the battleships' hook. Everything from one-inch to five was suddenly hurled in their direction.

But she did not care.

Nor did Shigure.

And Jintsuu's expression was one of hunger.

They fell into a tight line as they raced into the enemy formation, returning fire with a dedicated ferocity. The cracking of their gunfire came at such a pace that it sounded like a machine gun without a care for expenditure. Even as their hulls were struck and pierced, they charged into the brink. Flesh wounds were nothing to them.

"Torpedoes! Portside," shouted the normally calm Shigure while one of Takao's salvos screamed overhead to repay an Italian for a particularly nasty blow to her fore.

Without dropping speed, the three banked hard into the approaching fish and scraped by with only a scant few yards to spare. Kawakaze put a few well placed rounds into the nonexistent armor surrounding the W-Class' engine room. They were vile mockeries at best and it showed when the Abyssal's hamstrings were so effectively cut.

But it was Jintsuu who took the kill with a staggered volley of five-and-a-half inch high capacity shells. The explosions came one after another, ripping away Abyssal steel until only burning oil and twisted metal remained.

They did not slow down nor evade the spill, but cut through it. A wave of burning slick was tossed into the air by their passing as they set upon the destroyers with a merciless fervor. They could not take on Tosa. Not with their arms and armaments. But they could butcher the hindrances for those who could.

For those who were familiar with her, Jintsuu's wrath was nothing new.

But Arizona was nearly taken aback as the sweet, yet terrifying woman, all but skewered one of the monstrosities with a well placed torpedo and smiled as she did so.

"Hiei! Dodge!" cried out Tatsuta from her bloody lips as she swerved around another inbound Russian salvo.

"Shit shit shit!" Hiei swore almost frantically as she attempted to blow the falling Abyssal plane out of the sky. Anti-air crews were firing frantically to effect some salvation out of the situation, but it was to no avail. Her evasion came too late and her guns did not pack the right kind of punch.

With a deafening explosion, the aircraft crashed into her deck and erupted into a sickeningly dark fireball. Hiei let out a cry of agony as the combined mass and the explosion punched through her topside armor just aft of her number two turret. Fires raged all over her superstructure as she held her wounded midsection as though it would alleviate the pain in some manner. Only sheer luck and the well practiced work of her damage control prevented the fires from spreading to her magazine.

"Hiei, pull out! Break! Princess has eyes!" Hatsuzuki rarely rose such a ruckus, but when she did you most certainly listened. Particularly when that ruckus was words of warning.

Even if that warning would prove fruitless.

Tosa chose that moment to reach out and truly touch somebody.

And that somebody was the second Kongou.

Battleship Princess' touch was as wicked as could be imagined. What's more, it was downright cruel when she decided effort was worth expending.

Hiei's eyes widened as fireballs erupted all along Tosa's broadside, signaling the imminent arrival of a lethal payload. Her mouth opened in a shout of warning, but no sound emanated from her lips.

Ten shells had been fired and a full half of them found their mark.

One tore half her radar and a fair chunk of her bridge away.

The second and third struck her number four turret. One near the gunport and the other near the barbette. A violent explosion blew the entire assembly apart as loaded powder was cooked off. One of the barrels was hurled so violently by the blast into the air that it crashed down halfway to Takao's position.

The fourth ripped the top half of her bow off in a messy burst of shredded armor and anchor chain.

And the fifth pierced deep into her side, coming to a halt near the magazines for her already imperiled number two turret and the damaged number one. If it had not been for the efforts to prevent an explosion of her stores already in place, the ensuing detonation of the Abyssal armor piercer would have blown Hiei to kingdom come in a scene very familiar to two certain battleships. Instead it only ravaged already damaged components to the point they would never be recognizable again.

But as she fell to her knees upon the water in a savaged and bloody heap, Battleship Hiei knew she was not yet dead. She still had her facilities. Her boilers and screws. She still had one set of working rifles.

Yet she could not move of her own volition. She was dimly aware of her surroundings. Of the list to one side and of the loss in power as she slowly drifted out of formation in a blazing wreck. Of the last few cookies she had saved falling into the bloody ocean.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she might have sworn she heard an explosion of rage and fury. But then there was nothing but darkness.

—|—|—

Yamashiro continued firing as a sickening numbness fell over her.

Her secondaries lit up a destroyer that had managed to sneak past Jintsuu's bloody offensive. The foul parody of British engineering had it's torpedoes set off before it had any chance to line up a shot, crippling the vessel before Tatsuta's guns finished the job with perhaps more firepower than was actually needed for the kill.

With an almost machine-like detachment, she swung her bow towards the enemy flagship to spoil the chance for Battleship Princess' next salvo to strike against her broadside. Takao was doing much the same with a much more stricken expression as her guns continued pouring fire onto the speedy Italian cruisers. There was a groan or tearing metal when one of the heavy cruiser's volleys struck below the waterline and gouged a lethal hole into the Abyssal hull. Yamashiro only noted there was one less target to worry about as the Guissano sank rapidly.

Kawakaze and Shigure broke off from Jintsuu's stern to flank the last Svetlana on each side. A barrage of torpedoes emptied their stock and blew the Russian to smithereens. There was next to nothing left of the cruiser below the waterline and what remained of it's internals sloughed out of the unsupported shell with the screech of grinding metal.

The pink haired destroyer gave only an extra moment to flip an obscene gesture at the corpse before rejoining Jintsuu and Shigure, her guns never going silent.

"A-Attention fleet," started Yamashiro before she fired another salvo at the Princess, managing to miss by a wide angle as the Abyssal flagship turned to return the favor of spoiling her firing solution. "I'm t-taking command. Hiei is critical. I repeat, Hiei is critical. P-possibly lost."

Hiei's unmoving hulk did not refute these words.

Far removed from the bloody crossfire, Kaga's heart turned to ice.

"Understood." She drew a deep breath while working to cycle out her fighters. "Your orders?"

Remain calm. Remain in control. Do not allow yourself to be anything other than precise, efficient, and dedicated. Hiei was a casualty of war. They all knew the risks and that an infinite number of factors could spell their end. Whether gallantly, foolishly, or brutally. They all could be sent to the deep without mercy.

"Kaga, you're overheating." Shimakaze's grief stricken face did not look at the fleet carrier as she pointed out the billows of steam rising from Kaga's feet. She wanted to get into the fight herself. But she had been ordered to guard one of Japan's few and precious carriers. And she would. What's more, blood would be repaid with blood, even if not by her. That was the only solace she could take at the violence against their flagship.

They could grieve and mourn should Hiei's fate prove to be final, but now they had to make sure the rest survived.

"Kill them. Clear the skies and kill the cruise-." Yamashiro was cut off as a roar of pain and anger erupted from the spearhead of the line. She looked towards Arizona, who was hunched over and spilling smoke from her bridge. The American's body was shaking and she could not tell whether from pain or from rage. "Get those planes in the a-air."

"Yamashiro, the Orion!" Tatsuta called out the British battleship's charge to cover Tosa before being forced to swing around in a tight circle so as to avoid incoming fire from said warship. A high capacity shell hit her fore turret and nearly tore it from it's mountings with a mighty blast. She bit her lip whilst dumping her fish into the water. Ablaze and wrought with shrapnel, the weapons were a greater liability to such an outdated ship as her.

But still she returned fire with her functioning guns, however ineffective they might prove to be. Tenryuu would never let her live it down if she let such a scratch keep her out of the fight.

Yamashiro was about to send orders to Takao, when Tosa furled another broadside into the air. This time split between the heavy cruiser and Arizona.

Two shells managed to strike the American, one only bouncing off her turret with a tremendous clanging sound. The other hit amidships and gouged a chunk of Arizona's belt out of her hull just aft of her rear tower. The wound was gaping and the most delicious vulnerability any enemy could ask for when against a heavily armored battleship. As if to speak her defiance, Arizona's rifles bellowed furiously in retaliation.

Takao was fortunate enough to only be struck once, but that single shell carried enough weight to demolish the central turret of her fore batteries. The impact rocked her terribly and she fought to stay stable. The savaged armament fell forward without sufficient support and crashed down on her forward-most turret, effectively knocking out as the metal twisted about itself.

The cruiser let out a cry of pain as her arm was effectively broken in twain. She could not help the tears of agony streaming down her face as the battle of attrition continued to rage.

"Ha-Hatsuzuki! Break off. G-Go help Hiei if you can." Yamashiro barked her orders with far less poise or authority than Hiei, but they were orders nonetheless. And would have been glad to see the destroyer follow them without even a moment of hesitation. She caught sight of Jintsuu's savage task force dance around and through fire, cutting themselves to butcher the destroyers lest they make for the much slower line of capital ships. The Fusou-Class would not stop them. Their job was needed.

More heavy fire sailed by, slashing down into the water or bouncing off of sufficiently armored surfaces.

As an Abyssal fighter slammed into an allied Zero, the sound of new aircraft reached the flagship's ears.

Kates.

All twenty-one members of Kaga's torpedo armament.

They screamed low to the surface like a wave of locusts. Far too low to be effectively engaged by anti-air installments and only high enough that the churning waves could barely splash against their deadly weapons.

Kaga was furious.

And the fury of Carrier Division One is not to be taken lightly.

Tosa could not engage the planes to protect her escorts without silencing her sixteen-inch rifles, not without allowing the brutalized allied the chance to effectively regroup. There were plenty of sacrifices she was willing to make. While not pleasant, she was more than willing to sacrifice her escorts if it allowed her to hunt the weakened shipgirls.

Paltry fire swatted down two of the vengeful planes, but they screamed forward nearly unimpeded towards the Italian cruisers.

Up above, the surviving Zeros threw themselves into a frenzy. Dangerous risks. Near suicidal turns. And maneuvers that came close to tearing their own planes apart. All to keep the dwindling Abyssal planes in check. Even if reinforcements came, they would be set upon by screaming eagles.

In moments, the water was filled with torpedoes. Three groups. All chewing through the sea like ravenous sharks.

One Kate took a shot to the wing, slicing it off and sending it tumbling into the Guissano is had targeted. The ensuing explosion was made all the more furious when the spread of torpedoes struck.

Kaga's planes had brought down the hammer upon the cruisers and in a series of oily explosions, nailed down the coffins on two cruisers that remained. The third having barely escaped with it's life. But it's hull was still a wretched mass of twisted steel. Mortally wounded, it began charging at the battle-line.

It would never make it even halfway.

Jintsuu loosed the fox and the hound upon the last two destroyers while she cut hard towards the final Guissano. Her eyes were empty all for a serene violence. This monster did not harm Hiei. Not even close. But she would murder it as if it had been Tosa herself.

Her torpedoes flew from from their tubes madly, knifing into the water or bouncing off of it in a bizarrely savage display. Guns barked viciously as she dismantled her opponent. Fires raged and blacked steel was torn. One by one Jintsuu's torpedo struck with great plumes of fire and water. One of her weapons flew from the water and crashed against the bridge of the Italian, detonating with such ferocity that the bridge was reduced to little more than scrap.

Her foe dead, but her anger was not satiated.

"She's running!" shouted Kawakaze as she killed one of two destroyers still afloat.

Sure enough, expending the Orion as a shield, Tosa was attempting to put on steam and flee the field. But she did not silence her guns. Not in the slightest.

That was the last straw.

" _GET BACK HERE!_ "

From Battleship Arizona erupted a roar of undiluted fury. Her guns exploded in unison, hurling a wrathful salvo at Battleship Princess as she put everything she had into hitting flank and charging at her hated enemy. The anger mounted when they missed wildly or merely deflected off of an armored face.

"Arizona! Get back here! Ge-!" Yamashiro tried to stop the standard battleship to no avail, watching almost helplessly as her commands were ignored. She did not hold the leash that Hiei did. And even then she was not certain she would not do the same if she was not saddled with the duty of a flagship. "All ships! Cover Arizona!"

The unanimous confirmation drew all guns that could still speak to fire upon the last two enemy vessels as their owners cut in to regroup and fulfill their orders.

Arizona paid no attention to her sudden support. Her blood-tinged vision saw only objects of hatred. Targets of vengeance. Things to kill. Monsters to slaughter.

The golden flecks of her steely eyes glowed like yellow fire while she shouted her throat hoarse in tune to her guns. She cared not for her safety as her crews began firing far faster than they were ever rated to. Her damage control focused only on what would let her kill more and kill longer. As an incarnation of wrath, Arizona descended into a state not unlike an enraged beast.

The Orion appeared to flinch in the face of her wrath and under the pummelling of support fire, its returning fire missing wildly.

But Arizona did not care for the effect she inflicted upon the Abyssal.

A furious roar was spoken in a tongue not recognizable by any as Arizona incoherently demanded that the Orion get out of her way.

When it did not comply, her guns blasted the British warship's midsection with a volley from both forward turrets. The barrage was married with every functional secondary Arizona could physically aim at it. It pierced deep into the machine spaces and the detonation of her armor pierces shredded everything to ribbons. Fires raged and made their way down the innards of the Abyssal.

With plumes of fire exploding out of the weakened armor, the last Orion was rent asunder beneath Arizona's savagery and the combined fire of her allies.

But the real target still evaded her.

Tosa fired her aft cannons to drive away her pursuers, forcing Takao and Yamashiro to take evasive action or be slain openly. Meanwhile the Abyssal's secondaries held the destroyers and cruisers at bay. Even Jintsuu was unable to move in through the walls of gunfire being projected in front of her. A daring advance nearly took her head off as a barrage of five-and-a-half inch shells raked down her superstructure.

"Kaga, can you get planes on her?" demanded Yamashiro as she continued firing to support the charging Arizona.

"Negative. Not without sacrificing what I already have in the air."

Yamashiro held back a curse before turning her attention from Tosa to Arizona.

"All forces! Stand down and fall back. Focus on repair and recovery." The dark haired battleship swallowed her nerves as she called out the end of the battle. "Battleship Princess is fleeing. W-We've completed our mission. Repeat. Mission complete..."

She refused to say they had won.

"ARIZONA! _STAND DOWN!_ " Jintsuu shouted with the kind of deathly authority Hiei normally commanded.

The redhead fired one last salvo before slowing down, the fourteen inch shells flying with the last of her fury.

Of those that struck, only one managed to draw blood from Tosa.

It did not pierce anything of value. Nor did it come close to inflicting any real damage. But it did manage to punch clean through Tosa's smokestack.

It was the most severe wound inflicted on Battleship Princess during the entire engagement.

As the fleet regrouped and set about doing everything they could to save the dying Hiei, Arizona fell to her knees. Her eyes, now filled with a hateful despair remained focused on the distance and the smoke trail in the southeastern sky left by Tosa.

They had driven off the enemy.

They had completed their missions.

But at tremendous cost.

Battleship Arizona clenched her eyes, letting filthy tears fall to mingle with bloody wounds before roaring her impotent fury at the heavens.


	101. Chapter 76: And Then Complications

**Chapter 76: And Then Complications  
**

Crowning knit his brows as a low, rumbling growl fought its way up his throat and past the bristling palisade of his close-cropped beard. The professor glared at the rows—and rows and _rows_ —of books filling his shelves. His gaze swept over their uncooperative spines like the singular unshaded bulb in the cliché interrogation scene.

He was missing something. There was an answer waiting for him in one of those musty tomes, he _knew it_. He just didn't know where it was. Or _what_ it was. Or what the _question_ was. He just couldn't shake the feeling in the back of his mind that there was some part of the puzzle he hadn't found yet.

But that feeling was almost drowned out by another, much more potent feeling. New Jersey, the woman he loved more than anything in life, the fighting paladin of silk and steel was hurting. She was hurting and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

It ate at him, rendering even Bannie's delicious cooking barely even palatable. Jersey was hurting and he couldn't help her, not unless he could figure out _why_ she was… unless he could figure out those dreams. He refused to accept that she was a demon, a traitor, or anything _but_ the hero she was born to be.

"Dammit," Crowning grunted under his breath. His fingernails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists. He could go on for hours about how Jersey was… was _everything._ But he couldn't, not now. Not when he had a war to win.

Before he could droop back into his brooding, a few brief knocks at his door drew his attention. "Hey, Doc?" the tell-tale sing-song lilt of Lou's accent bounced though the air, "Ya got a minute?"

Crowning sighed. Staring at his books for another hour wasn't going to help. "Yeah, come in."

"Thanks," Lou smiled even wider than normal as she slipped though the door. Her coppery red hair flickered like a bonfire, and the cruiser clasped her hands behind her back. The leather of her gun-harness creaked as she shifted her hips from side to side. "So, uh… Hi."

Crowning cocked an eyebrow and settled down on the edge of his desk. "So, what brings you here, Lou?"

Lou's cheeks blushed almost as red as her hair, and she quietly pushed the door closed with the heel of her boot. "I need your help, doc. Apparently… you're the base expert on shipgirl romance?"

"How did you-"

"Cruiser," Lou waved up and down her sinewy body with a timid smirk.

Crowning hung his head, "Is there anything you don't know?"

Lou giggled, "How many babies you and Jersey are gonna have?"

For a moment, Crowning lost himself in an unexpected thought. Jersey and him, smiling from ear to ear while she balanced a tiny little thing on her leg—with another happily working up in the oven. Then he came to his senses. "Lou?"

"Huh?"

"There's a bet on this, isn't there."

"Oooooh yeah," Lou smiled. "Pola's got twenty bucks on three."

"Pola?" Crowning frowned. He didn't know any girls by that name, it didn't sound Japanese and it sure as hell wasn't American.

"Regina Marina," said Lou. "She's based down in… Sicily I think."

"Sicily," Crowning sighed. "Are there _are_ girls who don't know about me and Jersey?"

"Nope!" Lou beamed a brilliant smile at him.

"Do I want to know what you've got money on?"

"I've got fifty bucks that says the two of you'll crap out at least five," Lou sighed wistfully into the middle distance.

"Five?" Crowning winced at the thought. He might love Jersey, but imagining her trying to ride heard on five little boatlets was… terrifying. To say nothing of five rounds of pregnant Jersey cravings.

"It's my favorite number," explained Lou. "Besides, you're telling me you're _not_ gonna stick that torpedo up her skirt every chance you get."

Crowning opened his mouth, but all that came out were the wordless mouth flaps of a goldfish abruptly removed from the comfort of its little bowl. That mental image was one he… he honestly wished never entered his mind. He had a hard enough time focusing around her when she was just being _cute_ , not _hot_. "Well," the professor coughed, "You came here for help?"

"Mmhm," Lou nodded, her mane of flaming hair falling over her shoulders as she leaned in. She glanced over one shoulder, examining her surrounding for any eavesdroppers before doing the same over her other shoulder. "So… Yeoman Gale…"

Crowning didn't say a word. This was going to go poorly and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it.

"She's a lesbian, right?"

Crowning had to think for a moment. Not to find the answer, _that_ had been blatantly obvious from the moment he met her, but just to get his mind back into some semblance of order. "Yeah…"

"Is uh," Lou flipped a chuck of her coppery hair, "Is she into redheads?"

Crowning swore he heard record players screech. "Uh…"

Lou smiled and lazily turned a chunk of her messy mane around between her gloved fingers, one hand resting on the professor's desk while she awaited her answer.

"I…" Crowning shook his head, "I think…" he scowled. There was no easy way out here. Gale's crush on Wash was infamous, but the battleship's feelings were far harder to read. Crowning would hate to ruin her chances with Wash. But could a challenger finally prompt Wash to do something obvious?

Luckily, a brisk knock on the door saved Crowning from having to answer. Muttering a brief prayer of thanks to whatever wacky god watched over the affairs of shipgirls, he leaned out from behind Lou's sinewy bulk and tried to find his voice. "Y-yeah? Come in."

"Thank you."

Crowning's face paled. The door swung on its hinges like greased lighting, its motion seeming far more fluid and graceful simply by being in the presence of the girl it opened to reveal.

The massively busty frame of battleship Washington stood waiting in the doorway. Her short splinter-pattered miniskirt rustled over her broad hips, and her long silk scarf fluttered in a gust that somehow managed to perfectly frame her porcelain face with that beautiful russet brown hair.

"Wash?" Crowning sighed.

"Wash!" Lou lept off Crowning's desk so fast her head left a dent in the ceiling. "HeyHiIHaveToGoGotCruiserThingsToDoBye!" She dashed past the serene battleship, nearly colliding with the latter's breasts before bolting down the hallway as fast as her sinewy legs could carry her.

For a few seconds, the sounds of Lou's guns clattering in her harness were the only things to be heard.

The Wash covered her mouth and let out a polite cough.

"So," Crowning sighed, "That happened."

"It did indeed," Wash nodded sagely. "May I come in?"

"I… I said you could," said the Professor.

"Yes, but… the last time you did, I snuck up on you regardless."

"Right," Crowning sighed, "Well, you're welcome to enter this time."

Wash smiled and sashayed into the room with that hip-swinging gait of hers. It reminded Crowning of Jersey's walk, only Wash had a bit more ladylike swoosh on her step and _far_ less prideful swagger. Her short miniskirt bounced at her hips, threating her dignity if it weren't for her tight undershorts and thigh-high stockings. "I would like to enlist your help, doctor." The battleship smiled and placed a plate full of fresh-baked cookies on his desk, "And I've brought these as payment."

Crowning arched an eyebrow and popped one of the soft cookies into his mouth. The chocolate chips were just _barely_ cool enough to hold together, and the mere heat of his body was enough to cause them to melt on his tongue.

The professor thought, then swallowed."Okay," he said, "What do you need?"

"I need your help in the area of… romance," Wash sheepishly scuffed one boot against the back of her ankle, her gaze drifting to her toes—or where her toes would be if her upperworks weren't in the way.

Crowning coughed, "Uh… what?"

"Romance," said the serene battleship. "Love. With your literary training you must be familiar with the subject, and given that Jersey's carrying your bun in her-"

"What!" Crowning's eyes almost bugged out of his face.

Wash blinked. "Is that not what the bet was about?"

"No!" Crowning shook his head, "No, that's… we've…"

"But you do _want_ to?" asked Wash. There wasn't a note of subtext in her voice, just an honest question from a kind young woman.

"Yes! Wait!" Crowning scowled, "Wash, you never heard any of this."

The battleship nodded.

"And you _never_ tell Jersey."

"Tell her what?" For a second, Crowning thought Wash had just missed the point like her usual oblivious self. Then she flashed him a tiny glimmer of a wink. "So you _do_ know romance?"

"More or less," sighed Crowning, "Why?"

"I…" Wash wrung her hands, "I spent last night at Yeoman Gale's apartment."

Crowning arched his eyebrow. If the two were _finally_ getting together… not only did it mean some much needed happiness for his friend the sailor, it meant a tidy prize for Crowning. He had a hundred bucks on them making out before the end of the year.

"Her tummy is…" Wash sighed. Actually _sighed_ , her face fell into a contented smile and her cheeks glowed a rosy hue, "the most perfect pillow I've ever enjoyed."

"Oh is it?" said Crowning.

Wash nodded, "But when we woke up this morning… Gale didn't want anything to do with me."

Crowning knit his brows. That didn't make sense, didn't make any sense at all. "Pardon?"

"I offered to make her breakfast," said Wash, "I thought… I thought maybe she might be interested in me, so I showed off a little." The battleship mimed working at an imaginary counter. Her back was arched just enough to thrust out her butt,the hem her miniskirt riding up just enough to display the tight fabric of her undershorts over her stern.

"And?" Crowning took a brief glance at the battleship's stern. He was so shocked at Wash's sudden display of… well _that,_ that it almost drowned out the part of his mind yelling about how much better _Jersey's_ aft was.

"And," Wash drifted back into her usual stature, her skirt falling back down to cover her shafts, "Her eyes went everywhere _but_ me." The battleship's shoulders slumped, "Does she think I'm ugly?"

"You?" Crowning glanced over the battleship's figure. Her bulging breasts, her slender waist, her broad hips. He could see why Gale would feel jealous—or worse yet, _ugly_ —next to curves like that. "I… don't think that's the problem."

"Oh?" Wash tilted her head.

"Wash, uh," Crowning bit his lip. He was treading on thin ice, and he already knew he'd left the boundaries of Gale's privacy behind long _long_ ago. But still, she was his friend. He couldn't bring himself to… to violate her trust like that. "This is something you should really talk to _her_ about."

"I tried," said Wash, "While we ate breakfast, I tried to bring it up," the battleship's already cloudy countenance dimmed even more, "she wouldn't even look me in the eyes."

Crowning winced, and he brought both hands up to massage his temples, "Wash, how much did you eat?"

"Not much," said Wash. For a second she waited, then a faerie popped out of her cleavage and handed her a tiny folder. "Oh, thank you, chief."

The faerie snapped off a salute before ducking back into the folds of Wash's uniform vest.

"Let's see…" Wash flipped open the thumbnail-sized folder and squinted at the minute writing. "Two hundred twenty three pancakes; eight-eight links of sausage; eighty-two eggs, scrambled—" The battleship's voice trailed off, her mouth making a tiny "o" shape. "Oh," she mumbled.

"Yeah," Crowning gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"I…" Wash crumpled the report in her hands, "This is all my fault."

"No, Wash," Crowning sighed. "You couldn't have known."

"I… I should have," Wash collapsed onto her haunches with a quiet whimper.

Crowning frowned and mussed the quiet battleship's hair. "Wash, you made a mistake. That's all. It just means you're human."

Wash blinked, "But I'm not. I'm a—"

"A ship, yes," Crowning sighed. "Look… you want to make this better?"

Wash nodded glumly.

"Gale likes you," said the Professor, "She knows you meant well, and she's not going to hold it against you."

"You really think so?" Wash stared up at him, utter incredulity in her eyes.

"Yeah," Crowning nodded, "Romance expert, remember?"

Wash didn't look any less unsure.

"Look, you want to make this work?"

Wash nodded, "Very much so, sir."

"Okay," Crowning settled back against the corner of his desk. "Do something _with_ her, not _for_ her."

Wash's head tilted to the side like a confused puppy.

"She plays DnD, doesn't she?" said Crowning. "Ask if you can join. Get her comfortable with you as… as something more than a girl who eats more than she can."

"Oooooh," Wash nodded, "Okay. That makes sense." The battleship sprung to her feet, her hand snapping to her brow in a crisp salute. "Battleship _Washington_ , Weigh Anchor!"

"Wash?"

"What?" The battleship stopped her storming walk half-way to the door.

"We have a summoning to be at," Crowning glanced at his watch, "In twenty minutes."

"Oh," Wash's shoulders slumped, but not nearly as far as they had earlier. "Later then?"

"Later." Crowning smiled and gave the busty battleship a gentle side-hug. A hug that she gleefully returned. "But not _too_ much later."

Yeoman Sarah Gale stood pressed up against the summoning chamber railing and tried her very best to keep from squealing like a three year old presented with an all-you-can-eat candy buffet. She tried, and failed. Failed utterly and miserably.

A wordless, girlish squeal of utter bliss slipped through her lips. Her heart fluttered against her chest like sixteen butterflies flitting around with electric energy. She wasn't sure where she got 'sixteen' from, but it just felt… right.

"Gale?" Lou's easy-going accent danced out a few feet from Gale's waiting ear.

Gale squealed again as her utter glee mixed with a note of surprise.

"Easy, girl," Lou smiled, then looked down and gave her shirt a quick tug. After a moment contemplating her own bosom, the cruiser glanced over at Gale and shot her one of those fireside-warm Lou smiles. "What's got you so excited?"

Gale tried to form a coherent word, but all that came out was another giddy scream. At least this time she managed to jab her finger at the orchestra assembling at the center of the summoning chamber.

An orchestra led by a nondescript man in a crisp suit. A nondescript man with a smile on his round face like a balding, giddy Santa Claus.

Lou pursed her lips and stared at the man. Her gaze locked in on his balding silver hair with the kind of focus only a cruiser could really manage. Her hips bumped against Gale's as she jockeyed for position.

Gale couldn't tear her eyes off the man with the conductor's wand, even as he lead the orchestra in their warm-up. Until she bounced into something else. Something wrapped around her arm like a comforting fleece blanket straight out of the dryer. Something soft and warm and squishy and firm. Something that could only be a certain battleship's breasts.

"Mrph!" was the most eloquent thing Gale could manage as she slowly ratcheted her head over to her side. Wash was standing there, seemingly oblivious to the sailor's arm planted firmly in her cleavage. Her nice, _soft_ cleavage.

Wash just smiled that airy smile of hers and tossed a loose strand of hair back with a flick of her head. One arm crossed across her waist, pinning Gale's arm against her bosom.

"So, Gale," Lou coughed, her voice a tiny bit more focused than normal. "Who _is_ that?"

It was at that moment that the orchestra swelled with a soaring mix of strings and brass. A march of idealism and hope that everyone in the room knew.

 _Daaaaaa Da Da Daaa DA DA DA_

Lou's chest swelled with pride at the song she didn't—couldn't recognize. But it didn't matter, those few notes were all she needed. She _knew_ what it was. "Superman," she breathed.

Gale, however, was far less solemn. The sailor just squealed incoherently and would have fallen to the floor if Wash wasn't pinning her arm into her cleavage. "JOHN WILLIAMS!"

—|—|—

 _Peace. Darkness. Still…_

The Depths wrapped around her, cradling her in its embrace, protecting her with its vastness. Offering her the rest of one who'd done her duty.

Through two brutal wars she'd done her duty.

She'd seen her charges die before her eyes.

Seen them vanish in pillars of fire and powder by an enemy they never knew.

Seen them die slow, painful deaths as their crew begged to be rescued. So close she could hear their cries, yet still beyond her grasp.

For every ship she'd seen die, she'd seen a dozen brutally mauled.

Their turrets wrecked, their decks shredded, their bows twisted and mangled.

Their spirits unbroken.

 **General Quarters**

She did not fight with them, she could not.

But she gave her last measure keeping them in the fight.

 **General Quarters**

For the first time in as long as her shadowy memory could recall, she was warm.

Boilers clanked to life as she woke from her long slumber.

 **General Quarters**

She heard a voice. Not the thundering concussion filling her brain, the echoing thunder of her klaxon, the screams of an air-raid nobody saw coming.

No, she heard voices. Hundreds of them.

Begging for her return, pleading for her to join their cause.

But one stood out among the many.

A voice she hadn't heard in far, far too long.

The voice of her beloved captain.

 **Lads, we're getting this ship underway**

She smiled, the warmth of the sun beaming against her face.

Her slumber was over.

She gathered her crew, her tools, her very soul, and turned her bow to the sun.

Weigh Anchor.

—|—|—

The summoning chamber fell into a silence to complete even a pin dropping would be deafening, but Admiral Williams barely even noticed the change. His attention—practically his whole universe—tunneled down around the girl waiting patiently in the middle of the glass-smooth summoning pool.

She was old—by shipgirl standards—she looked like she was at least in her thirties. Two bulging leather-on-canvas tool belts hung off her hips, forming an ad-hoc skirt covering her ragged, oil-splattered shorts. A cropped leather welding jacket hung off her shoulders, its chunky brass fasteners gleaming in the candle light.

Her hands were planted on her hips, hems of her gloves rolled back over her wrists. Her long gray-streaked-brown hair faded to coal black at the tip of her lazy ponytail, but her brilliant green eyes quivered with laser-like focus.

On her shoulders, a full half-dozen faeries in miniature canvas diving suits stood on her shoulders. Their hoses trailed along to the harness on her back, and each carried a tiny, mirror-polished brass helmet under its tiny arm.

The girl stiffened as she saw Williams—and the stars resting on his collar. "Sir!" she brought one hand up to the mirrored welding goggles pushed up onto her forehead. The diving fairies mimicked her motion with their heavy mittens. "Repair ship USS _Vestal_ , AR-4, reporting."

Williams smiled, and returned her salute with one of his own. "Vestal, you don't know how glad we are to have you back."

"I'm glad to be back, sir." Vestal smiled, flashing teeth stained with coal and grit. "Let's get to work."


	102. A Certain Lady Part 18

**A Certain Lady Part 18**

Save the destroyers circling around the bunched formation like a school of sharks, not a soul paid any attention to Kaga's steady approach.

Shimakaze put on more speed to join the circle with her bloodied comrades. It was her duty with the rest of them to maintain a perimeter on the surface while Kaga maintained a constant air patrol with whet planes she had remaining. It required a constant vigilance than could only have come from due practice and experience. Still, she could not help herself from stealing more than a few glances towards the rest of the fleet. All huddled as tightly as possible around the hulk that had been their flagship.

"Yamashiro! Tighter!" Takao did not look up at the short haired Fusou-Class as they worked frantically to stop the hemorrhaging of Hiei's upper right extremities. The arm was a ruin, barely discernible as a limb, and it took the full strength Yamashiro could muster to apply a tourniquet strong enough to stop further loss of blood and oil.

Takao herself had tried, but having a broken arm herself had made it next to impossible. All she could do was tear up strips of cloth to use as makeshift bandages as the women and their damage control crews worked themselves to the bone.

"Any more and it'll tear. Just give me more!" demanded Yamashiro with a bloody hand after tying off the latest bandage. She wiped the sweat from her brow, leaving behind an oily crimson streak.

"I'm going as fast as I can!"

They had already prepared themselves to lose the limb. Stopping the loss of vital fluids through that wound became the more pressing concern.

Even if the detonation of Hiei's forward magazines had been prevented, the damage to everything fore of her conning tower would have killed some lesser ships two or even three time over. It was a miracle in and of itself that Hiei even had a pulse when they had reached her, laying face down and unmoving on the ocean's surface.

"I-" Jintsuu was cut off as Arizona thrust her neckerchief into her hands. The cruiser immediately set to using it in conjunction with all the other pieces of clothing she had been using to hold Hiei's head together.

The catastrophe against Hiei's bridge had inflicted a horrendous wound, one that would have killed an ordinary human. And while the loss of the bridge was hardly fatal to a warship, in the wrong circumstances it was pretty close. And no one had exactly been eager to find out exactly what the consequences were for a shipgirl.

Jintsuu drew up every fiber of control she had to keep herself composed even though she knew her expression was one of grief. A far cry from the visage of violence she had worn so very recently. But she needed to remain focused. She needed her wits about her if they were to have even a hope of bringing Hiei home. Each time her fingers felt like they were going start twitching, she crushed the instinct with a vicious haste.

She idly nodded her thanks as Takao handed her a new set of makeshift bandages. Perhaps if a life so dear to them was not in such peril, they might be joking about how Hiei was going to end up looking like a mummy.

They still might.

When the danger had passed or Hiei woke up that is.

...if she woke up.

Jintsuu shook her head sharply, banishing those dark thoughts from her mind. She had a job to do.

Much like her fellow cruiser, Tatsuta was hard at work. Her focus however was the myriad chunks of ravaged steel and the twisted masses of metal that had become Hiei's midsection. She remained deathly silent however. Speaking only when she required Arizona's brute strength or more materials in her work. Like an old hand, she worked deftly and with unerringly precise movements.

In fact the only time she had really said anything outside of a request for aid had been a razor sharp rebuke towards the sole American present.

Tatsuta was well aware of Arizona's desire to help. She was neither blind nor stupid. But letting American damage control crews run rampant on a Japanese ship would have been the equivalent of giving someone a transfusion with the wrong blood type. At least while those crews were not yet intimately familiar with their systems. Thankfully there had been no questioning of her command. Perhaps she ought to use that tone of voice more often.

No matter. Thoughts for later.

She carefully used the blade of her broken spear to cut away a razor sharp wedge of metal that was pressing dangerously against one of Hiei's boilers. Her halo spun in tune with her calculated incisions. Never too fast and never too slow.

"Arizona, pull that shrapnel out. The piece next to my right hand. Only that one." There was a second piece present, but removing it might do more harm than good at the moment.

"This one?" Arizona queried as she carefully reached into Hiei's abdomen. There was a snow nod and she extracted the malevolent shard of metal with the same caution she had used to find it.

The redhead swore she saw a twitch run down what remained of Hiei's mostly intact left arm when the metal was pulled free. But it could have been a trick of the light. Or a hallucination of a desperate woman.

She did not gaze at the Abyssal metal, not like she had the first shard. It was no different from the countless others she had helped Tatsuta pull free during the agonizingly slow process of meatball surgery. And like the rest, she dropped it into the drink. Only a few shards had been saved and they rested in her breast pocket, still warm with Hiei's blood.

There was a small part of her that was genuinely amazed at how well she was handling the situation.

Her damage control crews had been told to stay put and focus on her own repairs, such as they were. She had taken a hit to the bridge in much the same way Hiei had, but she hadn't suffered nearly the same degree of damage. The large chunk of flesh that had been shot away to give her a rather horrific appearance was already on the mend.

Granted, the large section of her belt that had been savaged was and would take a long time to repair. And the large amounts of damage to her superstructure hurt like blazes. But she had come out of the battle rather well off all things considering.

All the while her allies and her friends had suffered.

Suffered considerable wounds and damages the likes of which would put them out of action for days and even weeks depending.

Her guns had drawn blood. Her guns had slain the enemy. Her desire to fight and finally do her duty as a battleship had been fulfilled at long last. It was not the pathetic showing that had required Albacore's intervention to stave off death. It had been her moment to charge into battle and be what she had always meant to be!

But her guns had not been powerful enough. Her speed left her trailing behind every other combatant. Only the armor she girded herself with had been remotely worth anything. She hadn't been able to stop Tosa. Not from striking down Hiei. Not from inflicting grievous wounds or swatting planes from the skies. And certainly not from abandoning the field. Tosa had left because she wanted to. Not from the threat she or anyone else had presented.

They may have killed the escorts, but Arizona knew that Battleship Princess had left on her own terms.

Arizona's moment of glory. To draw fire and be the unstoppable bulwark for her allies.

And Tosa had laughed in her face...

It was galling. Infuriating. Humiliating. She wanted nothing more than to tear the Abyssal warship asunder with her bare hands and make her suffer as she did so. Every pain. Every agony inflicted by Tosa would be repaid a thousand fold. Against her and against anyone else.

And here she was, calm and detached as could be.

"-zona. Arizona!"

Yamashiro's voice cut into her darkening thoughts and snapped her gaze towards their fleet's current flagship.

"I- I'm sorry. I was..." What was she doing? Helping Tatsuta, right?

A bloodstained hand fell upon her shoulder gently and she looked upwards at the owner, unknowing of the fading golden light from her eyes.

"We've done all we can. You can stop now." Jintsuu's now exhausted tone would have shaken Arizona to the core had it not been for the faint hint of relief upon her face. "She's... She'll be stable enough for the trip home."

Arizona snapped her attention back to the brutalized form of her... her friend, and perhaps even rival. While still looking no better than a slab of meat having gone through the grinder, there was a now a slow and steady rise and fall of the second Kongou's chest. Despite the beating inflicted upon her, Hiei drew breath.

Battleship Hiei yet lived.

"Th-Thank g-goodness..." Perhaps she had simply been on autopilot the entire time? Arizona was fairly certain Tatsuta would have said or done something if she began to slip in any way. But still, it was highly disconcerting...

"Hey! We're not out of the woods yet!" shouted Kawakaze from the circling patrol, breaking the moment of relief.

"She's right." Takao pointed at the American redhead before continuing. "We're going to need your coat for a cot. There's no way we can tow her safely in anyone's condition and it was reported that New Jersey was able to carry one of her own wounded. So we'll do the same for Hiei. Also, you and Yamashiro will carry her."

"I'll follow your lead, Arizona." Yamashiro grasped the tail of the large greatcoat and worked to bring it up underneath Hiei's floating form. They might not have the most shaft power, but there was little denying that they held the strongest human forms of all present.

It took a few tries, but finally the two battleships were able to lift the unconscious Hiei from the water. There was plenty of jostling. However they held fast and did everything they could to keep her as stable as possible. All the while, Takao barked orders to the remainder of the fleet.

"Hiei... I- I don't know if you can hear me, but..." Arizona began with a whisper, not even trying to turn towards her carried charge. "We'll get you home. Safe and sound."

As the fleet formed up and began putting on steam towards home, Battleship Arizona's eyes narrowed.

"That is one duty I will not fail."


	103. Chapter 77: Iowa Class Happytimes

**Chapter 76: Iowa Class Happytimes  
**

Support carrier Shinano hugged herself under the warm spray of the shower, letting the crisp, clear droplets wash away the last bits of oil dock water clinging to her skin. She almost didn't care that she had to sit on her knees to stay under the shower head, it felt so… _right_ against her bare skin.

The water washed over her back, forming little rivers in the valleys between her muscles and pooling around her legs. She knew she wasn't fit to fight—her crew were _still_ getting reamed out by one of Akashi's red-faced fae. But she was feeling _better._ She felt her crew—under the watchful eyes of Akashi's teams—working away.

Tiny pinpricks of heat from their welding torches tickled the insides of her flanks and thighs. She felt herself grow stronger as her watertight bulkheads were shored up until they were worthy of the name. She felt like… not a proper carrier. But at least a proper warship.

And then she glanced down at her bulging breasts and sniffled. She hated them, giant fleshy reminders of her past. She wasn't a carrier, not really. She was a hurriedly done, half-assed conversion of an obsolete battleship. An act of desperation borne of the need for _anything_ with a deck.

Shinano slouched her shoulders, squeezing herself as tight as she could. A quiet mopey whimper slipped though her lips, and the giant carrier slumped against the tiled shower hall.

"Um, Shinano?" Ryuujou's gentle accent wafted though the steam-heavy air. Shinano _hated_ being naked around a _proper_ carrier like her, but she couldn't bear to be alone. "Ya doing okay, hun?"

Shinano sniffed, and nodded glumly. She heard the other shower shut off, then a gentle patter of bare feet against slick tile. The soft footsteps of a carrier who carried one more plane for one-seventh the displacement.

"Anything I can do for ya?" Ryuujou crouched down on her haunches, and gently placed one hand around the converted carrier's massive neck.

"Stay here," Shinano let herself slump against Ryuujou, her head smashing into her deck with a soft squish.

Ryuujou coughed at the impact, her feet sliding across the slick floor as Shinano's massive weight overcame her meager horsepower.

"S-sorry," Shinano blushed a brilliant red and tried to make herself small again.

Ryuujou waved a hand dismissively, bruises forming on her heaving chest as she struggled to get her wind back.

Shinano quivered, her gaze going slack as she stared at her reflection in the tile. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Izzawwwrit," said Ryuujou with what little lung capacity she'd regained control over. She clutched at her chest and hissed out a cry of pain as softly as she could manage.

"I'll…" Shinano's voice was so quiet it was almost lost in the patter of water hitting her skin, "I'll be more careful."

Ryuujou eased herself back onto her feet, and gave the converted carrier's head a gentle kiss. "I'm sure ya will, Shina."

"Shina?" Shinano cocked her head to the side.

"Yeah," Ryuujou hurriedly wrapped a towel around herself. Her chest might be covered in bruises, but she didn't have to let Shinano know that, "It's a nickname."

Shinano just tilted her head a bit more.

"You know," Ryuujou tugged at her towel to make sure it covered her properly, "People give 'em to people they like."

It took Shinano a moment to process that. Then her face blushed even redder, and a smile crept across her chubby cheeks that even her timidness couldn't fully subdue. "Thank you, Ryuujou."

"Anytime, hun." Ryuujou smiled and tossed the giant support carrier a towel. After a moment's contemplation of Shinano's enormous figure, she tossed another one over. "Now let's get dressed."

"Okay," Shinano hurriedly tied one towel around her chest—squishing down her breasts as best she could—and patted herself dry with the other. Everything went smoothly until the two girls reached the locker rooms.

"Um…" Shinano awkwardly held a long strip of cloth between her fingers. "Um, Ryuujou?"

"Huh?" Ryuujou glanced over with one eyebrow cocked at the ready.

"You wouldn't know how to tie sarashi?" Shinano offered a timidly hopeful smile, "would you?"

"Sorry, hun," Ryuujou patted her own flat chest, "Never had the need."

"Oh," Shinano's shoulders slumped, and her towel almost gave way. "S-sorry."

"Tell you what," Ryuujou pulled her cap on and spun it around with a flourish. "I'm sure someone here does, I'll be back in a minute, okay?"

Shinano nodded, and slouched back against her locker with a quiet "Mmmfh."

Ryuujou darted though the light carrier locker rooms, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in focus.

She was pretty sure Shinano wouldn't want CarDiv1 to know about her inexperience, but that didn't really matter. According to _Janes'_ , Akagi and Kaga wore fitted bras, not traditional sarashi—something that surprised Ryuujou when she first learned about it. But considering their topside displacement, it made a fair bit of sense.

The light carrier darted from bay to bay, sticking her head into the semicircle of lockers just long enough to check for any occupants before she dashed to the next one. After two empty bays, she found her first potential lead.

Many shipgirls had certain rituals they liked to perform after finishing a full docking. Kaga was infamous for sitting serenely on her feet and sharpening her sword while intently staring into this horizon. The Akatsuki sisters would discuss whatever shenanigans they had planned for the day, and Ashigara would give herself a 'you're hot, the boys want you' pep-talk when she thought people weren't looking.

Not all of the rituals were so solemn.

"Woohoo~~!" a very drunk, very naked Jun'You giggled from the middle of the floor. A bone-dry bottle of sake bounced between her breasts—breasts that looked roughly on par with Shinano's pair, at least considering how much tinier the light carrier was. "Jun'You is out of the dock! WOOHOO!"

Ryuujou smiled, and scuffed her toe against an empty locker. "Jun'you?"

The drunk carrier glanced over, that impossibly spiky hair going every which way. "Oh," she thought for a second. "Heyyyyyy, Ar-Jaaaaay~" she fished a fresh bottle of Sake out of… somewhere, "Wanna jo-" she hiccuped, "-join?"

"I'm good," Ryuujou smiled at the happy light carrier. "I need your help though."

"Hmm…" Jun'You put a finger to her lips, the bottle between her breasts firmly wedging in place with the motion. "What with?"

"You're pretty…" Ryuujou hovered her hands well over her chest, drawing out the shape of invisible boobs.

"Heh," Jun'You giggled, and glanced down at her upperworks, "Innit I?"

Ryuujou rolled her eyes. "You know how to tie sarashi?"

Jun'You shook her head, that magnificent mane of hers continuing to sway for a good minute afterwards. "Nah, sorreh!" She patted her curvy figure, "Imma bra girl. When I'm not free-boobehen." She smiled, and started humming a passable approximation of Skynyrd's _Freebird_.

"Okay," Ryuujou sighed, "Thanks for the help."

"Nooooooo problemah~" Jun'You upended her bottle and got most of the content to splash in a generally mouthwardsly direction. "Should ask Mamaboat though, she'd know."

Ryuujou kicked herself for that. Of _course_ Houshou'd know what to do! She always did.

—|—|—

Support carrier Shinano hugged her legs to her chest and sank into the corner of her shower. The slick wet tile felt cold against her bare skin, and the last drops of soapy water squished between her toes.

She liked the corner. The corner was her friend. It was something to lean on—or at least against—when she was feeling down. Which… to be really honest, was most of the time. Akashi's fairies were _still_ screaming at her poor damage control teams, but Shinano couldn't really blame them.

She was _supposed_ to be a bastion. An unsinkable auxiliary darting behind the lines handing out planes and fuel to the battle weary _real_ carriers who needed it. And now she learned she was so poorly built an angry enough swordfish could probably sink her.

And not the British torpedo bomber either. An actual swordfish.

Shinano shoved her face into chest and sniffled. Why couldn't she be like Musashi or Yamato. They went down fighting, they endured scores of torpedoes and bombs. _They_ didn't sink because of shoddy workmanship and bungling damage control.

The support carrier squeezed herself deeper into the corner. Part of her wanted to just melt away, at least then she wouldn't be such a huge drain on her country. But… but they'd asked her back for a reason. They were desperate, they needed her.

Shinano couldn't let them down. Any country desperate enough to want _her_ help didn't have an inch of slack to work with. The pressure rested in her broad shoulders like a yoke, crushing her until she felt sure her keel was going to snap.

She fumbled out for the faucet, turning on a trickling stream of chilly water and hoping it'd hide the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Shinano-chan?"

Shinano let out an eep of fright and tried to squish herself even deeper into the corner. But her feet lost purchase on the soapy tile and fell out from under her. With so much of her weight resting against the wall, Shinano went skidding across the floor until she was spread-eagle on her back.

With her very _battleship_ like chest exposed for all the world to see.

In front of _Houshou._

Shinano blushed a brilliant scarlet and flailed her quivering limbs in a frantic attempt to cover her shame. Exposed as the half-assed conversion she was in front of _The_ carrier! "H-h-h-"

"Houshou," the old carrier offered a calming smile, her gaze never once wandering from Shinano's increasingly red face.

"Houshou-dono," Shinano scrambled back to her corner with a timid whimper. "I- I didn't-"

"Easy, child." Houshou smiled that good-natured smile, and Shinano felt her her heart-rate drop by a few hundred RPMs. Or maybe that was her turbines. Whatever it was, the support carrier wasn't feeling quite so terrified anymore.

"S-sorry," Shinano stared at her toes and sniffled.

Houshou just offered a kind smile and settled down on her knees. "Now, I hear you wear sarashi?"

Shinano managed a timid nod.

"That's wonderful!" Houshou beamed with kindness, "there's not many who still follow the old ways."

"'s…" Shinano glanced down at her stupidly overgrown _battleship_ chest. "'s not for… um.. that."

"Oh honey," Houshou leaned over to give the gigantic support carrier a hug. Her arms were barely long enough to get around the much larger girl's back, but Houshou hugged with all the energy she could muster regardless.

Shinano felt her lips twist into a tiny glimmer of a smile, despite her apparently miserable mood. "T-thanks, Houshou-dono."

"Of course," Houshou let go. "No, come out here where I can see you."

"Uh," Shinano scooted away from her friendly corner and sat on her knees like Houshou. She kept her arms firmly planted over her bosom though, she… she couldn't bring herself to reveal her shame. "Uh, okay."

"Mmm," Houshou chuckled and patted the muscle of Shinano's massive thigh. "Carriers sure have grown big and strong since my time."

Shinano blushed beet red. "T-thank you, Houshou-dono." She bowed deeply from the waist, overbalanced, and ended up face-planting in the much smaller carrier's lap.

To her credit, a sharp intake of breath was the only sign of pain Houshou allowed herself to express. But Shinano knew the old carrier had to be _aching_. She was _not_ a light girl.

"S-sorry," Shinano stammered as she collected herself.

Houshou shook her head, though her face was a tight-lipped mask of suppressed pain.

Shinano whimpered and tried not to cry.

Finally, Houshou gathered herself enough to speak once more. "There there, honey." The old carrier scooted a bit closer to the quivering conversion, but her actions were far more careful and guarded than a few moments before. "It happens to the best of us."

Shinano didn't say a word, she could barely manage a timid nod.

"Now then," Houshou gently tried to pry loose Shinano's death grip on her own breasts, "Let's see what we're working with."

Shinano couldn't expose herself. Not like this, not in front of the first _real_ carrier. But… but she could, maybe, allow her grip to slacken just enough for Houshou to do the work.

"Oh my," Houshou's jaw went slack as Shinano's full figure was finally exposed in all its shameful fullness. The support carrier blushed as her bulging breasts displayed her battleship heritage for all the world to see.

"I know," mumbled Shinano.

"Well," Houshou fished a long roll of fine linen from her kimono. A _really_ long roll. "We'd best get to work then."

Shinano held her arms over her head to keep them out of the way, and tried very hard to go to her happy place. She closed her eyes and thought very hard about her bed. She tried to feel the warmth of her covers, and the comforting embrace of White's snuggles.

Shinano'd never met her real big sisters, but she liked to think White counted as one.

"Um, Houshou-dono?" Shinano shuffled on her knees and glanced over at the older carrier standing on tip-toes to bind her sarashi.

"Hmm?" Houshou offered a kind smile while her hands deftly tucked and folded linen over Shinano's overdeveloped upperworks.

"Will…" Shinano bit her lip. "Um… will you be my mama?"

Houshou wrapped the giant support carrier in the kindest hug she could manage. "I'd be honored."

—|—|—

Jersey should be happy.

It was a gorgeous mid-winter day. The crisp, salt-tinged air blew though her hair like a lover's fingers. The sea kissed her hull with its gently rolling waves. The smell of fresh-baked scones wafted from Kongou's wake—along with the sound of gentle dessing rolling along the waves. And the battleship could almost _taste_ the pies waiting for her just a few dozen miles away.

But she wasn't happy, and it wasn't just because of the depressingly empty status of her stomach. In fact, all the space created by missing food in her stomach had been gobbled up by innumerable butterflys.

She could feel them flitting around inside of her, tickling her insides with the tips of their wings and bashing against her organs in the darkness of her inner spaces. Either that, or she was letting a metaphor run away with her again.

But it didn't change the fact that Jersey was getting _worried._ A worry that only grew sharper with each passing mile, a worry that twisted her heart into a modern art sculpture of steel and blood.

A worry even staring intently at Musashi's jiggling pagodas couldn't assuage. And she _had_ tried. She even had a fairly detailed sketch in her logbook, as well as a few extrapolations of what Musashi might look like _without_ those bandages. For intelligence reasons, of course.

Jersey scowled, the muscles in her massive legs going taut with a shiver. Her hands shook at her sides, and her mouth felt dry and cottony.

"Fuck," she breathed. "Fuck fuck fuck _fuck._ "

Musashi glanced over, and for a split-second Jersey thought the Japanese super-battleship was going to preen herself for attention again. But Musashi's chocolate face dimmed before her hands even reached her bust, and a worried glance flashed over her face.

She pursed her lips, and turned back to the forested hills lining the strait.

"Jersey-sempai?" Fubuki pulled up alongside the giant American, her little ponytail flitting with worry in the gentle breeze.

"Hey, kiddo," Jersey forced a smile, "what's up?"

Fubuki shrugged. "Are you okay?"

Jersey opened her mouth, but she couldn't find anything to say. What, the big bad battleship was scared to go home? What kind of fucking weak-ass shit was that? Eventually, she settled on a non-committal "yeah."

Fubuki didn't seem impressed. For a moment, the little destroyer just scuffed her heels in the surf and sailed lazy s-curves beside the giant battleship. "Um, Jersey-sempai?"

"Whadup?"

"You know, um…" Fubuki glanced past Jersey's slender curves to Musashi's gigantic bulk, "You don't need to worry. It's not forbidden anymore."

Jersey blinked, "I don't follow."

"Girls…" Fubuki blushed, and her foghorns let out an involuntary squeal. "Your navy. They don't forbid, um… _love_."

Jersey blinked again. "The fuck you talking about?"

"Love!" squealed the little destroyer. "You don't have to worry! You can love Musashi-sama!"

The universe crashed to a halt. Even the waves themselves seemed to stand still while they processed that. From the head of the formation, Kongou slowly tilted her head to the side and brought a lone finger to her lips.

"Wut?" she elucidated.

Musashi stifled a giggle.

Jersey's face turned a glowing beet red.

Yuudachi glanced back with a confused "poi?"

Frisco doubled over laughing.

"Okay, first of all," Jersey slowly raised her hands, middle fingers standing at full attention. "Fuck all of you in general."

"Dess?"

"Yes, even you, sconeboat," Jersey scowled. "I'm not fucking in love with bigtits McShamefru Dispray over here."

Musashi puffed out her chest with a pout.

"Fuck you," Jersey couldn't muster the energy to do anything more than growl at her. "I… fucking…" She crossed her arms with a huff. "I'm fucking stressed right now and I don't fucking know why, so shut it."

The rest of the fleet quietly resumed their formation. Musashi even stopped preening herself in Jersey's peripheral vision, and sheepishly zipped her cape back into a proper shirt. A shirt she could only generously be considered to fit into, even with the zipper undone almost to the base of her bustline, but a shirt. With Musashi, you take what you can get.

A few thousand yards ahead of Jersey, Frisco and Yuudachi resumed their conversation. The battleship didn't have the slightest idea what they were talking about, their frantic moon-runes came far too fast for Jersey's feeble grasp of Japanese to keep pace with.

Plus, Yuudachi only even _used_ moon-runes for about a tenth of her conversation. The rest was poiing, energetic hand gestures, and energetic hand gestures while poiing.

Somehow, Frisco managed to understand the blond destroyer without missing a beat.

Stupid… Asian boat magic.

Jersey growled. Her temper was explosive at the best of times, and this… fucking… whatever the fuck it was had her teetering on edge. She honestly didn't know if she wanted to kill something or cry. And _that_ just made her even _more_ frustrated.

The battleship was so angry at herself she lost track of her surroundings. Her hull steamed on autopilot though the islands of the Puget Sound and up to the waiting pier of NAVSTA Everett while she stewed in her own discomfort. She only noticed where she was when the waiting concrete structure loomed into her sight.

And the figure waiting for her on its tip. The professor. _Her_ Professor.

Jersey was nothing more than a spectator for the actions of her own body. She couldn't have stopped herself even if she tried, and she was too damn tense to even do _that_.

Her shoes hit the concrete with a squelch of wet canvas. Her reality faded around her until only the narrow corridor between her and Crowning remained. Her heart pounded at her chest as each step brought her closer to the man she… she… to Crowning.

He smiled at her, and said _something_ to her in greeting. But Jersey's pulse pounded in her ears so loudly it drowned out everything but itself.

She closed her arms around him, effortlessly lifting him up until his bushy face sat even with her own. She didn't stop moving. Her shins scuffed against his dangling feet as she carried him along, pinning him against a shed with a gentle crash of flesh and steel.

And then she kissed him.

Her boilers roared against her chest, filling her with a warmth that almost powered the glow from her… her… from her _love_ pressed against her lips.

She closed her eyes, letting her body take the conn as she pressed her lips into his. It was a messy kiss, her muscles were shaking too badly for her to manage any sort of finesse, but a kiss none the less. She felt his arms close around her broad back, and she let her own hold him tight against her.

She wanted to press the kiss, to hold on tight and never let go, but she needed to breath. She broke contact with a wet gasp, her chest heaving against his as she struggled to suck back air.

And then her blood ran cold.

"No," her voice was barely above a whisper. She opened her arms, letting Crowning land back against the concrete pier. Her heart pounded against her heart again, but different this time. Not lust, but sheer unadulterated _panic_ ran though her veins.

"I…" she blushed a brilliant crimson, and nearly tripped over her own feet trying to back away, "S-sorry."

"Jersey?" Gale's voice cut though the cloud of horrified panic filling Jersey's mind. Had she just gotten here? Had she been here all along? Had she seen everything? Jersey's mind was too clouded by fear to answer any of those questions.

"I…" the big battleship felt her mouth go dry. Adrenaline flooded her veins. She needed to _run_. "t-taffies," she stammered. She planted her feet on the pier and bolted like a mouse with its tail on fire, pure panic flooding her system.

What had she done.

 _What had she done._

But…

But Crowning was a good man. A kind man.

Maybe… just maybe he'd forgive her for it.


	104. A Certain Lady Part 19

**A Certain Lady Part 19**

Rear Admiral Richardson sat at one of the many chairs in the United States Fleet Activities Sasebo command center, his eyes fixed on the tablet he was savaging. A long pair of cracks ran up the glass surface from where his thumb had pressed too hard into the device. He didn't really care about the damage. The thing still worked as if it were in pristine condition and that was all he needed.

His fingers sounded off like a woodpecker as he typed away message after message, communicating commands to the staff seated around the room as best he was able. He could have spoken the commands, but that would take away his voice from the individual he was currently attempting to rouse over a headset plugged into the nearest phone.

Every so often a terminal operator, or an aide, or some random person who was not of equal or greater rank would run by in a hurry to deposit some new report or piece of information in front of him. Or at least in his general vicinity on the desk he sat at.

Mutsu expertly took the physical data and ran through it with an uncanny haste. Let it not be forgotten that a battleship is a capital ship. And almost without fail, a battleship would serve as a flagship. Her command crews and her own keen ability acted as Richardson's voice in his stead.

She was not expecting a warm homecoming and was not surprised in the slightest when one did not greet her at the door.

When war raged, whether the smallest of daggers bared or the countless rifles of the Abyssal Fleet, you could not afford to waste time on frivolities. Warmth could be saved for when the bullets did not fly.

Richardson had ordered her to the command center to assist him in almost the same breath as he had greeted her over the comm at the docks. And she had hurried with all the speed she could manage. Her hair still dripped with seawater as she made her entrance.

There was little they could do aside from data processing, but it was an incredibly important task regardless. And one that required a great deal of speed and experience.

Mutsu chanced a glance at her Admiral's furious visage as he spoke into the headset with a voice that sent chills down her spine. What they had witnessed over the Global Hawk and heard over the radio channels had combined with Richardson's hated helplessness and turned him into the most bone-chilling example of machine-like efficiency she had ever seen in a man. There was no wasted movement. No hesitation. Only a soulless fury driving each motion.

She supposed there was little other recourse for his mind to take given the situation. While she didn't possess the same temperament as Richardson, she could comprehend what happened to someone when they reached a breaking point.

"Ma'am!" called one the radio operators, "We have no more reports of Battleship Princess' position. Last reported course remains on the board."

"Make sure Yokosuka knows. Keep sending Oyoodo and Nagato all information as you collect it. We can parse it and compare results later." While damage control has paramount, that did not mean they were not learning about their foe. And though cruel it may be, you could learn a lot about an opponent when they really and truly hurt you. "We'll have a full report for Admiral Goto later. Just get them what we know."

"Roger!"

It was perhaps a bit of a mercy for her to be thrown into the center of things. It kept her mind busy and from focusing too much on the fate that had befallen the fleet.

Everyone was wounded to one degree or another. And not a one who had traded fire was fit for a second round. At least not a second round they could win and still survive. Only Arizona's damage control and ludicrous armor had saved the Pennsylvania-Class from taking a far worse beating than she had.

But Hiei...

Mutsu took the hitch in her voice that threatened to give her pause and strangled it. She would rage and she would lament and she would weep later. Even if she had not been slain, the wounds inflicted upon Hiei were so close to lethal that it was nothing short of a miracle that she survived.

Maybe if she had been there, she could have helped.

The enemy was a Tosa, after all.

Or maybe it would amount to nothing?

Mutsu was not a seer, nor any kind of all knowing woman. But that knowledge did not help her guilt for simply not being there. Even if it had been her absence that had helped to fight off another, far more deadly enemy.

They really were stretched too thin...

How much longer could they keep this up? Even with the Americans' mighty aid. How much longer before someone didn't come home for dinner ever again? How soon until another Victory?

"Wardog has safely landed!" Another radio operator called out amongst the controlled chaos, snapping Mutsu from her thoughts. She could dwell on things later. When they didn't have so much to sort through.

"Good. Get them debriefed. I want their full accounting as of yesterday." Mutsu's eyes sharpened as she took another set of printouts and began reading over the nearly arcane descriptions of the Abyssal's attack and numbers.

"Parkson."

Mutsu swallowed as Richardson finally managed to connect with the individual he had been seeking over the phone. It was not a tone of voice she heard very often. Rather, it was one she could count the number of times she had heard it on one hand. But before she could think on it any further, another report had made it's way to her.

As Mutsu dealt with the command center's mayhem, Richardson awaited the reply of LTJG Annette Parkson; the current CO of Kanmusu Medical at Yokosuka Naval Base.

"Sir!" Parkson's young, almost energetic tone replied. "This doesn't sound like a social call." The hustle and bustle was plainly audible through the phone and Admiral Richardson was not a man known for calling out of the blue for fun. And the way he had said her name was honestly eerie.

"I have a fleet of eleven returning to Sasebo. One critical. Five moderate to heavy. Three light to moderate. And two without a scratch. I need you and your team on base and ready to accept." It was hard to accurately gauge just how damaged a girl was after a battle. Sometimes it was more obvious. But sometimes there could be a golden bullet hidden behind a nearly untouched hull.

For the most part, conveying a range was sufficient to get people moving.

"How critical, sir?" She was not exactly a fan of critical situations. She was good, true. Well within her ability to handle herself. And her team was nothing to sneeze at either given how new the field of shipgirl medicine was.

But there were a lot of unknowns that they couldn't completely account for. It never stopped her before. And she'd be damned if she didn't give her all to make sure every girl that came to her didn't leave with a smile and on the road to a full recovery.

Sure, it was optimistic and drew a lot of baffled or condescending looks. However she'd gird every hull with a silver lining if she had to.

It was the very least she could do.

"I'm sending you the report now. She's not seaworthy and nearly had her forward magazines detonated. In addition, her bridge and most of her radar is completely destroyed." Richardson wished he could sound like something other than the detached, unfeeling... thing he did. But if he let anything slip, he didn't know how he'd keep it together. And he had to keep it together.

"Hmm... Sounds tough. What hit her? Torpedoes? Artillery?" It helped to know what caused an injury in the first place if at all possible. It made eliminating useless treatments all that much faster.

"Artillery." Richardson narrowed his eyes. "And a plane."

"...Oh. Well, that's new. New for me at least. I don't know if the Major or Akashi have dealt with that before. Don't think so." Parkson wondered if it was like being hit by a motorcycle or some other kind of vehicle.

"Can you be here?"

"I'm already getting the troops moving, sir. Don't underestimate the Medical Corp." Or the benefits of a team that practically had their phones glued to some side of their heads. It made wakeup a lot faster. "And I've never lost a shipgirl before. I won't let her be the first!"

Richardson found the cheer to be ever so slightly refreshing. Not much, but enough that he almost cracked the sliver of a smile.

"Who is it? It'll help us get ready and this report is taking forever to download anyways. Didn't you zip it up first?" She guessed not.

"Kongou-Class Fast Battleship Hiei."

There was a silence on the other line.

"...Hiei? As in that Hiei?" The Emperor's Ship who held more combat experience than almost every shipgirl that had set sail in the war thus far? Just how fierce had the battle been if it was Hiei who was coming back in such a shape? Could she really do this without the Major? She... didn't want to imagine it. But it was still a reality she was well aware of.

People die in war.

And fortune favors no one.

"Yes."

"We'll do our best sir. We always do."

For a moment, only the sound of the command center and Parkson's shuffling about could be heard.

"...Parkson?" There was a hint of something more human in Richardson's voice. Something that had been decidedly absent for quite some time that day.

"Sir? What is it?"

"Help her. Whatever you have to do. Whatever you need. I will get it for you." Richardson's tablet fell to the table with a clatter as he brought his hands up to his face, concealing his eyes beneath their shadow. "Save my ship. Save Hiei. ...Please."

"We'll do everything we can sir. It's what we do. Parkson out."

Richardson mouthed a thank you to the silent line as Mutsu rested a hand on his shoulder.


	105. Chapter 78: Someone To Watch Over Me

**Chapter 78: Someone To Watch Over Me**

The warm, oil-scented air of the repair docks was still as ice. Heermann and Vestal floated side by side in one of the smaller pools, lashed together by thick ropes and makeshift bridges. The little destroyer wore a happy smile as she slept, but Vestal's face was a mask of studious concentration.

Dozens of faeries milled around on her stomach. Some wore stained coveralls, others were dressed in heavy canvas and brass diving suits. Still others in equally grimy officers' uniforms supervised with grand hand gestures and teeny-tiny yells of authority.

Sparks flew from Heermann's legs as welding crews mated the little destroyer's new stern into place. Minute divers sat on the bony points of Vestal's hips, ready to leap over the side the moment they were needed. It was all a very complicated dance of steel and flesh, but one that Vestal seemed to have well in hand.

Which was good, because Crowning's attention was more focused on the lone woman observing the pair from the seclusion of a balcony.

Battleship New Jersey stood watching, her gigantic frame almost swallowing the balcony whole. Her arms rested against the metal railing, causing it to groan and creek under her immense weight. But she didn't move, didn't so much as breathe.

She was silent and still as a statute. She didn't even try to blink back the tears flowing from those stunningly gorgeous ice-blue eyes.

Crowning clambered up the stairs to join her, wincing with each step as his bruised ribs ached at him. It wasn't the worst beating he'd endured, and he was thankful Jersey hadn't done worse. A girl her size could have broken him in half, shipgirl magic or no.

"Hey," he took up position just off her beam, his own arms resting on the railing.

Jersey just blinked. Her chest rose imperceptibly, only to fall with a sharp hiss of breath. Her jaw went slack, her lips parting with the sticky sound of chapped, raw flesh.

"I…" she trailed off. Muscles in her thick neck tensed and she screwed her eyes shut.

"Jersey," Crowning had to look away. He couldn't bear seeing her like this. Broken, scared… and all because of him. "I talked with the others," he said. "They promised not to mention, uh… anything."

Jersey offered a tiny nod. "T-thanks, doc." She sniffed, "I'm, uh… I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be," Crowning put a hand against her broad back. Though the thin fabric of her shirt and vest, he could just about feel her body. A body as firm, cold, and unyielding as steel.

"No," breathed Jersey. "I… doc, you're a good man. You deserve more'n just…"

"Just what?"

"Just a shitty old battleship." Jersey scowled.

"Jersey, I-"

" _No._ " The battleship's voice rattled with tension. "Don't… don't you _dare_ tell me you love me."

Crowning stayed his hand, and gave the crying battleship his full attention.

"I… fuck." Jersey clamped her eyes closed, her hat casting a grim shadow over her normally pretty face. "I… you deserve someone who fucking _loves_ you. Someone you can _love_ not just… just fucking _take care of_. Okay?"

The battleship's eyes flew open, her rage powering past her disgust long enough to wrest control of her bridge. "I'm not gonna drag you down with me, okay? I'm not letting someone I love down again. _Find someone better_ , that's a fucking order."

Crowning stared at the battleship. His mind reeled as she loomed over him. He wanted to tell her he loved her regardless. That he'd happily ride her all the way down to hell and back if that's what it took. That he couldn't find someone better because there _was_ no one better than her.

But she wouldn't believe it. Jersey was stubborn to a virtue. She wouldn't ever give up in battle, not while she had even one gun that still fired. And she wouldn't ever let go of her… of _this_.

He knew he couldn't save her, and it felt like a thousand daggers thrusting into his heart. "Jersey,"

"No!" The battleship roared.

Crowning stood his ground, "I know why you're having those dreams."

The battleship's anger faded a degree, just enough for her to look to him for the answer.

"It was all that time you spend in mothballs." Crowning didn't know where he was going with this, but… but something told him her dreams hid the key to her soul. If she could just _find it_ , maybe she'd be able to convince herself of what he already knew. She was perfect, a flawless champion who _deserved to be loved._ "You've stood at the edge of the abyss."

Jersey let out a low growl. The air around her shimmered with heat distortions, but Crowning continued regardless. "You've stared it in the face and you _came back to us._ "

Her rage vanished in an instant. Her massive shoulders slumped, and her head hung to her chest. "I—"

"The Abyss gave you every chance to join it," Crowning didn't have a clue where he was going. But Jersey gave him an opening, the tiniest sliver of a chance to drive a wedge into all those repressed issues. He wouldn't let it slip by. "Again and again they temped you, but you stood firm. You stole their secrets and ran to us because _you are an American Warship._ "

Jersey's massive frame seemed to shrink into the corner.

"You're a hero given form," Crowning let his heart pour into his words, "A heart of courage wrapped in one-hundred-sixteen million pounds of fighting steel. A battleship who made nuclear powers quake in their boots with the thunder of her rifles. You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of."

Jersey sucked down a rattling breath. "I…" she blushed and wiped away her tears. "I… I'm gonna…" she frantically glanced around for an exit, "I have to take a shower. Uh…"

Crowning waited for her response. He'd done all he could, now it was up to _her_ to admit she might actually _deserve_ something after all.

"Tell… tell Kongou I'll be in the showers," Jersey's voice was barely more than a whisper. "If…. she asks." The battleship's words were almost lost in the clatter of her shoes as she pushed passed Crowning.

"I will."

—|—|—

Jersey didn't even bother stripping her clothes off, she just threw the valve over as cold as it could go and huddled under the spray. The battleship shivered, hugging her bare legs close to her heavily padded chest and burring her face in her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the ice-cold water pouring down onto her into a salty, briny slurry.

Her clothes were soaked though in minutes, but the battleship couldn't bring herself to move. What Crowning told her… it was so… _earnest._ He wasn't just saying things, he meant it. Meant it to the very core of his being.

He really, honestly, _truly_ lo— looked up to her. Respected her. Was _proud_ of her.

And it fucking twisted the knife in her heart to think about it. Every word of praise he offered, every ember of flaming imagery felt like bitter mockery. She didn't deserve this, any of it. There were _thousands_ who did.

 _Enterprise_ , who stood alone against a nation and _dared_ them to remove her. _Hornet_ , who brought hope to a nation in its darkest hour. _Yorktown_ , who refused to die without exacting her toll of blood. _Saratoga_ , who'd soldiered though years of war, only to give her last full measure to ensure her sisters' saftey.

 _Hoel_ , _Heermann_ , _Johnston_ , _Sammy_ … the little escorts who sent _Yamato_ running with nothing more than their guts. Every damn ship in the navy deserved those accolades more than she did.

"Oi!" Something splintered against her shin, like someone swinging a two-by-four with all their might against twelve inches of inclined American steel. "Geddup, wanker!"

"Victory!" Jersey didn't even bother looking up. "Go fucking somewhere else, I'm not in the mood."

"Why do ya think I'm here, mate?" Victory's bouncy Australian accent echoed of the smooth tile of the shower room. "You need a pep-talk love."

"Am I gonna get smacked around again," Jersey growled.

"If you don't stop moping, probably."

Jersey scowled, and peeked up over her knees. Victory stood by her feet—even standing she barely reached Jersey's head—with a splintered oak beam in her hand. And she was wearing a skimpy Union-Jack bikini with her Admiral's bicorne. For some reason.

"The fuck is with that outfit?"

Victory glanced down at herself and shrugged. "Your fantasy, yank."

"Shouldn't your tits be bigger?"

Victory bashed Jersey across the face with her beam, splintering it even further against her nose.

"Fucking _ow_!"

"Oh please," Victory rolled her non-patched eye. "You're made of steel, that didn't hurt."

Jersey scowled. "Fine, it didn't hurt _that much._ "

"Alright, we're getting somewhere, yank!"

"Why the fuck are you here?" scowled Jersey.

"Because you, mate," Victory settled onto the floor next to Jersey, her tiny frame utterly dwarfed by the gigantic American. "Are this fucking close to having a full-on mental breakdown."

"I am fucking not."

Victory bashed her in the head again, tearing open the tiny nick on her cheek.

"Ow!"

"Jersey!"

"What!"

"Listen to me," said Victory. "You're panicking because you're _finally_ realizing that he loves you."

"Yeah!" Jersey swatted at the sailing ship, only for her hand to pass right though her like smoke. "fuck."

"Vision, mate," Victory flashed a teasing smile.

"Fuck you," Jersey scowled. "And yes, I'm fucking realize that he loves me. And I wish to fucking… _anything_ that he loved _anyone_ else."

"Because you've got the hots for Musashi too?"

"Yes!" Jersey thought for a moment. For being a sliver of her own subconscious, Victory was _terrible_ at figuring out what she was going to say. "Wait, no! because-"

"You're a shitty old battleship who doesn't deserve love?"

"Yes!" Jersey nodded. "That's what I meant. The first time."

Victory nodded understandingly. Then bashed her again with her beam. "How many unit citations do you have?"

Jersey mumbled something under her breath.

Victory whacked her again. "Speak up, mate. I'm an old British wanker."

Jersey huffed. "Two."

"Does that count the presidential citation you got from Korea?"

"No," muttered Jersey.

"What about the one from the Philippines?"

"Also… no."

Victory smirked and spun her splintered wooden beam between her fingers. "Aaaaand, who's the most decorated battleship _ever_?"

"Me." Jersey's voice as barely more than a mumble.

"Right!" Victory nodded so vigorously her hat almost fell over her eyes. "So why're ya sitting under the shower moping?"

Jersey scowled for a long, long while. "'cuz."

Victory smacked her again, gently this time. "Jersey… think, why do you always take cold showers when you're scared."

"'cause it _helps_ , bongboat?"

"No," Victory shook her head. "Think. Really _think_." She winked. "Maybe sleep on it."

Jersey scowled. Her hand was half-way to slapping that silly grin off Victory's face when she realized it. There was _something_ about this that felt familiar. Something… something… _there_.

Jersey closed her eyes, and let herself fall into her dream. Her _memory_.

—|—|—

Water was all around her. Not the calm, peaceful waters of the Delaware she'd gotten so used to, but a furious churn that rasped at her hull—her… skin?—and flooded her lungs.

Battleship New Jersey's first moments in her new body were spent desperately clawing for the surface. Oily water filled her lungs, she could feel steel shrapnel and half-burned cordite burn at her throat as she fought her way to the surface.

Waves and currents battered at her, sending massive chunks of burning, twisted steel her way. She was confused, lost, terrified… she wasn't even sure which way was up. And… she wasn't even sure she should _try_. Not after what she'd done. And what she _hadn't_ done…

 ** _Swim, sailor!_ ** The voice echoed though her mind. Strong and commanding, but caring and kind. It was like her father speaking to her—or at least what she imagined her father sounded like. **_Swim!_**

Jersey didn't ask questions. Her screws bit into the water as she pushed herself skywards. She swatted aside debris with her long, strong arms. Her lungs burned in her chest, seething with the pain of debris scouring her flesh. She knew they'd burst if she tried to hold her breath a moment longer.

 _ **SWIM!**_

Jersey gathered everything she had for one last push. She kicked with her long legs, churning water white as her screws cavitated in the oily mire. Her vision had faded to a dim tunnel, and even that was starting to go.

 _ **SWIM, GODDAMMIT! DON'T YOU DIE ON ME!**_

Jersey kicked, kicked as hard as she could. Her hands punched though the surface first, followed by face. She sucked down a desperate lungful the moment she cleared the choppy waves.

The air was hot and stung with the fumes of burnt cordite and burning fuel oil. But it was _air_ none the less. And for Battleship _New Jersey_ , it was the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted.

Ice-cold spray crashed against her, and she fought to stay on the surface. Iron-gray waves towered higher than her mast all around her, a howling maelstrom she was caught right in the center of. A storm that extended from horizon to horizon without even a hint of landmasses in sight.

She glanced over her shoulder. Thousands of yards to her stern, the furious waters vanished into a churning whirlpool. A whirlpool that could swallow Brooklyn without blinking, a whirlpool glowing with fire and belching stinking brimstone.

Jersey screwed up her face and swam hard against it. Each stroke sent her crashing though the waves. Water drenched her deck all the way up to her bridge as wave after wave smashed against her slender bow. Every desperate breath she took she swallowed more burning saltwater.

Her turbines roared beyond their limits, her boilers glowed red in her machinery spaces. She pushed every shred of power she had left though her shafts, but it _wasn't enough._

Every glance over her shoulder saw the whirlpool grow larger. Her muscles were giving out, her lungs burned as she forced them to filter though seawater for every molecule of oxygen.

"Y̷͉͠ò̭͎͙̥͇̪̰̫̀u̶̻̲͕̰͚̼̕͘ ͉̝̻͍͚̣̳͓͓ļ͖̘͢e͏̨̠̠̝͈̩̼̖t͏̵̫͞ ͉̮̪͇̮̫̗u̺̖͍̟͔̪s̺̰͔̼̥̠͠ ̵͖͈̬̝͢d͈͎̱̖̯͚͈́i͇͎͍̮̹͢e̥̙̗͓̺͔̕!̵̟̜̼͇̖́" A ship howled at her, nearly crashing into her as the whirlpool sucked it into its maw.

"W̦̼̖͙͔̤̟͍̕͜h̰͉̳̤͉è̵͍̣̞͕̹r̹̣̰̠̯ę̴̰ ̝̘̠̺͔̘̻̭w̵̻̳̩͍̲̣̟͢ͅh̘̩̼é̬̥̼̝͉̱̠͡r҉̶̩̥̫̥̻̗̪̥e̡͍͙ ̧͔̲y̷̗̤̤͢o̷̡̱̖̳u̢͔̗̦͉̻̺ͅ!̸̪̫͕́" demanded another.

"Țh͍͙̥̦͈͈̙ͅę̤̼̞̳͎̯̘̝̪͘ ̪̩̞̗̥ẁ̛̗̲͓͔o̶̠̕ŕ̘̲̜͞l̥̖͇̩͠͞ͅd̵̴̡̳̰̜̜̤̰͙ ̡ͅͅw̬̣̰̲̪͙̥̭͡͠o̵̡̨͓̰n̵͉͕̤͚d̝̠̹̤̬̟ȩ̫͕̭̞͈̲͉̜́r̷͈̰͖͇̝̰̳͍͜s̸̱͍̰͖͈̱̱̞͉͡!͖̥͓͖̹͖͞ͅ" thundered a third.

"N-no," Jersey panted. Her heart hammered against her chest, every motion took more effort than she thought possible. She fought as hard as she could, but the whirlpool was _winning_. It was winning and there wasn't anything she could-

 _ **DROP ANCHOR!**_

Jersey sucked down a desperate breath, her fingers fumbling in the howling surf for her anchor.

 _ **NOW SAILOR! DROP ANCHOR!**_

Jersey's hands closed around the heavy steel anchor. She brought her arm back, her clothes dripping and soaked from the freezing water. " _NEW JERSEY!_ " she roared, "DROPPING ANCHOR!" She hurled it out with every bit of strength she had left.

The anchor flew though the driven rain, its chain roaring off her deck with a clatter of metal-on-metal. Jersey couldn't do anything but watch it sail though the sky, she'd spent every shred of strength she had just throwing the thing.

For a moment, she thought she was done for. The anchor sailed out of her sight. Towering waves passed in front of it, chain rattled off her deck with ever-increasing fury.

Then with a mighty crash her anchor found its rock. The battleship roared with pain as fifty-eight thousand tons of fighting steel crashed to a halt. Her arm was nearly torn from its socket, but she held tight to the slender lifeline of steel. This was her anchor, _hers_. She would _not_ let it go.

For what felt like days, the storm raged at her. Attacking her with wave after wave, assaulting her with lightning strikes and hailstorms, but it could not dislodge her. Her anchor held within the veil. She would not be moved.

And then, its fury spent in pointless rage, the storm dissipated. In its place, the churning waters turned to ice.

Frost crept up Jersey's hull, while the ice boxed her exhausted hull in. In what felt like minutes—if time had any real meaning… wherever the hell this was—the battleship was encased. Her hull became the only object of interest for hundreds of miles of perfectly pool-table flat ice.

She shivered, clutching her hands to her mouth to try and stay warm. She didn't have a clue how cold it was, all her thermometers had frozen solid. But it was _very very_ cold.

"Jersey?" a voice spoke. The same voice she'd heard ordering her to drop anchor.

The battleship wheeled on her heel, only to stop half-way to her new bearing.

She'd know that man anywhere. A face like an angry bulldog and a mind like a strategically-inclined freight-train. An Admiral. _The_ Admiral. The Admiral she'd so desperately hoped was her own. "S-sir," she stammered.

"At ease, Jersey." Admiral Halsey motioned her to calm down.

"Sir, I…" Jersey stammered, "I… uh… why are you… um…"

"I'm here to ease your path," said Halsey. "I'm not sure how long I'll have, so let's make this quick."

"Sir," Jersey nodded, "But why _you_?"

"You're my ship."

Jersey blinked. "But… _Enterprise_ …"

"Couldn't help me," said Halsey. His words rang with solid finality in the freezing air. "She's a good ship, and I do love her so. But she couldn't help me. _You_ kept me in the fight when no one else could. Remember that."

"Sir, but-"

"Jersey," Halsey motioned to the stars on his uniform, "Admiral."

"Right," Jersey blushed, "sorry."

"As I was saying," said Halsey. "Little E was a good ship, the best _hunter_ this navy's ever seen. But she couldn't help me, you could. Because you're _not_ her. You're a battleship. Understood?"

"Sir?"

"You will move heaven and earth to keep those under your protection safe. I should have been sidelined years ago, that disease should have kept me out of the fight. But _you_ let me keep fighting. You protected me like nobody else could. Because that's what you do."

"Sir," Jersey nodded mutely. She wasn't used to getting this kind of praise, especially from _Halsey._

"Which is why," continued the Admiral, "I know you're not going to just _let go_ of Samar." He glanced up at her, his gaze suddenly focused and burning with desperate energy, "That was _my fault._ I made the call, not you, understood?"

Even Jersey's armor couldn't take a glare of such intensity, and she floundered for words. "Y-yes sir."

"I don't know how much of this you'll remember," said Halsey. "But if you forget it all, remember this. Blame Me. Understood sailor? Blame _me_ , not yourself, not intel, _me_."

"Sir, I… but-"

"Blame me," barked Halsey. "Do I make myself understood, sailor?"

Jersey glanced at her toes. "Yes sir."

By the time she looked up again he was gone. And all the company she had was the freezing bitter cold.

A cold so intense she almost didn't notice _them._

The battleship blinked.

She wasn't alone.

Figures, thousands of them, stood around her. Tiny blots of dark against the infinite white standing in a perfect circle around her. No, not standing… _marching_. They closed in on her with perfect harmony, the circle forming into a narrow ellipse around her hull.

And then she smiled.

They were _marines._

A ragged band of marines. Some wore the heavy black-and red of the Barbary wars with muskets by their sides. Others wore the khaki and drab of the First World War, and carried their Springfields with pride. Still more marched in the heavy clothing of the Korean Winter and carried their Garands ready for actions. Yet more wore the sweat-stained olive of Vietnam, and there were even a few marching in a piexlized desert scheme she didn't recognize.

Jersey fell to her knees and wept with a broad smile on her face.

"Ma'am," one of the marines stepped forwards. A Captain in dusty desert fatigues with an M16 slung over his chest. His gloved hand came to his helmet in a crisp salute. "We are your honor guard."

Jersey wiped the tears from her eyes, but even she couldn't keep from smiling. "H-honor guard." She pulled herself to her feet and returned his salute.

"Until your return, ma'am," said the Marine. "You've looked after us… let us return the favor."

Jersey grabbed him in a tight hug and effortlessly lifted him off the ground. "T-thank you, Marine."

He grunted as she set him back down. "It's our privilege, ma'am." He glanced over his shoulder at an equally ragged line of sailors marching towards her. "Your mothballing crew's here, ma'am."

"Mothballing?" said Jersey.

"Here to tuck you in, ma'am," said the Marine. "Until you're needed again."

"And then what?" asked Jersey.

"Then you'll sleep," said the Marine. "And until you wake, me and my men will watch over you."

Jersey smiled and wiped a tear from her eye. "I… I always did love my marines."

"And we love you too, ma'am." He snapped to attention and slowly brought his hand to his brow. "Semper Fi. Even in death."

"Semper Fi," replied Jersey. Then she gave him one last hug, just for good measure.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" one of the sailors stood on her deck, his hands too laden down with tools to offer a proper salute. He wore the same blue dungarees her crew had always worn, but something about him felt familiar.

"Yes?" Jersey turned to the sailor.

"Lieutenant Jack Gale," he offered her a nod in lieu of a salute. "I'm in charge of getting you ready for bed."

Jersey beamed, "Then I'll let you get to it, Lieutenant Gale."

—|—|—

Yeoman Gale had a staggeringly long list of things she'd learned to expect out of shipgirls. A list that included such fascinating incidents as Borie's weekly naked runs, Naka's impromptu concerts, Yuudachi staying up all night for a week straight playing _World Of Warships_ , Yuudachi crying that the internet people were mean to her because of her pois,Dee setting pans on file while trying to make apple sauce...

Gale still wasn't sure how that last one happened.

But one thing Gale hadn't ever expected was being glomped—then kissed repeatedly—by fifty-eight thousand tons of sopping-wet American battlewagon.

So yeah. That's a thing. It slightly worried Gale that she was jaded enough to be okay with this.

Slightly.

Beats paperwork though.


	106. Chapter 79: Musashitimes

**Chapter 79: Musashitimes**

Battleship Musashi settled into the warm dockyard waters. A happy sigh slipped past her lip as she leaned back against the tile, her arms resting on her berthing pier. Wisps of steam curled off the perfumed water, fogging over her glasses with their warm kiss. She closed her eyes, letting the water work its magic on her torn-open torpedo blister . Musashi'd taken baths before. The showers back at base weren't quite tall enough for her to fit under comfortably, and she liked to soak in the morning. And occasionally play with her toy boats. But ever since the battle off Alaska, her baths had started feeling… different.

Maybe it was the damage she was finally repairing, or the bikini the prudish Americans demanded she wear. But Musashi couldn't shake the feeling that now, for the first time in so long, she'd _earned_ her soak.

Her rifles, the greatest of their kind the world had ever seen, the greatest the world _would_ ever see, had _finally_ spoken their righteous fury. Musashi was no longer a ship. She was a true _battleship_.

She'd faced down an enemy of undeniable evil. She'd endured the best they could throw at her and laughed off their blows. She'd made them pay for hurting her friends with the might of her rifles. She was _satisfied_.

Musashi laughed, her bulging breasts just breaking though the oil-slick surface with the motion. She'd earned her soak. Musashi had done the Yamato name proud.

And to top it all off, Musashi got to enjoy her soak all by her lonesome.

Well, not totally. Kongou and Kirishima were a few berths over, repairing minor damage and scrapes from their last engagements. Every so often, a human sailor would wander in—either in fatigues to check in on the girls, or bikinis to join them for a quick swim. But _Jersey_ was elsewhere, which was what really mattered.

Musashi was proud of herself. The sisters of the Yamato name carried the best, biggest naval rifles ever built. Their armor was second to none, and their optics awed the world.

But Musashi just _couldn't focus_ when Jersey did her… hips thing. To say nothing of that American's insistence on baring her midrift in the bath. Musashi was astonished a prudish American could be so brazen.

"Hmpf," Musashi huffed to herself and hugged her chest, squishing her bust up past the surface. She might not have the American's aft, but—

Someone was singing. "But I can shoot it, shoot it-"

Musashi scowled. _Naka_.

"At over thirty knots~"

"Naka!" Musashi's typically thundering voice boomed across the still waters and echoed off the tile and concrete.

"Hi~ hi~," Naka's giggling Idol voice floated back in reply. "Naka-Chan, idol of the fleet, deeeesu~" She giggled with the last word, and Musashi could just picture her black gloved hand coming up to shield her mouth.

"What are you singing?" demanded the battleship.

"Cover," said Naka. "My fans have been begging me to do a cover album, seeing what works for me."

"No," Musashi rolled onto her side, vainly searching for the traffic cone with her fogged over glasses. "I, Musashi, want to know WHAT SONG ARE YOU SINGING?"

"Oh," Naka giggled. "All about 'dat aft."

Musashi thought for a moment. Big guns, over thirty knots, noteworthy aft… Ah! "Is it about Jersey?"

"Mmhm!"

Musashi smirked. As a battleship of the Imperial Japanese Navy, she was as disciplined as she was valiant. Her mind was forged to precision and tempered with the care of a fine katana. Thoughts did not _intrude_ within it.

The mental image of Jersey dancing in a teeny-tiny microskirt was thus not an intrusive image in her mind. In fact, the mental ideal of the American's cute little ass bouncing every which way was gladly welcomed into the superbattleship's mind.

She'd be in the pool for a while longer, might as well spend her time doing something soothing.

"I, Musashi approve of this song!"

—|—|—

Captain Henry Takeda watched the sun rise over the glittering Caribbean sea with a contended smile on his face. His ship might not be the fastest in the fleet. She wasn't the most famous, or the proudest, or the newest, nor even the strongest. She had one foot—or screw—in the grave already, more floating parts hulk and shore battery than warship now.

But she was _his_.

He grinned wider as his ship's slender bow pierced though the gentle waves. Even at a mere twelve knots—as fast as he was willing to push the old girl without a pressing need to make her move—she cut though the waves like a dagger. Everything about her _looked_ fast.

Even standing still she looked like a thoroughbred stretching her legs on the back straight. Her bow stretched for the horizon, her slender stern built like a dragster of the seas.

Battleship _Wisconsin_ , the last battleship had entrusted herself into his care. And he would not let her down.

Captain Takeda gave the bridge railing an appreciative pat, scratching the old paint with his fingers like he was giving the old girl a gentle head-pat. She deserved it. And he could've sworn the deck quivered under his feet.

"Good girl, Wiskey." Takeda gave the old battlewagon a final pat. But duty called, it always did.

Just a few dozen miles off the old battlewagon's stern lay the Panama Canal. The single most important lifeline between East and West. Takeda's charge to defend. _Wiskey's_ charge to defend.

Takeda flipped a switch on the intercom and cradled the handset against his ear. "CIC, bridge, anything on scope?" Radar was all but useless against Abyssals, but apparently neither Wiskey nor Big Mo had gotten that memo yet.

 _"Just the convoy, sir."_ The TAO's reply echoed though the old intercom circuit. But there was something else… something… some sort of sound in the background too regular to be mere noise.

"TAO, what's that sound?"

There was a long pause. _"Uh… the Space Battleship Yamato theme."_ Another pause. _"Sir."_

Takeda sighed and cradled his head in his hand. "Space battleship Yamato."

 _"Aye, sir. We're playing it over the 1MC."_

"On an _Iowa_ -class battleship." Takeda shook his head. The Iowa-vs-Yamato debates had become legend even _before_ Jersey and Musashi's feud hit the world media. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

 _"Yes sir,"_ there wasn't a shred of hesitation this time. _"She seems to like it."_

Takeda blinked. Now it was his turn to freeze while his brain caught up with events. "She what?"

 _"We get an extra three miles out of the radar when we put it on, sir."_

"Um…" Takeda blinked. "Copy. Out." He set the handset back in its cradle just as a horrifying realization came to him.

His boat was a weeaboo.

"Dammit, Wiskey."


	107. Chapter 80: Get In Nerds, We Freedom!

**Chapter 80: Get In Nerds, We Freedom!**

"Hey, Doc. You got a minute?"

Professor Crowning glanced up from his dinner—a delicious seafood stew courtesy of Lou's time in Brazil—and found himself looking into the prettiest face on the base.

New Jersey loomed over the mess hall table. Her hands rested on her hips as she somehow managed to sashay in place, but there was something just a little… _off_ about her. Something he hadn't seen in her before that he couldn't quite place.

The way she stuck a tiny bit of her tongue out the corner of her mouth and chewed on her lip… the way the muscles in those massive legs twitched under her sunkissed skin… the big battlewagon almost looked _timid_.

"Of course," Crowning leaned back in his chair to save his neck the trouble of staring up at her. "What's up?"

Jersey blinked, those stunningly cold ice-blue eyes momentarily loosing focus while her mouth made a tiny 'o' shape. "Um…"

Crowning couldn't help but wear a tiny half-smile. After what'd happened just a few hours before, he was worried the battleship was teetering on the edge of a full-on nervous breakdown. It would've broken his heart to see her like that.

But seeing her confused was just hilarious.

Finally, the battleship spoke again. "Sorry," She blushed and stuffed herself into a chair with all the grace a flustered woman of her size could muster. "I didn't think I'd get this far?"

"Jersey," Crowning's grin graduated to a full-out smile. "You said one sentence."

"Fuck you," snapped the battleship, apparently more by reflex than conscious thought. Her next action was to blush a brilliant red and shove a handful of dinner rolls into her mouth with a mumbled apology.

Crowning didn't care. He'd much rather have the hard-talking, headstrong Iowa he'd grown to love than the quivering wreck he'd met just a few hours ago. "Very eloquent."

Jersey scowled and swallowed. How she managed to get her latest mouthful down her throat was beyond the professor's limited grasp of physics, but he'd never been that interested in the impossibilities of battleship feeding.

"So," she coughed, and drummed her fingers against the table. "About uh…"

"Don't worry about it," Crowning smiled at the giant battleship.

"Fuck." Jersey scowled. "Um… fucking… lemme think…"

Crowning silently nodded for her to take her time. For a few minutes, Jersey just stared into the middle distance. Every so often, her face would contort ever so slightly, then fall back into her usual neutral scowl. It was one of the weirdest things about Kanmusu, one that wasn't well-known among those who don't deal directly with them, and hadn't yet been fully explained.

"Okay." Jersey slapped her palms on the table with decisive finality. "So, about what happened earlier… I was in a bad place."

Crowning nodded solemnly.

"'an now I'm better," said Jersey. "And… fuck." She screwed up her face and dug her fingers into the table. "You're good people, doc. A good friend. But this whole…" she waved her hands in the air with a huff. "It's all uncharted waters, okay?"

"Mmhm," Crowning didn't try to interrupt her. One thing he'd learned, was never to try and stop a battleship when she's got a good head of steam behind her.

"Look," Jersey bit her lip, "Moving too fast in unfamiliar waters… it's not good. Just ask Mo. Could run aground or worse, tear your whole bottom open." She sighed, "That's not good."

"You want to take things slow?" asked Crowning. If this was any other girl, he might be a little upset at being so metaphorically placed in the friend zone. But this was Jersey. For her, even this was a massive improvement, and it made his heart glow to see her heal.

"Please?" Jersey shot him the most pathetic half-smile a giant amazon who's also the world's most powerful battleship could manage.

"Of course," Crowning offered a gentle pat on her shoulder. "I can cancel the-"

"No," Jersey grabbed his hand in her iron-hard grip. "Um… I mean…" she glanced at her belly. "I promised my crew pie."

"Pie then," said Crowning, "As friends."

Jersey nodded happily. "Yeah."

"I'll make the reservations."

Jersey's face paled. "Res-reservations?" she stammered. "We're not going someplace _that_ fancy, right? I… I'm fucking not wearing a dress!"

Crowning sighed, "for a truck, Jersey."

The battleship blinked.

"You're fat."

"Fuck you!" Jersey flipped her shades down with a curt nod of her head and presented both middle fingers as she lounged back in her chair. "I do what I want!"

"And there's the battleship we all know and love."

Before things could get any saner, a frilly orange traffic cone of a girl bounced up to the table. "Hi~ Hi~," Naka set her hips at a slant, one hand throwing up a peace sign to complete the impossibly cute appearance. "Naka-chan, Idol of the fleet, Desu~"

Jersey didn't miss a beat. The battleship grabbed Crowning's half-full water glass and smashed it into Naka's face with all her might. As one would expect when crashing a glass against steel, the implement shattered with a loud crash and splashed water everywhere. "Goddammit, Naka!" Jersey barked with half-hearted fury, "I told you never to say that!"

"I remember no such thing!" Naka pursed her lips and put a finger to her mouth in an adorable 'silly me' pose.

Jersey narrowed her eyes, her icy stare noticeably chilling the air around her. "Fuck," her voice was even colder than her stare. A low rumble that resembled an earthquake more than human speech. "you."

Naka giggled. "Jersey-san, I'm a traffic cone."

For a second, Jersey just stared at the light cruiser. Then a horrified expression crossed her face as she realized where this was going. "No."

"I-"

"Nononono!"

"Do what-"

"No, Dammit, that's my line!"

"I-"

"NAKA!"

"WANT!"

"FUCK YOU!" Jersey grabbed Crowning's half-eaten soup and dumped it all over Naka's frilly orange dress. Her chest heaved with exertion and anger, and her glare narrowed to icy pinpricks.

Naka smiled and wiped the stuff off her face. "You done?"

Jersey shrugged, and effortlessly reverted back to her usual devil-may-care rakishness. "Yeah, I'm done," she said without a shred of lingering distaste.

"Outstanding!" Naka fished a packet of sheet music from… somewhere and shook a few droplets of soup off the pages. "Williams is having another summoning. Think you could help us out?"

Jersey glanced over the music. "Zeppelin?"

"Yeah," said Naka. "I'd play it myself, but…" she did a little pirouette, "You can rock way harder than I can."

"Fucking-" Jersey popped a dinner roll in her mouth, "Truuf!"

"So you in?"

Jersey swallowed. "As long as you don't make me sing, yeah."

Now it was Naka's turn to pout. "What? why!" She balled her hands and puffed out her cheeks. "You've got such a good voice for it!"

Crowning felt compelled to agree. He might not be the most objective judge, but he couldn't imagine a better voice for belting out hard rock than Jersey's rough, dusky contralto.

"Because," was all the explanation Jersey could give. "I just… I'm not a fucking beauty queen."

Crowning and Naka blinked in perfect harmony. "Nobody said that," said Naka.

Jersey scowled. "Just…" she grabbed a handful of everything edible within arms' reach. "Imma go practice this shit."

Naka rolled her eyes. "Have fun!"

—|—|—

Shipgirls were, as a rule, gorgeous. From the girlishly cute destroyers, to the sultry smolder of Musashi or Mutsu, to the round-nosed beauty of Akashi, Major Solette had yet to meet a shipgirl who wasn't attractive. But he'd never met a girl who looked as damn _old_ as Vestal.

Her hair was streaked with gray, looking in places more like badly weathered steel wire than human hair. Her skin was pale and weathered under the layers of grease and grime that looked thoroughly ground in, and those gritty brown eyes moved liked lead weights.

Solette had seen it before, the look of someone who'd just pulled their third consecutive eighteen hour shift. And that's _before_ accounting for a shipgirl's superhuman stamina.

"Doc," Vestal's voice matched her battered visage. Low, raspy, and huffed out like every syllable took titanic effort. But there was a spark in her words, a tiny note of defiance proving that however battered she might be, she wasn't broken. _Not just yet._

"Vestal." Solette offered a hand, which she took in one of her heavy leather welding gauntlets. "Thanks for taking over for me."

The repair ship shrugged with a groan of stressed metal and popping joints. Her makeshift skirt of tool pouches and wrenches hung by their ends—a skirt which inexplicably left her hips covered only by her shorts—jingled and rattled as the old girl shuffled her way to the wall. "You did good."

Solette beamed. He'd only met Vestal a few minutes ago, but he could tell she was not the kind of person to lavish praise easily, and she was _not_ the kind of person who'd accept anything less than utter perfection when it came to caring for her charges. That simple 'Did good' felt better than half the ribbons on his uniform. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Vestal's shuffle ended as she pulled up next to the wall. For a moment, the old repair ship just stood in place. Then she slowly sank against the concrete until she sat on the floor in a heap. Her boots skidded against the floor, leaving coal-black slicks in their wake, and she slowly peeled off one gauntlet then the other.

"How's Heermann?"

"Sent her home," Vestal closed her eyes and drank in the cool air. "Should be sleeping with her sisters."

Solette smiled. The three little destroyers had been a little trying on the ferry ride back to Washington, but there was something about the three of them—plus Sammy of course—cuddled up at night that warmed his heart. For all the shit they caused—a reputation that was mostly undeserved in his opinion—they were good girls. "Outstanding."

Vestal offered a tiny nod, and slowly let her hand slink into one of her pockets. A few minutes later, it came back with a chunky black pipe.

"You smoke?" Solette cocked an eyebrow. He wasn't worried about her health, the few months he'd spent taking care of shipgirls had drilled their impossible resilience into him _hard_. He was just surprised. He'd never met a girl who smoked. Hell, even the girls who _drank_ were few and far between—and mostly eccentric in other ways.

"Used to be a collier," Vestal planted the stem between her gritty teeth while a small party of faeries ran out her sleeve with miniature blow torches. After a few seconds tamping and fiddling, the tiny creatures got Vestal's lit.

"I'm never going to get used to that," muttered Solette as one of the faeries offered him a wave before disappearing back into the exhausted repair ship's welding jacket.

Vestal didn't say a word. It took Solette almost ten minutes of watching smoke slowly curl from her half-open mouth to realize the girl had fallen asleep against the wall.

He shrugged off his uniform jacket and draped it over her legs. "Sleep tight, Vestal."

—|—|—

The summoning chamber crashed to a grinding halt the moment Naka stepped though the doors. Jersey and the band were already taking a break after their last warm-up, but even the gently lapping water below froze in confusion. Every eye was glued to the cutesy light cruiser as she made her way to the stage.

Her boots echoed against the balcony floor, the myriad of buckles clicking against themselves as oiled leather creaked. Polished metal adornments on her blouse glittered in the chaotic lighting, and the chain mail of her over-skirt rustled with each motion.

Jersey was the first to regain her composure. "Naka, the fuck?"

"Hmm?" Naka glanced over the gritty warrior-traffic-cone ensemble she was wearing. Her heels skid against the floor as she did a little spin, leather and chain clattering in the reality-breaking display of a pop-idol/viking mix. "Oh, this?"

Jersey shot her a pointed glare.

"We're playing rock," Naka took the stage in one grand step, somehow managing to keep her short skirt from flashing her antifouling to every band member. Idol magic was the only explanation. "Thought this was more appropriate."

"Well…" Jersey shrugged, "Yeah, it fucking is."

"So why the problem?" Naka slung a guitar over her shoulder and plucked experimentally at the strings. Good, it was still in tune since she checked it before getting into costume. Not that it _wouldn't_ be, but still. Force of habit.

"Because," Jersey scowled. "Fucking reasons."

"You're adorable," Naka blew a kiss at the confused battleship—which only made her scowl more, then spun to face her audience. The light cruiser effortlessly shifted into a warrior-maiden persona that somehow didn't lack for any of the cuteness she normally put on.

"Hello NAVSTA Everett!" She threw devil horns up with one hand, holding the mic close to her face with the other as she mounted a speaker. "Are you ready to _rock_?"

The crowd roared a generally affirmative thunder at her.

Naka made a show of putting a hand to her ear. "What's that?"

Another, even more enthusiastic cheer.

Naka smirked, then gave a nodding signal to Jersey and the band.

The battleship might not want to sing, but she could run a guitar with the best of them. Her hands flew up and down the strings, her head pulsing with the chords as drums hammered out their chorus behind her.

"A-ah-ah-ah-ah" Naka screeched into her microphone, almost bending double as she poured all her lung capacity into a howling war cry.

Jersey kicked up her attack, adding twisting distorted subnotes to the chords she hammered out.

"OH…" Naka held a fist in the air, letting the tension build for a second while she let the music crash around her. " _We come from the land of ice and snow!_ "

—|—|—

 _She'd fought hard._

She'd fought long and hard, fought long after any sane man would have given up. Long after the whole world turned to knives and ashes around her.

She'd fought until her country was nothing more than dust and blood.

She'd watched everything she knew torn to pieces.

Her home was blown apart.

Her country was bleeding dry.

Her people were starving.

Her enemies stood over a beaten foe, gun in hand ready to finish the job with a single bullet to the head. Her country was already half-dead. Its cities burned in firestorms the likes of which no mortal had ever seen. Its people lay dead in droves, the great country was crippled. A dying people just waiting for its foe to finish the job.

And the worst part?

She knew they deserved it.

After what they'd done, they deserved nothing less than a bullet and a shallow grave.

But her enemy didn't land the killing blow.

Her enemy offered his hand, and pulled her people back on their feet.

They opened their treasuries to their greatest foe.

And they'd given her another chance to serve.

Not as a warship, but as a sacrifice.

A chance to burn away her sins with a divine light.

And now they needed her once again.

 **Weigh Anchor!**

—|—|—

"Wat." Jersey stared at the new arrival with utter bewilderment.

She was long and thin, the knife-nosed hull of a cruiser with chisel-fronted turrets and an armored wedge for her superstructure. Her stack rose like a monolith and spherical secondary directors bulged around her after mast. It was a design Jersey knew by heart, a ship she'd recognize anywhere.

Which didn't make it any less fucking weird.

The blond girl stifled a little cough with her glove. Her outfit was no less bewildering. A gray double-breasted officer's coat adorned with gentle armoring around her bust—that was roughly on par with the battleship's own upperworks—and bold red striping down the sleeves. By the look of it, she had plenty of patches on her shoulders, but they'd all been covered by an American flag banana tied around her arm.

And that wasn't even going into the whole 'technically a skirt' matter.

Jersey glanced at Naka, and the two shared a mutual "Wat?"

The newcomer smiled timidly. "Um… Guten—I mean, uh," a rattling cough racked her body, "howdy ya'll'." Her voice was a little shaky, but it oozed with happy enthusiasm. It was the kind of voice that made a rainy day brighter just by the sound of it.

"Wat," was all Jersey could manage to say. Luckily, her Admiral was a bit more eloquent.

Williams stepped out of the crowd in his usual dress uniform, his bearing flawless and military as always. "Welcome back," he said with a gravitas utterly unlike the mind bending confusion of the assembled shipgirls. Probably because he couldn't see her hull. "Report."

The girl snapped to attention, "USS _Prinz Eugen_ , IX-three-hundred reporting, sir!" She stood in place for a moment, her tiny skirt ruffling against her legs—if she wasn't wearing those undershorts, she'd be in _so much trouble_. "Um… is… is Bismarck back yet?"

For a moment, Williams didn't say anything. Then he sighed, and motioned towards the ladder. " _Prinz Eugen_ , I'll brief you in full."

The cruiser noticed her new Admiral's sudden solemnity. She had to, cruisers were always the most insightful ships. But she did as she was told, clambering up the ladder and trotting after Williams.

Naka glanced at Jersey. "What just happens?"

"I dunno," Jersey fished her shades out of her pocket. "Freedom?"


	108. A Certain Lady Part 20

**A Certain Lady Part 20  
**

Parkson wanted to fall down in one of the shallower edges of the dock and just let her tired muscles relax for a few moments, but she didn't want to keep everyone waiting. She didn't enjoy the experience and she certainly didn't want to make anyone else sit through it either. Especially with the outcome they had reached.

It had been touch and go for a while. Particularly with some of the shrapnel Tatsuta had been forced to leave behind during the bout of field surgery. And she was pretty sure there were more hands moving things about than belonged to her and her team. But she was far too focused on making sure the wounded battleship was put back together as nice and neat as possible to really question it. Probably better to ask the Major regardless.

He knew a lot more about dealing with shipgirls than she did. But she as doing a pretty good job of it if she said so herself! It still made her nervous as all could be though.

She looked over the sleeping Hiei, bandaged up and looking a little less like the mummy she had been when she'd been brought in, and let loose a sigh of relief. It could have been a lot worse if she were perfectly honest about it. But it hadn't. And even if it had, she wasn't about to let it slow her down. When the going gets tough, the tough get going after all.

Even if that meant pulling chunks and shards of creepy spooky metal that might be some kind of evil made manifest out of a woman who was also a warship.

Still...

She really would have liked to have saved Hiei's arm.

But there was genuinely nothing anyone could do about it. Mostly because there was not enough left to save.

Much as she wished she could say otherwise, without a lot of time, effort, and precious resources, Hiei's war on the front lines was all but over. Almost everything fore of her conning tower would need to be replaced or rebuilt from scratch. And what had been salvageable had gone into making sure what had survived was on its way to recovery.

Parkson considered it both a miracle and testament to the Yokosuka Naval Arsenal that Hiei's keel hadn't been warped in some way by all of the trauma placed on it. She'd have to give credit to there. They'd built a sturdy ship. Severe lack of good armor and damage control procedures, true. But the second Kongou had taken one hell of a beating. To the point even a true blue standard would have to be impressed.

Parkson paused as she parsed out her latest string of thought bubbles. Fore of the conning tower? But that didn't make sense. It was an arm. Fore would be... But then the... And keel was...

She groaned and kneaded her temples. It was probably better to just let it slide and attribute it to stress for now. The Major probably did the same. And anyone else who dealt with shipgirls on a regular basis.

If there was a plus side however, she was certain to have already found it. As she tried to work the kinks out of her shoulders, the bright eyed young woman cast off the spooky headache growing and grinned a tired and assured grin. It would just be a matter of making sure Hiei was well enough to take advantage of that silver lining. And convincing Rear Admiral Richardson of it. But that shouldn't be too hard if her impressions of the man were accurate.

Second of the Kongou-Class of fast battleships: Hiei.

Parkson had never met the warship before now, but there was plenty of a story to be told written on the savaged body she had just finished pulling back from the brink.

And that story was a long one. Sure, her older sister might have been the very first shipgirl to step forward and take the fight to the Abyssals. But Kongou had every possible responsibility and duty placed upon her shoulders from the very beginning. If there was a duty that required a shipgirl, Battleship Kongou had probably had a hand in the execution of that station.

On the other hand, Hiei had charged headfirst into battle almost from the moment she had taken her first steps as a human being.

Before the ranks had filled out to the point where a rest was even a possibility, one was almost certain to see Hiei's battle standard flying high amongst smoke and flame in any engagement.

The Emperor's Ship-

A rustling of the curtains surrounding the dry-dock drew Parkson's attention to the land facing side of the combined operating and recovery room. There stood a shadowed figure on the other side, its presence only visible owing to the bright lighting.

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Parkson?" A weary, but still quite commanding voice called out her. "Permission to enter the dry-dock? It's Admiral Richardson."

Parkson looked over the sleeping Hiei, weighing her thoughts before replying. Hiei was stable but still in terrible condition. There wouldn't be any danger in letting Richardson in to check on someone so important to him. Perhaps even more than important if one of the many rumor mills was to be believed. You heard a lot of scuttlebutt in her line of work. Most was garbage, but it was still fun to fantasize about the more lighthearted tales.

But at the same time... Bah. Hiei was down, but not out. She'd made extra certain of that. And she'd be right nearby if anything went pear-shaped. The battleship could use a friendly face if she came to. And she'd bet money that the Admiral needed to see Hiei as much for his own sake as for hers.

"Come on in, sir. She's still out, so don't make too much no-" She let loose a rather impressive yawn before stretching and popping her back in a rather satisfying manner. The surface of the pool rippled slightly as she extricated herself from the salty waters. "-noise. She needs all the rest she can get. And Admiral or not, I'll kick you out if you cause any trouble."

"Right."

Richardson pulled aside the curtain just enough to allow himself entry. His eyes held the flinty sort of resolve normally reserved for someone who had prepared themselves for the worst. An already worn and wrinkled uniform looked even more disheveled in his current state. Sure, it was part and parcel of his station to look every part an Admiral of the United States Navy. But right now he had thrown the reigns over to someone else to manage.

Delegation was also part of being an officer.

And Yamashiro needed the practice regardless.

Parkson stood at attention despite her near palpable exhaustion and tried to put forth the best salute she could. She had been about to greet Richardson when he held up his hand. Not sharply, but firmly enough to pass along the fact that formality was not high on his list of priorities.

"At ease, Parkson." Richardson's voice betrayed nearly every emotion he was suffering at the moment. His hand dropped as he turned to fully face the woman who had worked tirelessly with her team to save what remained of Hiei. "We're both exhausted and I'm not in any mood to deal with rank."

"If that's what you want, I won't complain." Her shoulders sagged as she let out a deep breath. It was never immediate. It was always the first moment you had to actually calm down and relax just a bit that the tiredness really hit. Not always the most convenient thing to deal with. And the temptation to just give in was terrible. "Do you want me to step out? She's in stable condition and I can be right outside if you need me."

"Your call. I won't care one way or the other." The crinkling of a report being drawn from a pocket filled the mostly silent room. He held it out in all it's crumpled glory for Parkson to take, which she did without any sort of fanfare. "Just tell me if what your team's report says is accurate. About her injuries."

"Let's see..." She remained mostly silent as she ran through the offered report. Speed reading was a good skill to have. Especially if you had a flag officer right in front of you who'd had his fill of waiting. "...Sir, I'm sorry. This is accurate to the letter. I'd only add a few more details about Tatsuta's field work, but there's nothing else missing or anything wrong."

"I was afraid of that." Richardson took a deep breath as he collected himself, letting the cogs and plans turn and work themselves out in the back of his mind. He ground his teeth together before releasing that breath in a manner just short of shuddering. "You did good work. You saved her. And for that I cannot thank you enough. As a member of the armed forces and as myself."

"Thank you, sir. I'll... leave you two alone." Parkson began turning to take her leave before pausing. Whatever she had been about to say died on her lips as she saw Richardson set into the pool and begin wading towards Hiei. He hadn't even bothered to take his shoes off.

Parkson pushed aside the curtains with one final glance back at the duo before finally exiting.

Only to come face to face with the steeliest set of grey eyes she had ever seen.

"What is the status of Lieutenant Hiei?" demanded Battleship Arizona.

Parkson nearly took a step back reflexively as the overwhelming presence of the redheaded Pennsylvania-Class was swiftly joined by a battleship, three cruisers, four destroyers, and one of Japan's precious few fleet carriers.

None seemed to care about their various states of bandaging or damage, much less dress or undress.

Arizona repeated herself to the gobsmacked woman.

" _How is Hiei?_ "


	109. Chapter 81: One With Stereotypes

**Chapter 81: One With Stereotypes  
**

Heavy Cruiser Prinz Eugen of the Kre—of the _United States_ Navy shuffled out of her Admiral's office as quickly as her shaking legs could take her. Her shoes scuffed against the flooring and she didn't even bother to stifle the raspy cough rattling up her fouled-over windpipe. She felt _miserable_ , and not just because of the wretched state of her boilers.

Her friends had come back. _Spee_ , and _Scheer_ , and even _Lutzow_. Prinz Eugen felt a tiny smile flicker across her face at the memory of her old friends. Only… only they _weren't_ her old friends.

They'd come back wrong. Twisted. Evil. _Nazi_. Prinz Eugen had all but blown up in her Admiral's face at that accusation. She knew her friends! They were proud warriors, and yes, they served Germany. But because it was their _duty!_ They weren't enamored with that little corporal any more than she was!

And then he showed her the pictures. Panzerschiffs steaming in line astern with swastikas proudly flying from their masts. It made her sick to see such honorable girls twisted into something so irredeemably evil. It was a good thing her rifles weren't loaded, she didn't think she could've held her fire.

But the anger was gone now, the void filled up by loneliness and despair. If that's what happened to her friends… Prinz Eugen didn't want to think about it, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was going to be alone for however long she lived.

And then she rounded a corner, and nearly ran into another cruiser.

Two of them, actually. Cruisers of a clearly American design.

Wearing _dirndls_ and carrying steins of beer.

"Hey," the pretty asian one with the scared-over neck hooked her arm though Prinz Eugen's and stuffed a pretzel into the distraught German girl's mouth. "USS _San Fransisco_. Call me Frisco."

"And I'm USS _St. Louis_ ," said the one with flaming red hair and altogether too many guns strapped around her person. "Cee-Ell-fourty-nine, not the other one. Call me Lou!" she added in a cheery voice that sounded like honey on warm bread.

"Uh," Prinz Eugen awkwardly pulled the pretzel out of her mouth, "USS _Prinz Eugen_."

"Oh, we know who you are!" Frisco played with the hem of her skirt. Then she glanced down at her on bodice, then to Prinz Eugen's far more developed upperworks. "You're not treaty-compliant, are you?"

Prinz Eugen shook her head. "S-sorry."

"Psh!" Lou rolled her shoulders in a shrug as enthusiastic as the copper-tinged flicker of her hair. "Ain't nothing to be ashamed about, hun!"

"Yeah," Frisco took a sip from her stein and nearly dropped the whole thing. "Hell, that's good."

"What my division mate means," Lou rolled her eyes, "Is that you're on our side, and we could certainly use a super-cruiser."

Frisco just took another sip of beer, "This is, like, _really good._ "

"Told you," Lou giggled and bounced her hip against Prinz Eugen, sending the German girl's hips crashing into Frisco's.

Frisco ignored the sudden jostling, her attention was too focused on her beverage.

Prinz Eugen glanced from one cruiser to the other so fast she started seriously worrying if she was going to get whiplash. "I… what?"

"Oh!" Lou snapped her fingers, "Darn, aren't we getting ahead of ourselves!"

"We're your division mates." Frisco tore her attention from her beer. "At least for the time being."

"That means you're bunking with us!" Lou beamed and gave the stunned German a quick peck on the cheek.

"And we wanted to make you feel welcome," said Frisco.

"Yeah," Lou nodded. "After the war, I got traded to Brazil. So, ah, I know how awkward getting a new country can be."

"And I… well…" Frisco waved her hand over her pretty—though decidedly Japanese—features with a shrug. "Yeah."

"So if there's anything we can do," Lou steered the little division towards a low-slung dormitory building, "Just let us know!"

"We're here for you, Pringles," Frisco gave the German a squeezing side-hug.

"I-" Prinz Eugen chewed the air for a minute. She wasn't used to such gratuitous displays of affection—or touching, for that matter. That wasn't to say she didn't _like_ it, but the poor cruiser was so out of her depth she might as well be a submarine on the moon.

"Uh," she scrambled to find _something_ coherent to say even as the Americans shepherded her though the double-doors. She was overwhelmed, but in a good sort of way. It was hard to be unhappy around those two. "D-danke!"

"Ain't nothing!" Lou waved off the thanks with a cherry red blush, and Frisco just dipped her head in thanks.

"It was to me." Prinz Eugen rested her head against the much shorter American's ebony locks. She had _friends!_ Then a thought came to her. "But, um," she glanced from one cruiser's dress to the other's. "Where'd you get those dirndls?"

Frisco and Lou shared a look like she'd just asked if water was wet.

"We're _cruisers_ ," said Frisco.

"Of the _United States Navy_ ," added Lou.

Prinz Eugen blinked. "Oh. Um. Okay?"

Neither American felt like elaborating further. In any case, the three girls hastily ducked though a door labeled—in swooping handwriting that Prinz Eugen just _knew_ was Lou's—'Frisco  & Lou, and Pringles Too!'

Like seemingly everything else in America, the room was bigger than Prinz Eugen was expecting. Three beds were set up against one wall, all shoved together to form a single big cuddle area right underneath one of the windows. Pillows, blankets, and adorable little stuffed animals were strew around the triple bed seemingly at random, though Prinz Eugen noticed a stuffed narwhal occupying a position of pride right in the middle.

The other wall was dominated by another window with three desks setup in a U-shape. One shined with pristine, freshly-dusted wood. But the other two were all but drowning in half-finished model kits, paint bottles, books, and oddly-shaped dice.

And of course, the air smelled suspiciously of sausage.

"W-wow," Prinz Eugen smiled as she soaked it all in.

"I know!" Frisco planted her hands on her hips and smiled at the happy German. "I was the first cruiser back, so naturally I picked the corner room!"

"Way to go," Lou held up her fist, which Frisco didn't even need to look at to bump. "Only the best for KanCruDiv 1!"

"Mmhm!" Frisco nodded sagely.

Prinz Eugen spun on her heel, her itty bitty skirt flaring up over her short spats—one of the few modifications she'd received after being turned over to the American Navy. "Thank you!" She beamed and pulled the two much shorter Americans in for a tight hug.

"Oof!" Lou's nose slammed into her collar bone, and Frisco's face all but disappeared into her chest.

Prinz Eugen was so happy to have friends again, she almost didn't notice the _New Orleans_ -class frantically slapping at her flank. "Oh, sorry," She let the two Americans go from their hug.

Frisco staggered back with a gasp. "N- not treaty!"

Lou giggled and tossed a swat at the other cruiser. "So, Pringles!"

"Ja?" Prinz Eugen reflexively snapped to proper Prussian attention.

"You must be hungry, right?" Lou stifled a giggle and fished a heaping plate of warm sausage, oven fresh pretzels, and stone-ground mustard from under her desk. "I'm more a seafood girl myself," she shrugged, "But I did my best. I hope it tastes like home!"

Prinz Eugen nodded, her cheeks already puckering up from her smile. "It _smells_ like home! Danke!"

"Awww…" Lou's smile turned utterly gooey as Prinz Eugen wolfed down a sausage. "You're so cute when she says that."

Prinz Eugen blushed, and sheepishly stuffed another sausage into her mouth.

—|—|—

"Hey, Gale. You're gay right?"

Yeoman Sarah Gale glanced up from her half-finished spaghetti only to find the toweringly gigantic figure of Battleship _New Jersey_ staring back at her, looking utterly frantic. "You know," she sighed, "I can't imagine any possible situation in which this ends well for me, but yes. I am a lesbian."

It took Jersey a second to process what she'd said, then the battleship just shrugged and moved on. "Okay cool. I'm going on a date, and I need something classy to wear."

A few seats down the table, Yeoman Bowers smiled and passed Gale a twenty.

"Okay," Gale sighed, "And… you're coming to _me_ with this?"

"Duh," Jersey shook her head like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Jersey, I wear cammies all the damn time," Gale shook her head, "Why are you coming to me for fashion advice."

"'cause you're _gay_ ," said the battleship with genuine confusion.

Bowers snorted back a laugh and ended up spewing milk through her nose. Gale shot her so-called friend a dirty look.

"What?" Jersey glanced between the two sailors, "Is- is that not how it works?"

"No!" Gale caught herself knife-handing the giant battleship girl and hurriedly stuffed her hand under the table. "That- I…" She scowled and trailed off with a huff.

"So…" Jersey scratched her temple, "I'm confused."

"I can help!" Yeoman Bowers scooted over and offered the battleship her hand. "Jen Bowers, I'm not sure we've met."

"Bowers," Jersey shook as gently as she could manage, "Nice to meet you. Are _you_ lesbian?"

Gale's spaghetti let out a quiet 'splort' as the sailor face-planted in what was left of her dinner.

Jersey and Bowers glanced at her for a moment.

"Is she okay?" asked the battleship.

"Probably yes," guessed the sailor.

Jersey shrugged, "Good enough for me!"

"And by the way," added Bowers, "I'm not."

Jersey blinked. "Not what?"

"Gay."

The battleship scrunched up her brow, then shrugged off this new earth-shattering information. "Oh, okay."

Bowers bit her lip and glanced over the towering battleship's figure. "I have been meaning to ask though… why do you wear that vest?"

Jersey fingered the hem of her puffer vest, "Keeps me warm, I guess?"

"Yeah, but why a down vest?" Bowers pulled a notepad out of her fatigue pocket and scribbled down some notes, "The puffiness is _hell_ on your figure."

"It _is_?" Jersey unzipped her vest and held it open a little. Yeah, her waist was quite a bit smaller without all the padding, but it wasn't _that_ noticeable, was it?

"Jersey," Bowers smiled, "You've got a body most girls would kill for, why don't you show it off?"

"Uh," the battleship blinked, "I thought I _was_."

Bowers just laughed, "No no…" The sailor sucked on the tip of her pencil and trailed off in thought. "A running vest! Something sleek, it'd keep the same line, but let you show off your boobs."

Jersey glanced down with a frown. "Yeah, but mine are-"

"Yours are not small!" Gale burst from her meal like a pasta-sauce-covered submarine breaching the waves after a ballast blow. "Yours are big, and perky, and you're only grouchy because you're _dumb._ "

Jersey blinked.

Gale, however, was too full of steaming rage to let up, "You don't know what average is!" She grabbed the battleship's hands and clapped them to her own, rather smaller, breasts, "These! These are average."

Jersey blinked again.

Gale suddenly blushed a brilliant red and bolted for the door.

"Uh…" Jersey was left groping the air. "Bowers?"

"Ma'am?"

"You saw that too, right?"

Bowers nodded, "She's been on edge recently."

Jersey gave the sailor a confused look, "Any idea why?"

"I think it's Wash related."

The battleship smiled as the universe suddenly snapped back into proper order. "Ooooh, okay, that makes sense."

"So," Bowers stuffed her hands into her pockets and shrugged. "You still want fashion advice?"

Jersey nodded, "Really a lot."

Bowers glanced up and down the towering battleship's figure once more, and scribbled a few more notes on her pad. "Swing by my place around… threeish. I should have some options for you."

"Awesome!" Jersey lifted the sailor up in a tight hug. "Thanks!"

Bowers grunted something in reply with the scant few dozen molecules of air left in her lungs.

—|—|—

White and Shinano walked to the mess hall for breakfast.

Or to be more accurate, White walked to the mess hall for breakfast while Shinano clenched her hand in a death-grip and made little to no progress what so ever.

The big carrier bit her lip and tightened her grip on little White's hand. Her breath was shallow in her chest, and the heavy fabric of her long tail-skirt brushed against her muscled thighs with each timid step.

"W-white?" Shinano stammered out.

"Hmm?" White took a break from frantically skidding her shoes against the concrete to glance back at her towering roommate.

"Um," Shinano blushed and pushed a few bits of her jet-black hair out of the way. She was just wearing it in a ponytail now. She'd spent _hours_ trying to braid it up again, but she just couldn't get her hands to do what she wanted them to. "What- what if they don't like me?"

White sighed and shuffled over to hug Shinano. Or at least hug her waist, it was as far as she could reach. "Shinna, you're silly! Why wouldn't they like you!"

Shinano bit her lip. She liked getting hugs from White, they always made her feel calm. But whenever she _looked_ down at those hugs, she had to look past her own chest.

She'd bound her breasts down as tightly as she could, and the heavy forging of her muneate further hid her figure into something resembling a proper flight deck. But she still towered over all the other light carriers—not to mention outweighed nearly all of them put together.

And if she was being honest, her boobs itched something fierce from the tight linen binding. She wasn't going to be able to stop thinking about that. She might _look_ like a carrier, but she knew she… she really wasn't. Her bindings and armor might squish her chest into something resembling a flight deck, but she knew what lay underneath. The ample upperworks of a battleship that'd just get in the way of her bowstring.

"Shinna?" White squeezed the younger girl's sinewy waist with a concerned grimace.

"Hmm?" Shinano shook herself out of her melancholic mood as best she could. Which wasn't that well, honestly.

"You're a good girl!" White gave Shinano one last squeeze, then resumed her mostly-futile efforts to tow the timid support carrier towards her breakfast.

"Yeah," Shinano blushed beet red at the praise, "But… Ryuujou and Jun'You and…" she sniffed. "They're real carriers."

"So are you!" White huffed and struggled to haul the increasingly frightened girl towards the double doors.

"I have one of the biggest decks ever," Shinano hugged herself with her free arm, "And… and my pilots _still_ can't land on me."

"Give 'em time!" insisted White.

Shinano whimpered and tried to make herself small. She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud, but she wasn't sure her Japan _had_ that much time.

"Now!" White panted, hands clasped to her knees as she hauled down air, "Let's eat!"

Shinano nodded, but didn't make any motion towards the door. She was hungry, yes, hungry enough to nervously paw at her belly. But she'd lived though Japan's darkest hour. A grumbling tummy wasn't anything she—or her crew—wasn't used to.

"C'mon!" White planted both hands firmly on the support carrier's stern and pushed with all her might.

Shinano slowly edged towards the doors, her armored boots creaking against the beaten-down flooring.

"Gotta eat!" added the little escort carrier. "So you can grow up big 'n strong!"

Before Shinano could point out she was _already_ quite big—probably _too_ big, White bolted between her legs and threw open the mess hall doors.

Shinano didn't try to make herself small anymore. Now she tried to make herself disappear. She let out a tiny 'eep!' of fright and ducked down behind White.

It didn't really work, her massive frame was simply too much carrier to hide in White's shadow.

"Shinaaaaaaaaaa," White rolled her eyes, "You've met these girls before!"

Shinano offered a timid nod. "Bu-but that was before."

"Before what?" White planted her little fists on her hips and gave the cowering support carrier a look halfway between the kindness of a mother and the disappointment of a drill instructor.

"Before Akashi told me how broken I was," mumbled the Japanese girl.

"But now you're all better!" half-demanded White.

"But my planes-" Before Shinano could finish her sentence, White went bouncing off to fill up her plate with rice and hash browns, leaving Shinano without even the meager cover she'd been hiding behind.

It didn't take the little escort carrier long to fill up her plate, then she sprinted off to the training pool. She was probably already late after spending so much time babying Shinano.

Shinano muttered a tiny noise of fright, and bolted for the serving line. While she loaded up her plate with scoop after scoop of food, she kept her eyes peeled for anyone she knew.

She found a few almost immediately, but she really _really_ didn't want to sit with them.

Ryuujou and Jun'you shared a table in the corner with a handful of Fubukis. The spiky-haired carrier conversion was howling with laughter and banging her hand against the table in mirth, and the destroyers giggled girlishly while Ryuujou regaled them with a story.

Shinano froze. Were they making fun of her? Not that she really thought they _were_ , Ryuujou was a good friend. But… but Shinano wasn't lacking in things to make fun of, and the very idea that they _might_ be talking about her almost paralyzed her with fear.

"Hey!" a very tiny voice sounded from somewhere beneath Shinano, "You're holding up the line!"

Shinano jumped and looked around for the source of the voice. A gaggle of weary-looking Mutsukis—obviously back from an exhausting expedition—stood in line behind her. Tired girls who'd earned their dinner, and Shinano was keeping them from it with her bulk.

"S-sorry," Shinano stammered out an apology barely louder than her own footsteps as she bolted for a table.

The mess hall was pretty busy this time of day, but she still managed to find a secluded table all to herself. It wasn't that she wanted to be alone, the big carrier would give _anything_ to have a few friends to sit with. But eating alone was better than getting rejected by the pride of CarDiv 1.

"Hey, Shina!"

Shinano almost dropped her plate and whirled around, "Wha?"

"Easy!" Ryuujou laughed and easily dodged the younger carrier's wildly swinging ponytail. "Mind if we join you?"

Shinano glanced around. The destroyers were there, as was Jun'you—who looked like she was six drinks down already.

"Woo WOO!" Jun'you pumped her fist in the air and smiled.

"Uh," Shinano bit her lip and shrank behind her mountain of breakfast food. Unlike White, it at least was big enough for her to properly cower behind. "O-okay."

"Awesome!" Ryuujou smiled and settled into a seat right across from Shinano, while Jun'you slouched into the seat beside her.

"Heya!" the spiky-haired carrier flashed Shinano a drunkly enthusiastic smile, "Nice to meet 'ya, Shina!" she giggled at her own silly rhyme and tore into her breakfast.

"Nice to meet you," Shinano blushed, and stuffed a handful of rice into her mouth. She'd use chopsticks… but she really didn't know how.

"So," Ryuujou slurped down some orange juice. "You've got a briefing with us later, yeah?"

Shinano nodded. "I'm not sure why," she mumbled, "My pilots…"

"You're a _support_ carrier!" cheered Jun'you. "you don't need planes to be awesome! Wooo! Shinanoooooo!"

Shinano blinked. It was hard not to smile when Jun'you was around. "T-thanks."

"You're wel~come!" Jun'you waved a bottle in the air—and barely spilled any—in an impromptu toast.

"Now eat up!" Ryuujou prodded Shinano's towering breakfast pile, "We've got a briefing in an hour."


	110. Chapter 82: The First Thirty-Six

**EN:** _In case you can't tell, this is a flashback..._

 **Chapter 82: The First Thirty-Six**

"Captain on the bridge!"

Captain Goto managed a tired nod of acknowledgement before lurching for a bulkhead as the deck fell out from under him. He was a good sailor, he'd rode his ship—the battered old Guided Missile destroyer _Kongo_ though plenty of storms.

But he'd never taken her though a storm quite as furious as this, especially not in the usually-calm summer waters of the East China sea. _Kongo_ was a good ship—old as dirt and twice as cranky—but good, and even she was struggling with the surf.

Goto felt her lurch under his boots. Her bow cleared a wave crest so thoroughly her sonar array kissed the air, then she put her stern in the sky and crashed down into the trough like a diving submarine.

Spray crashed against the bridge windows—not the bow, the actual windows—drenching every inch of the ship that wasn't already thoroughly soaked by the howling driven rain.

"Ah, hell." Goto tediously made his way across the bucking destroyer to his seat. "XO, report."

Commander Matsuda didn't move from where he'd wedge himself against the bulkhead. Goto didn't blame him, just walking was exhausting in this damn storm. "Engineering says we're good up to twenty-six knots, but requests we keep it below twelve, at least until we clear this storm."

Goto scowled. _Kongo_ was a good ship, but she was still a destroyer. There was only so much damage she could take and still keep fighting. "Shouldn't be a problem." He glanced over his shoulder at the bridge wing, though the darkness at where he _knew Kongo's_ half-sister was floundering though the waves. "I don't think _Ashigara_ can even _make_ twelve knots."

"Latest report says eleven," said Matsuda without a hint of emotion in his voice. There wasn't any grim bile, just exhaustion.

"Damn," Goto clenched at his armrests as _Kongo_ plowed though another towering wave.

Less than two days ago, he'd left Sasebo with three guided missile destroyers for a peacetime freedom-of-navigation exercise. A little show-of-presence after three months of the worst shipping losses the China seas had seen in decades.

Then the United States lost four of its supercarriers in three hours, and Goto'd lost _Chokai_ to a fleet pre-dreadnoughts and armored cruisers. He would've lost _Ashigara_ too if that storm hadn't cropped up close enough for the two destroyers to sprint for.

It was funny, he'd toured the _Mikasa_ a dozen times. For all her great history, Goto couldn't help but find the little warship a bit comical. She was tiny, short and pump next to the lean grace of his destroyer.

But brawling against the pre-dreadnoughts at a scant few _hundred_ yards had instilled a healthy respect for the old coal-fume spewing warships. Not just respect, _fear_. Goto wasn't a superstitious man, but when he caught sight of those ships with his binoculars—ships that steadfastly refused to show up on radar as anything more than fleeting specters—he knew he was looking on the face of something evil.

Their guns spewed hate, their stacks belched gritty black smoke, and even the sea seemed to roil with fury at their presence. And every so often, he'd catch a glimpse of… _things_ manning the rails. Shadowy figures darting from point to point like animated shadows.

"TAO," Goto cradled the intercom like a lifeline as his destroyer smashed though another wave, "Anything on scope?"

 _"No sir,"_ came the supernaturally tense reply. _"I can barely even tell Ashigara's there."_

Goto scowled. Radar was _Kongo's_ one big trump card against those monsters. Her armor was nonexistent purely _because_ her radar let her find and kill targets beyond any gun's range, let her intercept any weapons hurled her direction. In a knife-fight, those old relics held every advantage.

 _"Sir, do we have an ETA on those reinforcements yet?"_

"Not yet," Goto lied.

He knew exactly when his battered division was getting reinforced. _When hell froze_ was shot to hell and back, but she could still make over twenty knots. She still had most of her harpoons, and her VLS cells were stuffed with SM-2s. That meant she was in better shape than just about anyone else in the fleet. She was on her own for now, time so see how well she stacked up to her namesake.

 _"Understood, sir."_

"Keep those sets hot," said Goto. If his luck—yes, he called getting his ship half shot-out from under him luck. At least he still had the other half—held, he'd be back in Sasebo by daybreak. At least under cover of night he could hide from those damn hell-ships.

"Sir," Matsuda's exhausted calm cut though the bridge, "Message from _Ashigara_. Her bulkheads are failing faster then they can weld them up. She's not gonna make it to Sasebo."

Goto let out a gutterl grunt of frustration at whatever god was watching. "Can she make Nagasaki?"

Matsuda relayed the message, then waited for reply. "Yes."

"Helm," Goto put his gaze back to the churning ocean, "Make course for Nagasaki. XO, have _Ashigara_ make best speed, we'll follow behind." He thought for a second, then added, "And alert the coast guard, we might need them."

A chorus of affirmatives echoed back at him. Nagasaki was so close he could almost taste it. Even at eleven knots, even in this storm, they should make land inside of two hours.

—|—|—

One hour, twenty-one minutes later, all hell broke loose.

Nagasaki was so close the city lights glowed like a beacon though the howling storm's fury. _Ashigara_ was so far down by the bow her bridge was practicably awash in the pounding waves, but she was still limping along at a steady ten knots. _Kongo_ trailed a few hundred yards behind, her lookouts—all the way up to her captain—squinting into the gloom for any sight of the hell ships chasing them.

But if spotting a ship at night is hard, spotting a ship at night _in a storm_ is almost impossible. Nobody noticed the pre-dreadnoughts until they were less than a thousand yards away.

The foul ship's sides erupted in fire. Cannon after cannon spoke from their casemates, blowing her rain-soaked hull dry and carving deep craters in the waves.

Goto didn't hear himself give the order, but he knew he must have. _Kongo_ scraped up every scrap of power her aging engines could produce and _bolted_ for the splashes.

"XO!" Goto felt the old destroyer's power roar under his feet. He swept his eyes through the dark rainstorm, searching for some hint of the monsters hiding within. "Get me the _Ashigara!_ "

"Sir!" Matsuda barked over the thunder of gunfire. Even this far away, the sound of secondary batteries firing was almost deafening. The thunder of gunfire mixed with the crash of waves against steel and the roar of _Kongo's_ engines to form a cacophony Goto hadn't heard—hadn't even imagined—before.

He was knife-fighting a destroyer against battleships at night, and chasing salvos like his life depended on it. It was 1942 all over again.

"You're go!" barked Matsuda.

" _Ashigara_ ," Goto didn't waste a second, "This is _Kongo_ -actual. Set your missiles to bearing-only, we'll light them up for you."

 _"_ Ashigara _acknowledges."_

"OOD, I want our spotlights manned and searching," Goto thumbed the intercom over to the 42MC. "TAO!"

 _"TAO here."_

"Set our missiles to bearing-only and watch your cameras. You'll only have a few seconds to aquire so shoot fast."

A brief pause, then an assured, _"TAO, aye!"_

Goto slammed the intercom back into its cradle. The deck lurched under his feet as _Kongo_ dug her rudders into the water and threw herself into a hard turn.

Searchlight beams clawed back the night, frantically searching the howling storm for a solid location for the muzzle flashes damming Goto's destroyers with their thunder.

"There!" Goto's voice was all but lost in the bark of a Harpoon roaring out of its tube. Missiles from _Ashigara_ joined it mid-way, skimming over the surface like a very fast torpedo.

 _Kongo's_ shot went wide, hurtling off into the storm with all the precision its inertial guidance system could produce. _Ashigara's_ blow struck home.

The missile crashed against something steel and solid, erupting with a pathetically weak blossom of orange flame before the howling rain quenched the fire.

A few of the pre-dreadnought's guns were silenced, but it wasn't enough. Harpoons were never built for this. They lacked the warhead or the fusing to punch though hardened steel armor, and acquiring a target in this storm was almost impossible.

 _Kongo_ was only alive because the demon ships had as much trouble targeting her as she did them. But every pulse with her searchlights was a beacon giving her exact position. And the demons had far, far more guns than she did.

 _Ashigara_ had escaped notice. The momentary flame of her missiles rocket motors reflecting against her hull wasn't enough to draw the pre-dreadnoughts' ire, but it almost didn't matter. The destroyer was fighting hard, but even Goto could see she was floundering.

The demons weren't shooting at her, they weren't wasting their ammo. There wasn't a chance she'd make it to shore, her crew would die with land in sight.

In the confusion and gloom, Goto swore he saw an armor cruiser break off from the pack and slowly, almost lazily sidle up to _Ashigara._ Its armor laughed at the paltry five-inch gun barrage the crippled destroyer lashed out with. Its stacks belched coal-black smoke as it set up for a killing blow.

"Sir, look!"

Goto's jaw dropped. A quartet of Coast Guard _Hida_ -class patrol boats fought their way though waves as tall as they were, struggling to close the distance to the wounded _Ashigara_. The little white ships bounced though the waves like toys in a tidal wave, clawing tooth and nail for every inch of ocean.

But claw they did. The little white coasties fought their way though the surf like lions, forcing—almost _demanding_ the waves bow to their wills.

But one of them was leading the pack. It surged ahead of the others, its little forty-millimeter pop gun barking in pint-sized defiance. Splashes from six- and three-inch guns erupted all around it, drowning its little white hull in surf.

But still it charged on, its gun barking like a man posessed.

"He's drawing their fire," breathed Goto. "Helm! Bring us around!"

"Helm, aye!"

 _Kongo_ heeled into a turn, her screwed churning the water to a frothy white.

Goto didn't know who was captaining that lone patrol boat. He never found out, nobody did. In the confusion of the battle, nobody was ever able to find out who gave the order. Who was the first one to join that suicidal charge in the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe others might live. But whoever he is, there's a monument to him in Nagasaki. A great pillar of marble and brass dedicated to the Hero of the Sumo-Nada sea.

Everyone knows what happened because of that charge.

For the briefest fraction of an instant, the Eastern Horizon turned from darkest night to brilliant midsummer day. A split-second later, the thundering concussion of naval rifles boomed across the ocean. Shells arced though the air, leaving traces in the howling rain as they arced down to bracket their targets.

"What the hell?" Goto whipped around, trying to spot the new arrival to the battle.

One of his searchlight operators must've had the same idea. A beam of light skipped over the ocean and briefly—ever so briefly—caught a shape. A giant, looming shape closing the distance from behind him.

Before the searchlight could require, the shape revealed itself. Fire belched from its sides as gun after casemated gun barked a furious invocation against the demon ships. Searchlight beams shone from platforms built up around what had to be smokestacks, scanning the churning ocean for their targets.

Goto gasped. He know that silhouette. He'd only seen it for the briefest fraction of a second, but those lines were burned into his retinas like he'd stared at them for an eternity.

When his own searchlight lit the ship up, it only confirmed what he already knew.

Twin superfiring turrets mounting gigantic rifles, a flared bow rising high off the ocean like a castle, and a pagoda mast looming over the battlefield. That was a battleship, a _Kongo._

"Douse that light!" barked Goto. He knew, somehow he knew that ship was on their side.

Moments after the searchlight went off, the _Kongo_ illuminated herself. The flash from her rifles painted her in stunning relief, and the Rising Sun battle flag flying from her highest yardarm shone like the dawn.

The ocean cratered with the muzzle concussion, punching a sphere a hundred yards around free of rain. Goto heard a cheer roar though _Kongo's_ bridge as the destroyer's namesake let her fury be known.

The battleship, the freaking _Battleship_ steamed though waves that tossed destroyers and pre-dreads around like toys. Her guns were steady as rocks, her aim true and her fury unwavering.

Not every shell found its mark—in this weather, in this dark, Goto was amazed as many hit as did—but when they hit… good _god_ did they hit. Fourteen inch shells slammed though armor that'd laughed at Harpoons and five-inch fire like tissue paper.

Every solid hit was marked by a titanic explosion as shrapnel and splinters tore up the pre-dreadnoughts innards and tore vast holes in their hulls.

In a matter of minutes, the demon ships had gone from lazily executing helpless foes to _running for their lives._

"Sir," For the first time in two days, Matsuda sounded genuine happy, " _Ashigara_ reports she's got the flooding under control, thanks to the coasties."

Another cheer roared over _Kongo's_ bridge, and Goto couldn't help himself from joining in.

"Okay," Goto planted his feet on the deck and swung his gaze to the fleeing demons, "Let's finish this fight!"

"I don't think we need to," said Matsuda. "Look."

While the battleship had been the center of attention, she wasn't the only ship fighting on Japan's side. Four, maybe five, more shapes darted though the waves. Sleek shapes, low to the water and pointed like sea-going knives. Destroyers hunting their prey.

And then a second battleship made its presence known. Another _Kongo_ steaming a thousand yards north of the first. The second in a deadly pair closing the net around the frantically fleeing demons.

Goto couldn't tear his eyes from the battle, it was textbook. Poetry in steel and fire. These ships… these impossible ships tore the demons apart with torpedo and shell. By daybreak the only thing left were a few scraps of burning jetsam.

That morning, the destroyer _Kongo_ limped triumphantly into port, shaded by the towering pagodas of the battleships _Kongo_ and _Kirishima_ , and escorted by the valiant destroyers _Akatsuki_ , _Inazuma_ , _Ikazuchi_ , and _Hibiki_ and their flagship _Tenryuu._

For the first time in decades, Sasebo anchorage witnessed the towering pagodas of battleships watching over it.

Mankind had its first victory.


	111. A Certain Lady Part 21

**EN:** _Before I begin, I should note that Chapter 77 has been updated with an additional scene featuring Shinano meeting Houshou._

 **A Certain Lady Part 21  
**

Richardson pushed aside the sounds of Parkson being accosted by the rest of his fleet as he waded over to Hiei's prone form. He didn't so much as blink while taking stock of her wounds. He'd seen far, far worse. But comparing thens and nows were a moot point now.

He sat down on one of the stools used by Parkson and her team in the salty water. They were useful little things, particularly for the medical staff.

With a long, exhausted sigh, the Admiral reach out to gently brush some of Hiei's wet hair behind her ear. He might have left his touch linger a little longer than he should have, but he didn't really care. Not when Hiei was right here. A step away from being a wreck. But here nonetheless.

Alive.

"...Be a bit more gentle, John."

A single powder blue eye slowly opened and cast it's tired gaze upon the Admiral.

Richardson froze as Hiei cracked a small smile.

"...H-Hiei?"

It was not only her unexpected consciousness that had surprised him, but also the fact she had used his given name. She hadn't done that in a very, very long time. Even when it was just the two of them.

"The one and only." She grinned as best she could without sending any more twinges of pain through her jaw. If it hadn't been for the fact that moving really, really hurt and she was also missing a full half of her regular ability to support herself, she might have tried to sit up. Or at least readjust herself into a more comfortable position. "How's everyone?"

"Everything from scratched paint to broken bones. But everyone came home," Richardson stated in a very matter-of-factly tone of voice. He lowered his hand from Hiei's face even as his other twitched slightly. He couldn't really help it. He wanted to embrace the wounded woman in front of him so badly it almost hurt. But doing so would only exacerbate her injuries.

"Ah... haha... Sorry I got shot up. Pretty bad, isn't it? But not a scratch on my spirit. You'll see." Hiei shuffled a bit before giving up with a mildly irate grumble. With one arm gone and the other effectively incapacitated at the moment, hand gestures were a little bit out of the picture for now. Fiddlesticks. "Okay, no victory sign. But I'll be right as rain no matter how long it takes."

"Yeah. Right as rain." There was an uncharacteristic twinge in his voice.

"John? Hey, come on. Brighten up. We all came home. I bet we gave them a really good black eye too." She frowned as Richardson went silent. "I shaking you out of it right now is kinda difficult, so come on. Buck up."

"I... sorry." Richardson took a deep breath and dunked his head beneath the pool's waves before Hiei could ask him what in blazes he was doing.

With his eyes fixed squarely on the floor, the Admiral took the short time he had to recompose himself. Painful memories had threatened to take him when he had laid eyes upon Hiei's hull. Memories of a time before the second Kongou had been thrust upon him by a desperate command. Memories he had long since chained up after declaring them under control. But memories he refused to cast aside.

Nine years ago he had seen someone else laid out upon the operating table. And that someone hadn't woken up again.

Much like his daughter, he was too attached to the human who made up the other half of the shipgirl equation. Far too attached. Unlike Jane however, it was by his command that they sortied. His command sent them into war to do what they were made to do. What happened on the field was beyond his control. But that did not change the fact these girls marched to his tune. And he loathed the fact he loved them sometimes. If they were just steel then he could distance himself.

If he could be the commander who saw numbers instead of ships and crew, making decisions without placing faces to names and awaiting results. Or barking orders from atop a warship's citadel, knowing full well his own life was in the same boat as his troops.

But he couldn't. Abyssal warfare wouldn't let him and he wasn't uncaring enough to treat these girls as tools.

Maybe that made him a really shitty Admiral? He had no way of knowing. Desperation and ruthlessness were the only reason he had a star to pin on his collar. Sure, he'd been headed to where he was now before the war started. But that was resting on the laurels of peace and warfare that could be understood on mundane terms. It was part of why he piled on the angry showmanship at times when issuing orders. Hide the weakness. Hide the inexperience.

Get. The. Job. Done.

A bit like Arizona if he wanted to really stretch things.

But Hiei had seen through that as if he'd been a green little seaman's recruit, still wearing a uniform smelling of his mother's dryer sheets.

Bubbles slowly floated away as he loosed some of the air in his lungs. His mind was becoming more and more demanding he refill his oxygen supply and stop this needless display of hiding himself. But he needed just another moment. A few more seconds. Just enough to not break down.

Richardson was rather glad on a subconscious level that he was already on his way back up when his head was roughly extricated from below the waterline thanks to a very sudden an unrelenting yank on his shirt. Otherwise he might have a lungful of water to cough up. Never fun. It was probably one of the better advantages of being stuck behind a desk.

"Hey! Snap out of it," Hiei demanded whilst holding Richardson up with her remaining arm, giving him a decent shake despite the roaring anger of her chief engineer and the rather considerable pain shooting through her arm. And a good portion of her hull. She'd dealt with him during some of the worst times of his recent life. She did not want or need him falling back onto those self-destructive tendencies. They'd been through too much together for her to let him fall again. And besides, she wasn't the kind of warship to let someone flounder like that in the first place!

"Wh-!" Richardson tried to formulate a response, but nothing was coming out. And if there had been anything on the way then Hiei's sudden shaking of him rattled it to the point of incoherence.

Hiei narrowed her eyes.

"John Alfred Richardson," she began, her voice taking on that imperious and commanding tone that had become so associated with her history as the Emperor's most beloved ship. "Look at me. I'm hurt. I'm damaged. I overheard enough and I know enough to know that I may never see combat again."

The Admiral remained silent, reproached by Battleship Hiei's severe tone.

"But I am not dead. I can and I will still fight. There are thousands of ways to fight a war that don't involve shooting things." Her voice softened ever so slightly. "And I will still stand beside you. No matter what."

Richardson took a sharp breath before Hiei released him, allowing both to fall back. Him onto his strange underwater chair and her back onto her moorings with a groan and a wince.

"God. Fucking. Dammit, Hiei," growled out the dark haired man after a minute of tense silence. He stood violently and loomed over the damaged Kongou, his eyes alight with raw anger. "The fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"Pulling your head out of your ass, sir." She grinned cheekily despite the pain. Maybe she'd gone a bit too far if the yelling in her broken head was any indication. Well, it was worth it. "I know you better than any ship around, even better than Mutsu, and I know best how to get your spirit burning again. You know I'm not always good with timing it though. Kongou-oneesama's a lot better at it than I am."

"Yeah, but I'm not dealing with the Dessboat. I'm dealing with you. God-damned crazy-ass Emperor Hiei." He palmed his face and slowly dragged his fingers downward in an expression of irritation. His depression was nowhere to be found. The memories were still vivid, but they did not threaten him like they had minutes before. Dammit, she was right. Again. "Fuck."

Hiei's grin broadened. "Welcome back, John."

"I should be saying that to you. And aren't I also supposed to be worrying about you and the fact you're splayed out here like a mummy." He spoke it more like a fact than any sort of question. "You're really good at making this old man feel useless, you know that right?"

"But, you are useless!" Hiei laughed gaily.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Negative!"

There was a rustling of the curtains that drew the attention of the Admiral and the battleship.

"My my, You two seem to be having fun," deadpanned Mutsu as she poked her head into the makeshift room. She arced an eyebrow in a suspicious manner, trying to keep the teasing lilt out of her voice. "I was under the impression that a certain someone was too hurt to move around, hm?"

"Oh, everything hurts. A lot," Hiei replied, her smile not fading. "But you know how this guy is. And I'm a battleship! It'll take more than this to keep me down. Ow."

Richardson removed his finger from Hiei's bare side and smirked when she glared at him.

"You two never change." Mutsu rolled her eyes at their antics. Everyone had been worried to death about Hiei and here she was, carrying on like nothing had happened. Well, mostly.

"You know you love us." Hiei stuck her tongue out at the second Nagato-Class. It felt good to be home.

"And it is that love that keeps me from beating you senseless with a pillow," snarked Mutsu without any real bite behind her words. Really, there were times when she wanted to throttle Hiei like a certain American cartoon father. But it was that spirit of hers that helped so many of them keep going. Especially their Admiral. Much as she didn't want to admit it at times.

"And at that, I should probably go. Yamashiro is probably about to lose her mind." Richardson stood and arced his back, popping a few bones back into place. He wasn't even fifty and already he was dreading getting even older. Damn the human body.

"...I think she's up."

"The Lieutenant is awake?"

"Hiei-mama's up!?"

"Let us through!"

"W-Wai-!"

And with a grand tumble and a tearing of plastic, the curtains facing away from the rest of the pool came down. Along with it came the majority of the Anti-Princess fleet. A very dazed Parkson found herself at the bottom of the pile, buried by destroyers, cruisers, and one honorary Ensign.

Mutsu stood there, trying to not laugh while still holding the curtain she had pushed aside. It didn't last very long and soon she crumpled to the water with peals of laughter. She'd thought those kind of things only happened in movies or on television!

It was Arizona who strode over the pile, extricating only Jane as she passed by, and approached both Richardson and Hiei. Her steely eyes were oddly soft as she placed the joyful child on her shoulders without a second thought.

"Lieutenant, i-it is good to have you back." The Standard's voice wavered, but maintained the rough character she normally spoke with. She gestured to Jane, who seemed happy to the point where words were beyond her. To be so happy at the return of a loved one... "We were tremendously worried about you. This one more than anyone."

"Ahaha. Sorry. But don't worry, they won't sink this battleship!"

"I should regret letting you all see that movie." While admittedly awesome, that turn with the anchor just made his brain hurt.

Arizona blinked.

"What mov-" She paused suddenly as something caught her eye, drawing an odd amount of attention to herself in the process. Even moreso when she raised a slightly trembling finger in Hiei's direction. Her eye twitched as her expression tightened. "Lieutenant, you're... e-exposed. In front of everyone. In front of the Admiral."

There was a mass swiveling of gazes towards Richardson and Hiei, both of whom looked at each other and blinked.

"Not the first time," admitted Hiei with a bit of a shrug after a few moments.

"Wha-!" Arizona's face went from sporting a slight tinge of red to looking more like a stoplight in seconds. She didn't so much as budge when Jane poked her cheek.

"Besides, he's seen way more that just this."

Richardson massaged his temples as he felt a headache brewing. A very familiar sort of headache. The kind only one ship of his could produce. And he wouldn't trade it for the world.

" _WHAT!?_ "

Mutsu's peals of merry laughter intensified as she rolled into the pool, clutching her abdomen.


	112. Chapter 83: Briefings and Memos

**Chapter 83: Briefings and Memos**

Jersey honestly didn't know what she was expecting when she ducked into Yeoman Bower's quarters.

Her knowledge of shore-side accommodations in general, all the memories she'd been able to glean from her crew's recollections were shrouded in a thick mist of jealousy. She liked having her seamen inside of _her_ , thank you very much.

She knew even less about how base housing had changed in the two decades or so she'd been napping at her museum pier. And of course, she knew absolutely nothing whatsoever about what a woman's quarters looked like. (At least a _single_ woman.)

But she certainly wasn't expecting _that._

"Um, Bowers?" Jersey bit the corner of her mouth, "Is that a slave Leia dress?"

"Huh?" the bright-faced sailor followed the towering battleship's gaze into her closet. "Oh yeah! I wore that to comic con last year."

Jersey smirked. She might not have a rack to match the bouncy pagodas of IJN Shirtphobia… but she was well aware how often the big Japboat stared at her abs. "Think I could borrow it?"

Bowers looked up at the battleship. And up and up and up. "Jersey…"

"Yo?"

"There is no way in hell you're fitting into that."

Jersey planted her hands on her hips and pouted, "It might be a _little_ tight, but-"

Bowers took a few steps forwards until she all but vanished under the swell of Jersey's chest.

"Okay, point taken."

"Thank you, ma'am," Bowers stepped back from the shadow of the towering battleship's superstructure. "I could probably whip something up for you if you're around for this year's con."

Jersey allowed herself a moment or two to enjoy the mental image of IJN bandaidbra drooling with lust— _envy!_ she meant envy—over her abs/stern area. Payback's a bitch, innit? "Thanks, yeoman. I might take you up on that."

"It'd be a pleasure!" Bowers beamed up at the battleship. "Now take your vest off, I want to see how this fits."

"Bowers," Jersey shook her head. Every place she looked was another costume—or at least costume part. Half of them she recognized, but there were so many terribly intricate things she'd never even seen before. And also a really fetching short-shorts and flame-print bikini ensemble that Jersey just _knew_ she'd have to borrow sometime. "What _is_ all this stuff?"

"Oh, cosplay!" Bowers shrugged.

"Looks like a lot of work."

"Oh," Bowers nodded, "It is."

Jersey wadded up her vest and tossed it in the corner. Then a thought occurred to her. "Bowers… this is just a hobby, right?"

"Yes ma'am," the sailor nodded. "I mean, I've done some stuff on commission for Naka, but mostly yes."

"Okay, so," Jersey itched at her temple, "If this is just on your free time… what do you… actually… _do_."

Bowers looked at the battleship like she'd just defecated on her father's grave. "Jersey, I'm an _NCO_ of the United States Navy. _Never ask that question!_ "

"Oh," Jersey blushed. It all made so much sense now.

"And try this on," Bowers handed a neatly-folded packet of cloth to the towering battleship. It was the same deep-blue color as her usual vest, but the fabric was softer and… almost silkier.

It felt like woven steel against the battleship's—admittedly also steel—skin. The fabric flowed like molten copper as she put it on. Each dart and seam hugged her figure with perfect ease. Where her old vest had been more than a little shapeless, _this_ one was all but molded to her body.

"Wow," Jersey admired herself in a mirror the yeoman had somehow produced. The thin fabric worked so much better than the bulky down-stuffed puffs. Her new vest shimmered ever so gently in the light, its careful seamwork drawing attention to the wasp-waist of the battleship's stunning hourglass figure.

And where her old outfit had squashed down her bustline with all the grace of a Chinese sledgehammer, this one had darts and seam-lines that cupped and molded to her breasts.

"Holy fuck," Jersey slapped her hands to her chest and squeezed. "I have boobs now what the _fuck?_ " The towering battlewagon rounded on Bowers with a shocked look on her face, "why the fuck was I never told this before!"

"Um," Bowers bit her lip and tried to contain a laugh. She failed. Utterly and miserably. And then she fell back onto her bed while shaking with laughter.

"I'm fucking serious!" Jersey glanced back at the mirror and had to examine her figure again. She was proud of what her designers had done… but hot fucking _damn_ was she hot. Holy _fuuuuuuck_ was she hot. "Did I not get a goddamm memo or something? I'm a fucking lieutenant commander! Why was I not briefed about my fucking tits!"

"J-Jersey," Bowers hugged herself to try and stay the howls of laughter shaking her body apart.

"Wait," Jersey scowled. "Did anything I just said make any fucking sense at all?"

Bowers just shook her head.

"Fuck!" Jersey scowled deeper. She thought for a second, then added, "So, uh… I owe you for this or what?"

Bowers shook her head, "Nah."

"You sure?"

The sailor pulled herself to her feet. "Yeah. Really, it was nice making something for someone with actual boobs for a change."

"Well," Jersey glanced down. "Okay, point."

"Just promise me," said Bowers, "Next time you're in Japan, you'll stop by Akihabara and get me something."

The battleship blinked. "I don't know what that is, but okay."

"Ask Naka," said Bowers.

"Okay, I will."

"And, uh, commander?"

"Hmm?"

Bowers blushed, "You should probably stop groping yourself."

Jersey glanced down. "But… I don't wanna."

Bowers rolled her eyes. "Now I get why Sarah thinks you're a child."

"Hey!" Jersey snarled and waved an angry knife-hand at the sailor. Or she would've, if she could've pulled even one hand away from her breast for more than a few instants. "Okay… given."

Bowers laughed, "You're a good kid though, Jersey."

"Right back atcha, Bowers."

The sailor laughed. "Oh, by the way. I hear Musashi's heading to the mess hall."

Jersey's scowl morphed into a demonic smile.

"You want to go bother her?"

Jersey glanced down at her new outfit. "Really a lot."

—|—|—

Admiral Goto rocked on his heels at the front of the briefing room, letting the projector warm up while his girls settled into their seats. Handing out mission assignments to carriergirls was always a unique experience, but it wasn't because of the _content_ of those assignments.

For the most part, his carriers had the same routine week after week: "patrol this area, sniff out any Abyssals, call for the battleships if you need them, don't stick your neck out." The location and quantity of carriers might change, but the general thrust of the briefings rarely did. Goto was fairly sure he could get his girls informed and sortied in his sleep if he had to.

No, the disconcerting part about briefing his carriers was that he wasn't briefing _only_ his carriers.

Ryuujou, Jun'you, and Shinano sat waiting for his orders, each passing the time in their own way.

RJ sat back in her chair with an easy-going smile, but her razor-sharp gaze never wavered from Goto's. There wasn't much else to say about her, the light carrier might be old and tiny, but she _knew her stuff._ Goto'd give her as much slack as she asked for and them some, especially if it helped her keep her edge.

Jun'you, however, was busy folding up scraps of her notebook into paper footballs and egging her planeguard destroyer into joining her. Every so often, she'd throw her hands up in triumph and shout a tipsy "wooWoo!" and flash him a ruddy-nosed grin. Goto'd been working with Jun'you for almost four months now, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever seen her truly sober.

And then there was Shinano. The gigantic girl sat with the kind of ramrod straight attention even Kaga didn't normally display. Although there was none of the fleet carrier's self-assured dignity in Shinano's quivering form. She just stared straight ahead, her glasses glowing with reflected light while she awaited orders.

And there was a crisp red apple sitting on her desk for no apparent reason. It could've been a snack. Goto wouldn't have held it against her if it was, a carrier's appetite—especially a carrier of her size—was legendary. But there wasn't even a toothmark on it.

The destroyers were there too, most of them still yawning and kicking off the last cobwebs of sleep, but by far the most unique element was the teeny tiny pilots awaiting their instructions.

Goto hadn't seen more than a brief glimpse of faeries before, with air crewmen being the sole exception. He still wasn't sure what to think about them. The _were_ cute, there was no denying that. Three inches of round-faced, silent aviator sitting with their stumpy legs splayed out and their equally tiny notebooks at the ready.

On the other hand, the were creepy as _hell_.

At least Ryuujou's pilots were relaxing like pilots should. They spiraled over her desk, leaning back against her notebook and silently told each other war stories. Jun'you's pilots were— well, half of them were stripped to the waist playing desktop volleyball while the other half just napped. Showing her _Top Gun_ was a mistake.

But Shinano's pilots… they were as quiveringly timid as the carrier herself. They stared at him with rapt attention, those beady eyes taking in every detail like their tiny lives depended on it. Goto couldn't so much as blink without the pilots frantically scribbling it down on their tiny notebooks.

Goto cleared his throat, and flicked the projector's shade off. "Attention on deck."

Ryuujou sat up in her chair with a simple nod, Jun'you let out a giggling "Lezz Dodis!", and Shinano winced like someone smacked her in the face with a rolled-up newspaper.

Goto caught himself pitting the poor girl, but he forced it to the back of his mind. There was precious little he could do for her. Even if he didn't need all his ships, treating her with kid gloves would just convince her she was as broken as she thought she was.

"Alright, listen up." Goto flipped the projector over to a map of southern Japan and the surrounding waters. "I don't need to tell you how dire our supply situation is right now."

Shinano let out a very quiet wimpier and tried to make herself small.

Goto pressed on, "we're working on a plan to secure shipping lanes, but until then, Japan needs food." He waved a laser pointer over the tiny volcanic islands trailing out into the pacific. "The _Nisshin Maru_ and about a dozen smaller whaling vessels are headed to the Bonins to do what they can."

The admiral pivoted on his heel to face his carriers—and their frantically scribbling pilot faeries. "That's contested waters at the best of times, and Iku's latest recon run spotted at least one enemy flattop in the area."

Ryuujou raised her hand. "Do we know what type?"

Goto shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Iku couldn't make more than general notes before it slipped into a fog bank."

The light carrier nodded and returned to her notebook.

"Shinano," Goto nodded to the largest girl in attendance.

The poor thing almost leaped out of her chair. "H-hai, admiral-dono."

"I understand Akashi's given you a clean bill of health."

The big support carrier nodded, "Y-yes, sir. She fixed up all my blown bulkheads, and White's been teaching my crew how to manage flooding better. But-" She stopped, blushed a brilliant red, and shoved her fist into her mouth with a muffled whimpering cry.

Jun'you reached over to pat the poor thing on the back.

"Shinano?" Goto rested his hands on the podium. He wanted to be kind to the girl, he really did. But there were a million other things that needed his attention right now. He couldn't afford to babysit the only armored carrier he had. _Japan_ couldn't afford it.

"Sorry," she glanced at the ground, her glasses almost drooping off her nose. "It's my pilots. I've— I mean they… uh…" she sniffed and tried to compose herself. "They've been practicing twelve hours a day, and when they're not flying, they're reading up on theory."

Shinano scuffed one armored toe against the carpet. "And Akagi-sama loaned me a few of her consoles, I've even had them playing _Ace Combat_ and _War Thunder_ but…"

Goto cocked an eyebrow and motioned for her to continue.

"S-sir," Shinano glanced at the cluster of tiny pilots sitting on her desk. "They can fly and fight, but… they still can't, um… land. On me."

Goto cracked a grin. "I'll be honest, Shinano. I wasn't expecting even that."

"Really?" Shinano shot him a glowing half-grin. The poor girl looked like she was trying to figure out how to be depressed about what he'd just told her, but she hadn't quite figured out a way yet.

"Mmm," Goto nodded. "They're fast learners, but don't worry about their inexperience. You'll be serving purely in a support role today."

Shinano nodded with a glum smile.

"RJ and Jun'you," Goto flipped to the next slide, this one featuring a bold blue arrow thrusting down from Yokosuka to the Bonins, "will maintain a heavy CAP presence for the duration of this expedition, shouldn't be more than a week." He turned back to the girls, focusing the lion's share of his attention at the timid support carrier. "They'll be working their planes hard and draining their tanks fast. It'll be up to you to ensure they're supplied with avgas and parts."

Shinano offered a more certain nod this time. "Understood sir."

"Outstanding," Goto offered Shinano a warm smile before turning over to the next slide. "After the Tosa-princess incident, Kaga's been tasked with patrolling the East China Sea area," He pointed out a blue-tinged circle off Japan's southern tip.

"And Akagi's watching over fishing boats in the Emperor's Lake," Goto motioned to another blue blob filling most of the Sea of Japan. "That means you'll be heading out with no air support beyond what you're carrying. Ryuujou-"

"Sir!" the flat-decked carrier snapped to attention.

"You're in overall command here," said Goto. "If, in your judgment, the situation gets too hot, pull the fleet back. We can afford to loose a few days of fishing. We _can't_ afford to loose a few whaling boats."

"Understood," Ryuujou scribbled a note down.

Goto flipped to the next slide. "Planeguard assignments are as follows. Kiyoshimo, Shinano planeguard—"

The little destroyer pumped her fist in the air. "Score!"

"—Hayashimo, Jun'you planeguard—"

Hayashimo just nodded in response, while Jun'you let out another tipsy "WooWoo!"

"—and Asashimo, that leaves you with Ryuujou."

"You can leave it to me, I'm fine with escorts."

Goto smiled at his girls, "Dismissed."


	113. Chapter 84: In Which Gale Suffers More

**Chapter 84: In Which Gale Suffers More  
**

Normally, Yeoman Sarah Gale didn't really like watching Wash eat. The battleship was… stunningly pretty to say the least, with slender waist that her tight uniform only accented and broad hips that flowed into that tiny skirt of hers.

Gale wasn't quite jealous of the battleship's figure, or her ability to maintain it even after gluttony sessions that'd leave Gale moaning on the floor clutching her bloated stomach a tenth of the way though. She didn't quite _like_ it, but she was getting to the point where she could accept it.

After all, she'd seen poor Wash shaking with hunger when her dinner was a few hours late. Gale really didn't want to see that again, it took all her composure not to give the trembling battleship a headpat and a hug.

But… if she was honest, there was something relaxing about watching the battleship consume her meals. Wash ate with a measured temp. She'd pick a nicely-sized morsel out with her fork, pop it in her mouth, and chew with ladylike composure. There was a calm and tranquility to it that just flowed from her serene presence. The zen of gluttony, or something like that.

It made Gale feel at ease just watching it. And at the same time, it made the battleship feel more… _solid_ for lack of another term. Not just a girl in a fancy outfit, but a spirit of steel and fire standing firm against the rising tide of the abyss.

Of course… it didn't help that Wash's bulging breasts squished against the table every time she leaned down. That wasn't the _main_ reason Gale liked watching Wash eat, but it certainly helped.

That was her story. She was sticking to it.

"Mmm…" Gale sighed happily as Wash fished out a small morsel of Salisbury steak. A happy smile passed the battleship's queenly face, and the already taut fabric of her uniform puckered just so over those perfectly plump upper works.

The sailor lazily spun her fork in her spaghetti, her gaze still hovering dreamily over the oblivious battleship. And then the doors exploded open with a sound of cannon shots.

"WHA-" Gale lept out of her chair in surprise, and promptly fell flat on her ass.

"I, MUSASHI," thundered… apparently Musashi, "Have Arrived!"

"Kongou's here!" added the bubbly half-aware giggle of… well, the Dessboat. "Dess!"

"Kirishima here," finished a calmer voice—for Kongou-class standards of calm. "Mic Check, one, two, three!"

Gale scrambled to her feet with a scowl on her face. They just _had_ to ruin a perfectly-good Wash-watching evening, didn't they…

Kirishima bounced—yes, literally bounced. That much jiggle had to hurt like hell—over to Wash's table and calmly asked to join her. Wash gave her a polite smile, a nod, and then resumed consuming her dinner with her usual stoic grace.

Kirishima, apparently spurned on by the battleship's disinterest, took her seat with a huff. The converted battlecruiser propped her chin up with her palms, squeezing the assets she had for all they were worth with her forearms. And then she crossed her legs just so, drawing her already short nontraditional-Miko skirt up dangerously high.

Again, if Wash even noticed, the serene battlehsip didn't show it. But that could mean literally anything. Wash was hard as _hell_ to read at the best of times. And observing from across the room while trying to tune out two other crazy Japanese battleships was far from the best of times.

"Hey, Sailor!" Kongou's bubbly accented English exploded mere inches from Gale's ear. "Is this seat open, Dess?"

"Gah!" Gale yelped in surprise and, for the second time in almost as many minutes, fell flat on her ass. "Don't _do that!_ "

Kongou tilted her head in that adorably confused puppy-dog look. "What?" she asked, bringing a single finger to her chin.

Gale sighed, and shook her head. "Never mind," she sighed, brushing herself off and picking herself off the floor. "How can I help you, ma'am?"

"I'd like to sit with you!" Kongou beamed at Gale. "This is the perfect place for observing Kirishima-chan's romance!"

Gale fumed. But then again… well, she couldn't exactly complain. _She_ was the one stalking Wash from a distance, Kirishima at least had the guts to do so from up close. "F-fine, ma'am."

"Don't worry, Dess!" Kongou hooked one arm around Gale's. "Kirishima-chan's infatuated, but she's not the aim of Washington's _Burning Love_!" The insane Japanese battleship gave Gale a pointed wink.

Gale blushed beet red and squirmed in her chair. "How could you—"

" _Janes'_ , dess!"

Gale blinked. "But-"

" _Janes'_!" Kongou ended the conversation by shoving a freshly-baked strawberry scone into Gale's mouth.

Gale shrugged.

And then she noticed something she'd been trying very very hard to tune out.

 _Musashi._

The towering—though not quite as stupendously huge as Jersey—battleship sashayed her way down the serving line, adding more and more to her mountainous tray at each station. And she was wearing a _shirt_.

Well, for certain definitions of _wearing_ anyways. The crisp black garment was only zipped up to the base of her bustline. Either she wanted absolutely everyone to see her cleavage or (and more likely, in Gale's opinion) there was just no way in hell boobs that big were _ever_ gonna fit into a shirt or shirt-like thing.

Gale scowled, and hunched down so her own chest was shadowed. Stupid sexy battleships…

And worse yet, Musashi seemed to realize it. Unlike Wash, who was blissfully ignorant of her gallons of sex appeal, Musashi seemed to make a point to lean waaaaaaaay over every time she saw something even mildly interesting. She'd shake her hips while she walked and shake… other…. areas too.

"Uh, Gale-san?" Kongou shot the sailor a look.

"Huh?"

"What did that pasta ever do to you?"

Gale cocked an eyebrow, then realized she'd been grinding her spaghetti into a fine paste with her fork ever since Musashi stepped though the doors. "Oh…"

Kongou just shugged, and ruffled the sailor's hair with a smile.

And then Jersey walked in.

Wearing some kind of… tailored vest thing that put _her_ tits on full display instead of hiding them under layers of downy padding.

Jersey spotted Musashi.

Musashi spotted Jersey.

The American narrowed her icy blue eyes to frozen slits.

Gale swore she heard the _The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly_ theme start up. No, scratch that, she _did_ hear that song. Courtesy of Kongou. "Dessboat!" Gale hissed and elbowed the battleship in the ribs.

"What?" Kongou stopped her singing, but Kirishima had already took up the chorus—complete with well-timed tapping of silverware against glasses and plates for the instrumental accompaniment.

Gale grunted in frustration and face-planted in her dinner.

"It's showtime," growled Jersey in her surprisingly accurate Austrian accent.

"Oh god," Gale mumbled into her pasta. She could handle the two super-battleships constant dick-measuring contests. But if they got into an Ahnold off…

"You sure," grunted back Musashi, "They're not tumors?"

"Deah naht tumahs!" thundered Jersey. There was a squishy sound followed by a ring of steel on steel. Someone was groping someone else, though Gale wasn't sure if Musashi started it or was shanghaied into it by Jersey.

"I live," grunted Gale, "With idiots."

"Dess!"


	114. Chapter 85: Lollipops Solve Everything

**Chapter 85: Lollipops Solve Everything**

The paper-covered vinyl exam table felt cold against Prinz Eugen's bare legs. Everything felt like that now that she was back. Too cold or too hot, rough when it should be smooth or smooth when it should be rough. Everything felt _wrong_.

Sometimes it was so subtle it was all but unnoticeable, like a shadow all the way in the corner of her peripheral vision. Sometimes it was more obvious. Prinz Eugen couldn't shake the feeling that the universe itself was trying to send her a message. "You are not welcome."

The cruiser bit her lip and shook her head. Lies. _Lies._ She might be German-born, but she was American now. She was part of an American cruiser division, she was friends with two treaty cruisers. She had a family again. So what if reality said she didn't belong? Her family said she did.

Now if only she could get rid of this stupid cold.

Prinz Eugen fished a handkerchief out of her uniform blouse and buried her nose in the slightly-damp material. She blew as hard as she could, so hard she almost let her foghorns go off indoors, but it didn't matter. Her nose still felt like it was teetering right on the edge of a cliff. Like she'd be dripping any second not, but not quiiiiite yet.

She dabbed at her nose, and put the handkerchief away. And then realized she wasn't alone in the room anymore.

"Hey," a short, grizzled American with more silvery steel in her hair than coal-black gave her a quick nod. It didn't take Prinz Eugen long to recognize her design.

"Frau Doctor," Prinz Eugen dipped her head in respect.

"Call me Vestal." The old American's voice slipped though her lips like a thief in the night while she fished a battered wooden pipe from one of the many pockets on her tool belt.

"Frau Vestal then," said Prinz Eugen.

Vestal shrugged, and struck a match against the exam table's heavily reinforced leg. After a moment's fiddling, her pipe let out a thick, coal-fired black puff of smoke.

The old repair ship took a deep breath of the sooty vapor and held it in her mouth. Then, with a hissing puff of breath, she exhaled though lips opened only just enough for the gas to slip though.

"Is… that healthy?" asked Prinz Eugen. There were many _many_ reasons the Nazi party disgusted her. But after German scientists linked smoking with lung cancer, they'd been the first in the world to condemn tobacco.

"Used to be a collier," Vestal shunted the pipe to the corner of her mouth, then seemed to forget it was even there. "And anyways, I'm a ship not a woman, so…"

Prinz Eugen nodded. "I… guess that's okay."

Vestal shot the cruiser a look. "You always this flighty?"

She shook her head. "No, Just… the last experience I had with shipwrights… was not a good one."

"Crossroads?" Vestal scowled, her pipe almost—but never quite totally—falling from the corner of her mouth.

Prinz Eugen nodded sadly. "Not even the test, I don't remember anything about that. But when they were preparing me for it…"

Vestal's scowl deepened, and she shushed the cruiser with a look. "Well, I'm here to make you better."

The cruiser nodded.

"Lollipop?" Vestal fished a plastic-wrapped treat from one of her coat pockets. Then banged it against her thigh a few times to shake the worst of the coal dust off the packaging.

Prinz Eugen smiled a smile that could light up a continent. "Danke!" she said, tearing the plastic off and sticking the candy in her mouth in almost one smooth motion.

Vestal cracked a wry smile for a moment, then it was gone again. "Now, let's get you checked out."

Prinz Eugen just nodded. She was too busy sucking on her new treat to say anything coherent.

Vestal fished something out of her tool belt, a bright yellow box with a short silver handle that crackled quietly when she waved it around. A Geiger counter. Prinz Eugen knew that crackle all too well, even if the exact design was new to her.

"Well," Vestal set the counter down on a table with a heavy thunk. One of her faeries darted down her sleeve and helpfully flipped the thing off for her. "You're not hot anymore. At least not any hotter than you should be."

Prinz Eugen popped the sucker out of her mouth just long enough to mutter a quiet "Danke," then popped it right back in again with a sniffle.

Vestal frowned. The heavy leather of her open welding jacket creaked as she crossed her arms with a huff. "We've gotta do something about that cold."

Prinz Eugen sniffled, and nodded.

Vestal leaned over and unbuttoned the front of Prinz Eugen's uniform blouse. Her pipe almost touched the cruiser's treaty-breaking breasts, but the old repair ship's gaze didn't have the slightest hint of lustful intent.

The cruiser coughed, and blushed a little. She still had her bra on, but she didn't expect Americans to be so forward.

"Easy, girl," Vestal put the head of a stethoscope against her chest. "Just breath normal."

Prinz Eugen nodded, and let out a few rasping, rattly breaths.

Vestal's face twisted up into a scowl. "Damn high-pressure boilers," she muttered, letting the stethoscope fall around her neck. "Be easier if I had a manual for the damn things."

As if on cue, a tiny faerie in an equally tiny Kriegsmarine uniform came crawling out of Prinz Eugen's decidedly non-tiny cleavage. The little creature trotted up to stand on the crown of her breast and saluted.

Vestal raised one bushy, coal-colored eyebrow at the tiny sailor. "Hi."

The faerie produced a stack of itty-bitty books with tiny, but distinctly German, writing on them.

Vestal took the book between her fingers—it was hardly bigger than her own gritty fingernail—and flipped though the pages with careful precision. For almost twenty minutes, she just flipped and read.

Occasionally, she'd mutter a quiet "huh", or "so that's what that does," or even more rarely, "kraut boat magic." Then she closed the book and turned to face the cruiser's confused face.

"Prinz Eugen?" asked Vestal.

"Ja?"

"You've had these aboard all along, yes?" asked Vestal.

"Since I came back, ja." Prinz Eugen nodded. "And a few Kriegsmarine advisors too."

"Hmm," A fire glowed behind Vestal's eyes that Prinz Eugen hadn't seen before. "Prinz Eugen, would you please assemble your crew on your quarterdeck?"

The cruiser nodded. "Done."

Vestal nodded, and leaned over the cruiser until her nose was mere inches from the gentle divot in Prinz Eugen's belly marking her navel. How the Germans got a uniform blouse to fit so snugly over her figure was a question for another time.

"You have manuals now," barked the old repair ship. "I expect you to read them and know them by heart."

Something very quiet wafted up from the cruiser's tummy, but it was quickly quenched.

Vestal blinked. "YOU HAD THEM ABOARD THE WHOLE TIME? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!" she thundered at the cruiser's tummy. "READ THE GODDAMN MANUAL, YOU SHITS!"

A very quiet, timid mumble wafted up from Prinz Eugen's belly.

"WHAT DO YOU _MEAN_ IT'S NOT AMERICAN?" bellowed Vestal.

"Vestal, are you—" Major Solette froze in the doorway, one hand clasping a tall travel mug while the other was still planted on the handle. For a moment, the nurse tried to comprehend the sight before him. But no matter how much he blinked, thought, or tried to rationalize it, all he could see was a confused German-who-was-also-a-boat getting her belly screamed at by an old American-who-was-also-a-boat.

Vestal was too busy with her furious tirade to notice him.

Solette blinked. "oooookay."

—|—|—

"Good evening, Washington-Sama."

Wash glanced up from her fifty-third helping of Salisbury steak with potatoes and gravy, the dabbed a napkin against the corners of her mouth. "Kirishima," she gave the Japanese battleship a polite nod. "It's nice to see you again."

"And it's nice to see you," Kirishima smiled and sat down. Or, to be more precise, she poured herself into the seat like honey sliding across hot metal. There was definitely some extraneous swooshing in those curves of hers, "For the very first time."

Wash blushed a shade, and took a gulp of her milk to cover it. "Yes, our first engagement."

"It was…" Kirishima let out a breathy sigh. The Japanese battleship crossed her legs, drawing her already short skirt scandalously high until Wash caught a glimpse of her anti-fouling measures.

It surprised the American, but Kirishima was, after all, Japanese. She came from a very different culture. If Wash was going to work with her allies, she'd need to learn to work around her new friends' eccentricities.

"Very what," asked Wash, eager to get the conversation back on track.

Kirishima smiled, and adjusted her glasses with one slender finger. "Enthralling."

Wash shrugged. That's not the word she would have chosen, but she couldn't bring herself to correct the Japanese fast-battleship. It's just not kind to correct the word choice of someone who's already going the extra mile to speak in _your_ native tongue, not hers.

"You know what they say," said the American with a bashful shrug.

"No," Kirishima leaned forwards, her arms framing her chest and squishing her breasts up just a smidgen. "No, I don't." Her eyes locked on Wash's. Her lips hung not-quite-closed and glistened with freshly-applied lipstick.

"War is weeks of utter boredom," said Wash, "Followed by hours of sheer terror."

Kirishima tilted her head to the side, a confused noise slipping though her teeth.

"Our engagement was the latter," said Wash.

The littlest Kongou sat back in her seat with a huff, then begrudgingly accepted the compliment with a bow of her head and a smile on those freshly-painted lips. It was so nice of her to clean herself up before sailing into American waters. Wash would have to make sure she did the same if she ever visited Japan. "You must teach me sometime."

"A night battle?" Wash placed a morsel of steak in her mouth and chewed happily.

Kirishima nodded eagerly. "Of course! A night battle!"

"I would be happy to," said Wash, eliciting a squeal of excitement from Kirishima. "But without radar, I'm not sure much I can teach you."

Kirishima blinked. "O-oh…" she hung her head. "R-right, yes. Of course. A night battle."

"What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing!"

Wash shrugged, and resumed eating her meal.

"We're divisioned up, you know," said Kirishima. Wash got the definite feeling that she was mounting a verbal counter-offensive, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out why.

"Mmm," Wash nodded. It wasn't polite to speak with food in your mouth after all.

"That means we'll be sharing a room, right?" said Kirishima with an almost pleading lilt in her voice.

Wash swallowed. "I don't see why not."

Kirishima let out a most un-battleship-like squeal. "Excellent, Washington-sama!"

Wash shrugged, and took another hearty bite of her dinner. She was going to have a roomate now, excellent. She always did find it hard to fall asleep while alone, and she couldn't exactly ask Gale to borrow her tummy for a pillow every night.

And on the plus side, _Janes'_ said the Kongou sisters were all experts in the arts of love and romance. Maybe Kirishima could help her win Gale's heart—and soft, cuddleable tummy!

—|—|—

Admiral Williams stepped into the briefing room, and immediately froze the moment his brain caught up with the images his eyes were sending him.

Musashi sat at the back of the room with a distinctly childish pout on her face. The towering super-battleship was at least nominally wearing a shirt, but the combination of how low she'd zipped it and how she insisted on hugging herself made it almost a symbolic gesture. Williams was sure if she so much as took a breath her breasts would go spilling out everywhere.

And that was the _least_ weird thing that was going on.

Frisco and Lou sat flanking Prinz Eugen, but both cruisers wore frilly Octoberfest dresses while they chowed down on pretzels heaping with mustard Williams could smell from the podium. Where they got those dresses was utterly beyond him. Meanwhile, Prinz Eugen just sucked contentedly on a lollipop without a care on the world.

Speaking of cruisers, Naka was trying frantically to brush down Yuudachi's hair tufts—earning a confused 'poi?' from the destroyer every time they popped back up fresh as new.

Further back, Kongou had produced a full tea party out of thin air. Not only was there heaping plates of oven-fresh scones, cake with strawberries, fine china teacups, and dainty little pitches of creamer, but she'd also somehow managed to produce enough English-style wood-back chairs for all of DesDiv six to join her.

Well, most of them at any rate. Inazuma was busy tottering around with a comically oversized carafe balanced on her head, doling out coffee to any girl that needed it. Her place at the table was taken by Tenryuu, who appeared to be using her sword to cut the cake.

Which would be fine if she didn't scream a hearty Kiai every time she swung.

And speaking of swords, Hoel's DesRon and Kidd's DesRon had apparently decided the room wasn't crazy enough and started an impromptu sword fight. It was a messy, chaotic battle where the only casualties—besides peace, quiet, and general dignity—were chairs.

Well, most of them anyway. Johnston had instead shoved her face into Jersey's chest. Apparently she'd been like that for quite some time, because her skin was starting to get noticeably blue.

"What," was all the coherence Admiral Williams could manage.

The shipgirls froze.

Slowly, a slain chair toppled over between Dee and Heermann.

Jersey was the first to react. "Attention on deck!" she barked.

There was a loud scuffing as girls snapped to attention.

Johnston fell out of Jersey's cleavage with a quiet 'fumph' and snapped to.

Williams blinked, "Be seated."

The girls settled back down into their chairs. Inazuma tottered up and offered him a steaming mug of coffee that he gratefully accepted.

When the room had quieted down to a baseline level of utter insanity, Williams flicked the screen behind him to a map of the South China sea. A map drenched in the bloody red of Abyssal controlled waters.

"As I'm sure you're all aware," said Williams, "The supply situation in Japan is… dire. We're doing what we can, but shipping food all the way from CONUS to Japan takes time. Loading our ships takes time and our docks are already overworked. And escorting those convoys pulls ships away from other duties."

There was a quite murmur in the briefing room.

"The Abyssals own the South China sea," continued Williams. "They sink anything that steams though, and strangle the path between the farmland Australia and the hungry mouths of Japan."

The Admiral flicked to the next slide; the same map, but with three island groups circled. "Their control of the sea flows from these three points. Woody Island in the Paracels, torpedo boats in Spratly islands, and bases in the Riaus."

He folded his hands behind his back and turned to the assembled girls. "I intend to seize these islands, and force open a corridor of safe waters clear from Taiwan to Sunda. A corridor to be _held_ open by destroyers and slow-battleships from Naval Activities Sasebo."

Jersey hunched forwards until her chest squished against her desk and scribbled a note on her notebook. The other battleships did likewise, and Tenryuu started absentmindedly polishing her sword.

"Our analysts," Williams tried not to put to much weight onto that word. The first few months of the war had been nothing but bad calls from the intelligence branch. But they were finally starting to hit their stride. "suspect the Riau islands are being used as a distribution hub for supplies ferried in from the Celebes and Bismarck seas."

"Supplies, sir?" Jersey raised her hand. "Since when do fucking demons from the deep need logistics?"

"Since now," said Williams. "Observations from Albacore—" Tenryuu shivered "—and Shioi confirm it. The Abyssals have a logistical train. Or at least they _act_ like they do."

Jersey flashed a razor-toothed smile. "Submarine feeding frenzy?"

"Ideally, yes," said Williams. "But we've got precious few submarines with any experience in commerce raiding, nor do we have the time to simply starve them out. This is going to be a surface-only operation."

The battleship smiled even wider.

"Admiral Kirkpatrick," said Williams, "is dispatching a fleet centered around Haruna—"

"Go Imoto-chan!" cheered Kongou.

"—Tiger—"

"Go Imoto-chan!" cheered Kongou again.

"—to punch though Sunda and take the Riaus."

"Question." Kongou raised her hand. "How are they going take the island with ships?"

"Kirkpatrick has a contingent of Australian Marines at her disposal."

Jersey let out a cackling laugh. "Oh hell yes!"

Kongou shot her a confused look.

"Those guys are badass!" explained Jersey. "They come from a place where _everything_ is actively trying to kill them."

Kongou chuckled. "Emus, Dess."

"What?"

"Emus." Kongou looked at her and chuckled again. "Dess."

Jersey stared at the giggling Japanese girl for a moment.

"You two done?" asked Williams.

"Yes, sir." Jersey blushed, "Sorry."

"As I was saying," said Williams, "the Australians are taking the Riaus, and the Spratlys are too small and scattered to support anything bigger than torpedo boats, or possibly destroyers. Mogami will lead Kuma, Tama, and their DesDivs, along with Akitsu Maru to secure them." He turned to his girls, "That leaves the Paracels up to you."

The screen flipped to a satellite image of a tiny island dominated by a runway that thrust into the azure water surrounding it. "This is Woody island as it looked two years ago," said Williams. "The PLAN were busy converting it from a nameless island rock to a forward operating base. With a one-and-a-half mile runway and an artificial harbor that can support steel-hulls up to five-thousand tons, it commands the entire northern half of the sea."

Williams flipped to the next slide. It was a shallower angle of the same island, shot on black-and-white film from an airplane instead of a satellite. "This was taken two weeks ago by recon planes from Shioi."

"Fuck me," breathed Jersey.

The island was the same, only it wasn't. The harbor'd been dug out further, and there were three iron monsters anchored off the atoll ring. Battlecruisers, probably.

But the island itself was… _wrong._ It exuded evil and malevolence, like a giant festering wound in the middle of the sea. It was a mockery of everything the navy stood for, a rotting coal-back bit of hell transplanted to the Pacific. Even the water around the island looked gritty and foul.

"Mein Gott," breathed Prinz Eugen. "I… I know those ships."

All eyes swung to her.

"Derfflinger," the cruiser's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Lutzow… Hindenburg."

Williams pursed his lips. "Prinz Eugen, I'm afraid this isn't the only picture we've got of them."

The cruiser steeled herself. The muscles in her legs tensioned like steel cables, and she stared straight ahead. Then she gave a gentle nod.

The image flipped to another picture. A telephoto image of the battlecruisers. They were changed, modernized. Their masts were cut down and their sides bristled with anti-aircraft mounts.

The picture was just close enough to make out… _something_ manning the rails. But it was too grainy to see more than dark, slick shadows. Like animated oil slicks commanding the hateful warships.

Warships which each displays with arrogant pride a red-banded swastika on their bows and flew from their masts a bloody red ensign.

Wood shattered as Prinz Eugen's fingers bit into the armrests of her chair. "Tell me," she hissed, her voice shaking with rage, "Tell me we're sinking those… _traitors._ "

"That's the plan," said Williams. "You'll link up with LHDs off Korea, and take back our island."

"Sir," Jersey glanced back at the assembled kanmusu, "That's a hell of a lot of firepower, isn't it?"

"Perhaps," Williams shrugged. "But this mission cannot fail." He paused. "And the Tosa-princess was last seen retreating in this general direction."

"We'll kick her ass, sir," said Jersey. For once, there wasn't any bombast in the battleship's deadly-cold contralto.

"Outstanding." Williams smiled at her. "The next convoy for Japan leaves on the twentieth. You're be sailing with them. In the mean time…" Williams cast a worried glance at the furious Prinz Eugen, "Consider yourselves on leave. You've earned it."

Johnston's hand shot up.

"Yes," said Williams as he rubbed his temples, "The Navy got you tickets to _Star Wars_. There'll be a truck convoy waiting to take you on the eighteenth. Yeoman Gale has the details."

Johnston put her hand back down.

"Questions?"

The room was silent except for the sound of shipgirls looking around to see if anyone else had something significant to say.

"Outstanding, dismissed." Said the Admiral. "Jersey, hang back a moment."

Jersey pointed a finger at herself and shot him a confused look while the other girls filed out. "Sir?" she asked, "Am I in trouble?"

Williams looked at her, "Should you be?"

Jersey thought. "No?"

Williams sighed. "Look, Commander, you've only been back a few months, and so far you've acquitted yourself excellently."

Jersey blushed, "No, sir I-"

"Jersey," Williams held up a hand. "This is not up for debate."

"Sorry, sir."

The Admiral smiled. "Good, now… you'll be commanding a far larger fleet than you have in the past. In recognition of that, and your outstanding performance in past missions, the Navy has seen fit to promote you to the rank of full Commander."

Jersey blinked. "What?"

"You're an O-5, now Jersey."

Jersey shook her head, "Sir, uh… there's no way I've got the kinda time-in-grade for that."

"Jersey," Williams offered her a slightly more teasing smile, "When where you commissioned into the navy?"

The battleship shot him a quizzical look. "May twenty-third, sir."

"Of what year?"

"Nineteen-forty-three." The battleship blinked again, then she stiffed with a kind of military respect Williams hadn't seen in her before. "Ooooooooooh, okay. Thank you, sir."

"You earned it. Dismissed."

The battleship smiled, and turned on her heel with a squeak of rubber against flooring. For a moment, as she walked out of the briefing room with that hip-swinging gait of hers, Williams almost let himself think Jersey'd found the military discipline and candor hiding deep within her frame.

Then, mere seconds after the doors closed, a familiar roaring contralto thundered out. "HELL FUCKING YEAH, BITCHES!"

Williams sighed. She was going to be _insufferable._


	115. Chapter 86: Downtime

**Chapter 86: Downtime**

There was a spring in Jersey's step as she bounced down the base hallways. Partly because she'd finally got herself to bounce noticeably. Not _excessively_ , mind you. She lacked Musashi's ridiculously limitless tracts of land and utter skirt-darkening fear of anything that even _looked_ like it might give her support.

No, her breasts were what was known in the industry as "hydrodynamically perfect", and the jiggle they created was just enough to be noticeable without being overpowering. Like a gentle spritzing of A-1 on a fine steak, instead of an entire tanker-truck of ketchup on a semi-thawed chicken patty.

Yes, Jersey was very happy about her new appearance, even if it wasn't actually new to anyone but herself. She couldn't wait to show off to Crowning, and hear whatever unusually eloquent thing he might have to say about her. But first, there was something else she had to do.

"Yo, Docboat?" Jersey pounded her knuckles against the door to Major Solette's office. "Got a minute?"

Solette glanced up from his paperwork. "Yeah," he said with guarded voice, "But Heermann's already been released to active duty."

"Oh," Jersey shrugged, "Yeah, I know. This ain't about her."

Solette blinked, then let out a resigned sigh. Clearly he'd accepted his place as the helpless army observer in this churning sea of navy insanity. "Okay, I'll bite. What's up?"

Jersey planted her hands on his desk and leaned over with a wicked grin. "Honestly…" she bit her lip, "Part of me wants to make you touch my boobs."

Solette planted his palm firmly on his face. "Jersey. I swear, have you ever _heard_ of SHARPs?"

The battleship blinked. "No, should I have?"

"Every time you open your mouth," said Solette, "I have to write a new one."

"Yeah, but you're army," said Jersey. "Doing paper work while the real heroes fight the war is… like… why god invented you."

Solette rolled his eyes. "Uh huh."

"Anyways," Jersey slapped her hands on the desk. Hard. Hard enough to leave noticeable gouges in the wood. Every time Solette was finally getting used to the humanity—and limitless immaturity—of the shipgirls, they had to go and do something to remind him of their limitless strength. "I know you're married, so I won't ask you to touch the boobies," the battleship grumbled out. "So a salute'll do."

"Jersey," Solette shook his head. "First off, the army doesn't salute indoors."

Jersey flashed a pout that'd put his teenage daughter to shame. In her toddler years.

"Secondaly," said the major, "We're the…" the battleship's wicket grin gave him pause. "same… rank…"

Jersey smiled at him. A smile so wide her cheeks had to be hurting.

"Williams promoted you," sighed Solette, "didn't he."

Jersey nodded, her smile growing even wider. "Imma commander now!"

Solette stared down the battleship, "Your cheeks hurt doing that."

"Really a lot," Jersey let her face drop back into its normal scowl. "Now hurry up and salute me."

"Army doesn't salute indoors," said Solette.

"Army's LAAAAAAAME," whined the battleship. "Navy rules, Army drools."

"What is this, third grade?"

"There's a courtyard right over there," Jersey pointed at a door not far down the hall, "You can salute me there."

"Jersey, I have—" Solette stopped. He was going to complain about paperwork, but he really didn't have any to worry about. At least not any that couldn't wait a few minutes if it meant putting a smile on a very hard-working battleship's face.

A face that was currently giving him the most pathetic destroyer-eyes the Major had ever seen, despite being attached to the most gigantically powerful woman he'd ever seen.

"Fine," huffed Solette. "But this counts as your Christmas present."

Jersey beamed at him. "I'm totally okay with this!" With that, the battleship grabbed his hand and skipped—yes, literally skipped. Like a schoolgirl on crack—to the courtyard with a long-suffering Major reluctantly in tow.

It didn't take long for the two to reach the outside. Just long enough for Solette to walk though the chain of decisions that lead to being forced to salute a boat.

"Okay," Jersey tugged her hat on straight and fussed with her aviators until they sat just right on her nose. "There. I'm ready."

Solette chuckled, and brought a bladed hand up to the brim of his patrol cap.

Jersey mirrored the motion, although she couldn't keep her giggles down. "Thanks," she said.

"Merry Christmas, Jersey," Solette smiled and let his hand hang by his side. "Permission to hug?"

"Please," Jersey smiled, and Solette gave her a nice gentle hug. "You're a good momboat, think you'll make a fine officer."

"Thanks," Jersey closed her eyes and let herself be swept away by the hug, just for a moment. "You're a good friend, Solette." She paused. "You know… for _army_."

The major shrugged. "Jersey, what're you standing on now?"

The battleship glanced down, and squished her feet against the rain-dampened grass. "Uh…"

"Say it."

"Grass?"

Solette fished a spare 'US ARMY' velcro tape from his pocket and stuck it against the battleship's formfitting vest. "Think that makes you honorary army now."

Jersey blinked. Then she scowled a scowl the likes of which Solette had never seen before. "LOW FUCKING BLOW!"

—|—|—

"Jersey," Crowning smiled at his closed door. There were many reasons to love the towering battleship. Her stubborn devotion to her duty, her unwavering care for those she counted under her protection, her adorable pleasure in pie… but her stealthiness as _not_ one of them.

"Wat?" came her trademark rough-edged contralto.

"You can stop pacing and come in now."

There was a pause, but Crowning could see her beautiful face screwing up like it was right before his eyes. Somehow, she looked even prettier like that. "How could you possibly know?"

Crowning rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle. "You weigh fifty thousand tons, I can hear the floor creak under your shoes from the other end of the building."

"Fifty- _eight_ ," said Jersey. Her voice had that grumbling lilt to it, like she wasn't quite sure if she was feeling irritated or amused. "If you're gonna call me fat, at least fucking get it right."

"Fine, fifty-eight," said Crowning. "But it's mostly muscle all in the right places. Now are you going to open that door or what."

Another pause, and a few muttered profanities too quiet for Crowning to catch, then the door swung open. Jersey offered a lazy, jerky wave and ducked though the doorway into his study. "Hi."

Crowning smiled at her. She was still the same battleship he'd grown to love, but… she was different.

There was a glow in her face that was fueled by something other than rage and fury. A lazy half-smile tinted more by girlish awkwardness than self-destructive loathing adorned that sculpted face of hers. Even her posture was different. Her hips set at a loose slant. And those mile-long legs of hers were on casual display in her shorts, her muscles slack instead of tense and coiled.

"Looking good," Crowning gave her a gentle hug, and tried his best not to touch her chest too inappropriately. He was trying his very hardest to look past her suddenly-displayed breasts to the warrior maiden beneath. But it was so very hard to ignore them, her new vest was practically sculpted to frame each one like a work of art.

Which, in Crowning's personal opinion, they technically were. Just like the rest of her, a great sculpture in flesh and steel forged by thousands of shipwrights and engineers. America's war machine given form.

"Thanks," Jersey blushed, her skin heating up enough that he could feel it though her shirt. "Uh… notice…" the battleship puffed her chest with all the subtle grace of an ice-skating hippopotamus. She glanced off at nothing in particular and 'casually' pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, "Anything else?"

Crowning rolled his eyes. "Jersey?"

"Hmm?" The battleship shook her hips a little and smirked.

"Can I ask you something?"

The battleship's chest deflated and she shot him a glance. "Yeah, what?"

"How do you spell the word subtle?"

Jersey blinked, those stunningly pretty ice-blue eyes of hers frosting over with confusion. "I don't fucking know!" she scoffed. "I'm a battleship, we don't fucking do—" she froze mid-tirade, her face still contorted from her rant. "Oh."

Crowning rolled his eyes and stood on his toes to give her a quick peck on the cheek. "They're very nice."

The battleship's eyelashes fluttered, but the rest of her was frozen in place like a statue of steel. A statue of steel that, for all her grace and beauty, looked more confused than a baby on a Roomba.

Finally, after almost five minutes, her lips started to move, "W-wat?"

"I said they're very nice," said Crowning, shooting a quick glance to the battleship's prominently displayed chest. Her breasts might not be as big as Musashi's—not even close, actually—but Crowning didn't mind. Her proportions were prefect the way they were, and those legs could put any other girl to shame.

"No, not that," Jersey's hand balled into a fist at her side, and her head started whipping around, examining each bookshelf-coated wall with increasing desperation. "FUCK!"

Crowning arched an eyebrow.

"I need something to hit!" barked the battleship. "Why is there nothing in your room I can smash!"

The professor chuckled, and offered her one of the thick wooden trays Bannie had used to deliver dinner. "Here."

Jersey took the tray and for an instant, her energy mellowed. "You sure?"

Crowning nodded.

"Thanks!" Jersey smiled, then put her fist though the board like it wasn't even there. Splinters sprayed across the room, and Crowning had to dodge one of the heavier chunks.

"Feel better?" he asked her.

She nodded, "really a lot."

"You have no idea how to deal with your emotions, do you?"

Jersey shook her head again. "Nope!" she said with cheery pride.

Crowning let out a smile in spite of himself. "That's why I love you, Jersey."

"Aww…." the battleship's knees buckled and she feel into a lazy sitting position on the floor. "Uh…" she glanced down at herself. "I meant to do that."

Crowning didn't feel like commenting. "So, you're going to be gone for Christmas?"

She nodded, "Yeah, sorry. It's, uh… fucking… battlethings and shit."

Crowning smiled and ruffled her hair, earning a happy purr-like hum from the battleship. Her eyes rolled closed and she leaned against his leg.

"Keep doing that."

He did as he was asked, gently running his fingers though her long hair and enjoying the feel of it against his skin. "I talked with the Admiral."

"Oh?"

"We've got a truck big enough to handle you at our disposal," said Crowning. "I was thinking," he settled onto the edge of his desk, letting Jersey rest her head against his legs while he stroked her hair, "Wake you up at noon, drive down to Seattle so you can gorge yourself on pie, then join up with the destroyers in time for the movie at midnight."

Jersey's eyes fluttered open and she stared at him."Noon to midnight?"

He nodded.

"How much of a glutton do you think I am?" said Jersey. Her tone was hard to read, but Crowning got the distinct impression she would be more upset if he low-balled her than the other way around.

He could, of course, point out the obvious logistical qualifiers. Even if Jersey woke up right at the stoke of noon—a dubious prospect at the best of times—she'd still need to get showered, get dressed, probably molest Musashi a bit, and herd her DDs around before she could even get in the truck. Then there was the drive down—and the hunt for parking spaces—to account for.

But brevity, as they say, is the soul of wit.

So instead, he said only a single word. "Pie."

Jersey blinked. "Okay, given." She snuggled up against him and closed her eyes again. "Now make with the head-scratchy again."

Crowning laughed and got back to work, gently kneading and brushing her thick golden hair with her fingers. Maybe he was imagining things, but for a moment, he swore her heard her purr.

For what felt like hours, he just smiled and combed out her shimmering mane. Then, finally the battleship glanced up at him with those ice-blue eyes of hers. "Uh, Doc?"

"Hmm?" he said, a contented smile on his face.

"I, uh…" she tapped her shoe against the floor, "I've got something to ask you."

"What?" Crowning reached for his notepad, and could already feel some back corner of his mind drawing up a list of potential reference material he might need. "Anything."

"It's, uh…" Jersey bit her lip and blushed. "Kinda personal."

"Jersey," Crowning ruffled her hair up with a pat to the head. "There's not a thing you can't tell me."

"Okay." The battleship puffed her cheeks out, her skin heating by fractions as she quite literally build up a head of steam. "Will you watch me sleep?"

Crowning blinked.

"Not-" Jersey held her arms up defensively, "Not… not like that. I just… I sleep better when someone's there."

"Like an escort?" Crowning tried not to show it, but he felt awed and humbled. Not just that she'd share this sliver of vulnerability to him, but that she apparently trusted him enough to stand watch over her alone. A task normally taken up by a full picket of destroyers.

Jersey nodded. "You know… keep the bad dreams away." She blushed, "If the demons come… you know…" she thrust her hand in the air, "Stabby stabby?"

The professor smiled, "I think I can manage that." For a moment, he said nothing. Then, after a glance under his desk, he spoke again. "And… since you're going to be gone on Christmas, I thought I'd give you this now."

In an instant, Jersey went from contentedly napping at his side to clawing at his shirt and staring wild-eyed just inches from his face. "Gimme," she yelped. "Gimmegimmegimmegimme!"

Crowning managed to get a finger on her nose and gently pushed the immature battle wagon back. "It's my understanding that you made Commander."

Jersey nodded while Crowning fished something from under his desk.

"I hope you still wear a sword with your dress whites."

Jersey thought for a second. Then, once she realized what was going on, she let out a loud squeal of excitement and pounced on the desk. "GIMME!"

Crowning laughed, and tossed her the long, slender package. Jersey tore at the wrapping like a child on Christmas morning. A very large, strong child with the immaturity of a much smaller one.

"I've got a few friends back home who know their way around a forge," said the professor, "hope you like it."

The battleship roared with happiness as she unsheathed a long slender-bladed officer's sword. The metal sang in the air as she swung it, testing the balance in her hand. "Holy Hannah," she breathed, turning it over in her hand.

The blade was etched and inlaid with gold. 'Firepower for Freedom', read one side. 'First to Fight' read the other.

"Oh…" Jersey's legs started to quiver again, and she promptly shoved her ass into a chair. "Oh… this is… thank you."

"It's forged from Abyssal steel," said Crowning. "From your first kill, the dreadnoughts in the strait."

Jersey blinked, and slid her fingers along the blade. "Holy _Hannah_ ," she breathed. "That's metal as fuck."

"I thought you'd say that."

Jersey bounced to her feet and started pacing. Each step drove her more frantic, each breath pushed her razor-toothed smile wider and soaked the fire burning behind those ice-blue eyes. "I… " she glanced at her blade. "Where's chunniboat?"

Crowning shot her a confused look.

"Tenryuu," said Jersey, "you know… sword, huge tits, thinks she's the coolest thing since me?"

"She have an eyepatch?"

Jersey nodded.

"Ah," the professor smiled. "Try the sparring room. Or the destroyer's quarters."

Jersey laughed and bolted out of the room screaming "I HAVE A SWORD, MOTHERFUCKERS!" at the top of her lungs. Only to come sprinting back in, plant a kiss on his cheek, then run screaming out again.

She was so happy, Crowning almost didn't regret this.

Almost.

—|—|—

Tenryuu hunkered under the thick quilted blanket and smiled. If there was one thing the Americans always got right, it was size. The destroyer dorms were easily big enough to house all four Akatsuki sisters, and with their beds pushed together, there was even enough space for them to cuddle with their flagship for bedtime stories.

Inazuma was, as usual, snuggling half-asleep against Tenryuu's breast. The light cruiser wasn't quite sure why she was so much more stacked than her displacement would entail. She'd tried calling _Janes'_ for clarification, but they just gave her a series of noncommittal grunts and hung up.

She didn't really care though, it was nice to have a bustline like hers. If for no other reason than destroyers liked to cuddle it. And Tenryuu, as a destroyer leader, would do anything for her division mates.

Ikazuchi smiled happily against Tenryuu's tummy. Her little ponytail tickled the cruiser's stomach every time she moved, but it was a happy kind of tickling. Akatsuki, meanwhile, sat leaning against Inazuma with a ladylike smile on her face, and Hibiki cuddled against Tenryuu's other breast with a tiny ghost of a grin on her serene face.

"Everyone set?" Tenryuu settled her reading glasses on her nose and thumbed though the pulpy pages of her book. Ever since she saw it at the base exchange, she'd been eager to give it a read, the premise just seemed too exciting, and the prologue captured her from the first word!

The four destroyers slowly signaled their acknowledgement with signal flags. The sun was down, and the sleepy DDs were falling back into their night-battle instincts.

Tenryuu cleared her throat and began. "Chapter one. Walking through the streets of Honolulu, James felt a certain sense of nostalgia." She was about to read the next sentence when the door exploded open.

The cruiser yelped in fright and tore her glasses off as fast as she could manage. Only they weren't there in the first place. Hibiki shot her a knowing glance and patted a pocket on her uniform. Clever girl.

"YO!" barked the intruder. A giant, sword-wielding American with a wild-eyed smile and, as mentioned before, a sword. "Chunniboat!"

Tenryuu fumed at her apparent nickname, "Yes, Jersey?"

"Check it!" Jersey flipped her blade around in her hand and offered it hilt-first to the sleepy light cruiser. "I have a motherfucking SWORD!"

"Oh," the moment Tenryuu's grasp closed around the hilt, she felt something… different about the blade. The balance was perfect, and it was as light and fast as a proper sword should be. But there was something else… the way the steel sang when it scythed though the air.

"It's forged from Abyssal iron," said Jersey with a wicked grin, "From those dreadnoughts I murderized my first week back."

"Wow," Tenryuu bounced to her feed, suddenly not caring if Jersey saw her fluffy pajama pants.

"I know right?" Jersey cackled, "It's so badass."

Tenryuu sliced though the air a few times as a test run. "Oh, this is _awesome_."

"Wanna go slice shit?" asked Jersey.

Tenryuu tossed the blade back and grabbed her own notched-back Katana, _Waterline_. "Very much so."

"CHAAAAARGE!" Jersey took off running with her sword held high. Tenryuu followed close on her heels with a wild cackling laugh.

Hibiki and Akatsuki shared a look. A long-suffering, tired look tempered by just a little bemusement. Then the two destroyers tucked in their sisters and turned the lights off. It was time to sleep, they'd witness the disaster's aftereffects in the morning like everyone else.


	116. Chapter 87: I HAVE A SWORD!

**Chapter 87: I HAVE A SWORD!**

"HA HA, BITCHES!" Jersey flailed at a stack of cardboard boxes, tearing them to ribbons with her brand new weapon. "I HAVE A MOTHERFUCKING SWORD!"

Tenryuu hugged her gut tight and try not to burst out laughing. After her sparing match with Major Solette, she'd started to feel like her skills were a blade weren't worth mentioning. It was nice to get some perspective for what 'bad with a sword' really looks like.

"SWORD!" Jersey cackled and bashed a box with the dull back of her blade. Tenryuu wasn't sure if that was planned, or if the battleship had simply lost track of which end was which. She leaned more towards the latter one, though.

Seriously, Jersey was _bad_ at this. It was like watching a fat kid with a mullet flail around with his twenty dollar E-bay 'samurah sword', only somehow worse. At least Jersey was in good enough shape to hurt herself.

"HA! HA!" Jersey drew the sword high over one shoulder and brought it swinging down again, only to do the same over her other shoulder. "HIIIIIIIIAH!" The battleship did a spinning jump and slashed at the pile of tattered cardboard.

Tenryuu couldn't hold in her laughter anymore. The old cruiser toppled off her feet and landed square on her stern with a howling laugh.

Jersey scowled and planted her hands on her hips. Or at least tried to, before a sharp poke in the thigh reminded her she still had a blade in her hand. "Fuck you, chunniboat."

Tenryuu tried to say something in response, but all that happened was a slight modulation of her shrieking laugh. She kicked at the pavement and tried to get her bearings again. "You're…" she gasped out between howls, "So… Bad!"

Jersey's scowl deepened, and she swung the blade though the air. It skipped off her nose with a pathetic metallic _tink_ , leaving the battleship stunned and her sword with a little nick on the flat. "I'm so bad, huh?"

Tenryuu nodded. The laughter she'd been getting under control only flared up again after the nose incident.

"Well," Jersey flourished her blade again, though she was extra careful to keep it away from any extremities. "En garde, Chunniboat. Come at me if you think you're hard enough!"

Tenryuu's laughter died in an instant. Her lips twisted into a predatory smirk, and she slowly planted her hands on the pavement. "Hmm…" She backflipped herself onto her feet, "You wish to face the might of the heavenly dragon?"

The cruiser planted one hand on her scabbard and let the other close around the grip of her beloved katana. "To face the steel of the mighty _waterline_?"

Jersey blinked. "Well, duh."

But Tenryuu wasn't finished. "A weapon handed down through centuries," the cruiser smiled and slowly drew the blade with practiced grace. "Folded a million times by the greatest smiths of Japan."

"No it wasn't," sighed Jersey.

Tenryuu'd already worked up steam. She was going to finish her monologue, no matter what the irreverent American had to say. "Thrice as sharp as a European sword, and thrice as hard." She flashed Jersey a grin, "Ever wonder why medieval knights never tried to conquer Japan?"

"Because fucking Russia?"

"That's right," hissed Tenryuu, slowly drawing the tip of her blade from its sheath. The red-tempered steel seemed to glow in the floodlit parking lot. "They were too scared to fight the disciplined samurai and their katanas of destruction."

"No, they fucking weren't."

"Even in world war II," Tenryuu flourished the sword and held the flat against her nose. It might have looked impressive if her boobs weren't getting squished out of the way. "American soldiers targeted the men with the katanas first because their killing power was feared and respected."

Jersey rolled her eyes. "That's not even remotely fucking true."

Tenryuu bopped Jersey in the face with the flat of her blade. "Who's the katana expert here, me or you?"

Jersey just growled under her breath. "Are we fucking doing this or not?"

"Well," Tenryuu flourished her blade again, "If you insist."

The battle was short and pointed. For once, Tenryuu had someone to spar with that she didn't have to tip-toe around. She didn't have to hold herself back like when she sparred with the Major. She could hit Jersey with every fiber of muscle in her body, and the big battleship would just shrug it off.

It was a nice ego-boost too. After her last match with Solette, she'd felt hopelessly left in the dust. Now she knew she wasn't even in the same ocean as a true beginner. Like Jersey.

She sucked.

The battleship towered over Tenryuu, her arms rippled with coiled muscle, and she moved with the boldness of one fully aware she was beyond invincible. And she had absolutely no idea what she was doing.

She just flailed her sword around with a limp wrist, apparently praying that the law of averages would eventually win her a solid blow. Which, at long last, it did.

Jersey's blade came down on Tenryuu's right floater, but the angle was too steep. Instead of biting in, the sword just skittered off the hovering metal and ricochet away. Then, carried by its own momentum, the sword bounced back to hit Jersey square in the nose. Again.

"OW!" Jersey scowled and planted a hand on her face. There was yet another barely-visible dent in the flat of the blade. "This is stupid."

"I told you you'd lose," teased Tenryuu.

"WHY DID WE DO THIS," grumbled Jersey. "we have _guns._ "

"Fufufufu," Tenryuu sheathed her sword with a flourish. "You scared?"

"Fuck you, chunniboat," Jersey scowled and slid her own blade back into its scabbard. "I want pie."

"Mess hall?"

"Mess hall."

—|—|—

Captain John Henry Solomon hunkered low in his bridge chair and clutched a coffee mug close to his chest. Not so much to protect it from the elements—the seas off Hawaii were gentle and the winds non-existent this morning—but to shield _himself_ from the judging eyes of his crew.

Solomon'd never developed a taste for coffee, in all his years with the navy, the best he was ever able to do was tolerate the stuff. Some might call it heresy, but the captain preferred throughly-iced tea as his beverage of choice.

In any case, it was _his boat._ To quote the famous and eloquent words of _New Jersey_ herself, he could do what he wanted.

"Captain." Solomon's XO, a New Englander named Bill Holland with the resolute countenance and non-existent neck of a bulldog, smirked at him and took a sip from a mug of the blackest coffee the navy could offer. The man said nothing, but the subtle twinge in his massive jaw betrayed a slight distaste for the bitter brew.

"XO," Solommon smirked, and took a long, luxurious drag from his beverage of choice.

"Fine day to be at sea," Holland leaned against the bridge railing, peering over at the glassy smooth sea the ship ever so lazily paddled though.

"Mmm," Solomon nodded. To tell the truth, he _hated_ it. His was a ship of war, she was meant to take the fight to the enemy, not sail lazily around an island paradise hoping to frighten the demons away. It felt wrong, almost sickening. There were so many places—entire countries, even—burning away while he steamed around looking pretty. This wasn't what he joined up for.

He knew his XO felt the same, and he had to suspect most if not all of his crew felt the same. They yearned for action. But in this new world where the presence of magic was made suddenly and painfully obvious, nobody wanted to jinx the whole thing by complaining of boredom.

For a moment, the two men just stared into the salty sea and tried not to think about action.

"Sir!" the OOD's taut voice cut though the silence, sounding a little to tense for any normal action.

"I wasn't thinking anything," said Holland.

"Me either," muttered Solomon. "OOD, what's up?"

The Officer of the Deck, a freckle-faced Lieutenant Sam Ryan, gulped for air for a second. "Message from the _Jones_ , sir. She's under attack."

Solomon cursed under his breath and glanced at the plotting display. _John Paul Jones_ , _Halsey_ , and Amatsukaze were less than two hundred miles south of Kauai. So close to safety they could almost taste it.

"Sound general quarters." Solomon pulled heavy flash gloves on with a grimace. He hated wearing the darn things, especially in the Hawaiian heat. "OOD!"

"Sir?" Ryan glanced at him with taut, tense eyes. He was one of the younger officers on the ship, and one of precious few who hadn't had a ship all but shot out from them.

"What's she facing?"

The OOD nodded, and hastily passed the request back do the CIC. "Amutsukaze reports two _Scharnhorst_ -class battleships."

Solomon cursed. Taking destroyers, even ones as good as _Burkes_ or _Kagerous_ , against hunting battleships like that was a suicide mission.

"XO," barked the captain. "Contact Admiral Kinsey, tell him—"

"Sir," Ryan cut him off. "Orders from the Admiral, we're released from our patrol station."

Solomon nodded.

Taking a destroyer into a battle like this would be suicide.

"Plot intercept course and engage at three-zero knots." barked the Captain. Deeo below his feet, he could feel the gentle hum of idling turbines turn into into a furious roar. "Get our UAV in the air. And get me the _Jones._ "

"Sir," the OOD gave him a nod. "you're go for the _Jones._ "

Solomon cradled the handset. He was damn lucky he wasn't _on_ a destroyer. " _John Paul Jones_ , this is USS _Missouri_ -actual. Turn west under smoke, we're en-route to support you."

 _"Understood sir,"_ came the wire-tense voice of _Jones'_ radioman.

"Sir, all stations manned and ready."

Solomon smiled. For a second, just the tiniest shade of a second, he'd heard a calm contralto join his OOD's voice. Deep beneath his feet, recruits fresh out of training and grizzled sea dogs from _Big Mo's_ last sortie worked as one, coaxing life out of the old battleship's boilers.

She was an old ship, the oldest ship in the navy that didn't sail under canvas wings. She shouldn't have even been in the water. Decades of neglect as a museum hadn't been kind to the old girl, her boilers were rusted and filled with silty debris, half her gun mounts had frozen in place, and her wiring was frayed and broken.

Only they weren't.

When it came time to pull her back out of mothballs, the museum curators swore up and down she was exactly like they left her all those years ago. Time and salt are harsh mistresses to ships of steel. But this time… this one time they'd made an exception for _Big Mo._

Solomon let out a giddy howl as the battleship roared to life. Even on the bridge, he could hear— _feel_ —her turbines thunder. The gentle idling purr was gone, replaced by a quarter-million horsepower of howling American fury.

The sea to her stern churned to foaming white as her screws bit in without mercy. Waves piled up against her slender bow before streaming off to each side, terrified by the presence and fury of a truly _angry_ battleship.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the angular form of the _Chafee_ working up to full speed.

The destroyer was a fifth Mo's displacement and a sixth her age. She was built with the most modern construction and engineering techniques known to man. She was powered by literal jet engines.

And she was _panting_ to keep up with _his_ ancient battlewagon.

"OOD, get me _Chafee_ -actual!" barked Solomon.

"Sir," Ryan gave him a nod.

The captain plucked the handset from its cradle with a smirk. "What's the matter, Fremming?" he teased, "The old girl too slow for you?"

 _"Age before beauty, my friend."_

Solomon laughed and slammed the handset back. He'd spent enough time waiting around, now it was time to _hunt._

—|—|—

"Hey, Doc," Jersey stuck her head into the professor's office. "You got a minute?"

The battleship must've just finished a pie binge. Crowning could tell because of the subtle way she kept hugging her washboard-flat belly. Battleships might not get fat, but they could still feel their dinners sloshing around inside them if they ate enough. And, knowing Jersey's ravenous gluttony, she most certainly ate enough to feel stuffed.

They never _looked_ full, but a skilled eye could pick things out from the way they moved. Jersey'd just eaten her fill, he could tell from the gentle swoosh of her hips and the slightly lazier pace of her gait.

Also, the spots of blueberry around her lips helped.

"Of course," Crowning set down his latest choice of reading material, a scholarly examination of shipgirls though history. After making sure his place was properly marked, and the three highlighters he kept at the ready were capped, he turned a gentle smile to the towering battlewagon.

"Great," Jersey smiled and slid into the room. That was the only way to describe the way she moved, it wasn't the energetic trot of her usual gait. Her whole body seemed to glide, like honey poured over hot glass. It would've been entrancing even if she wasn't stunning.

"Enjoy your pie?" asked Crowning, desperate to keep himself from falling too entranced by the battleship's—by the _woman's_ body.

Jersey froze, and both hands clapped to her belly. "I—"

"You have some on your face," Crowning smirked.

"Oh," Jersey blushed, and scrubbed herself with her sleeve. "So… I'm not getting fat?"

"Jersey, all the fat you have," Crowning cast a brief glance at the battleship's newly-displayed chest. Not enough to qualify as a leer, he respected her too much for that, but enough to let her know he noticed and appreciated, "Is in exactly the right places."

The battleship thought for a second, the bit her lip to stifle a girlish titter. "Um…" she looked around, "Think you could… uh… check anyways?"

Before Crowning could answer, the battleship zipped open her vest and pulled her shirt up. It wasn't all the way, just enough to get an eyeful of a stomach that could've been chiseled by Adonis himself. Her muscles rippled under her pale skin in defiance of the vast bounty of pie she must've gorged herself on mere moments ago.

But what drew his attention most as the scar on her side. The same one she'd worn all these months, only this time it was so faint it was all but unnoticeable.

"Hey," Jersey flexed her belly. Already chiseled muscles leaped out in sharp relief. "Too much?"

Crowning smirked, "since when do those words even exist in your vocabulary?"

"Since…" Jersey set her shirt down. "Uh… fucking…" She sighed and slumped to the floor. "Head scratchy?"

Crowning blinked. "You're such a child."

"Hey!" Jersey pointed a finger at him. "Fourth-youngest battleship _ever_."

"Fair enough," Crowning smiled and started massaging the girl's golden blond hair. "That the only reason you wanted me here?"

"Uh," Jersey shrugged, "No, not really. It's… about my bedtime." She glanced at her toes and scuffed her shoe against the carpet. "If, uh… you're still willing to—"

"I am," Crowning ran a hand though her hair.

"Good." Jersey leaned against his leg and made another of those quiet almost-purr noises.

It took Crowning almost twenty minutes to coax the happy battleship off the floor and over to her bedroom. Luckily, it didn't take her nearly as long to get changed into her pajamas—long sleep pants and a tank-top that said "MAXIMUM OVERTSUN" on the front. Apparently it was a present from Kongou.

Then, without further ado, Jersey flopped onto her bed in a heap of limbs and shimmering strawberry-blond hair. She didn't even remotely fit onto the mattress, her legs hung off the end and one arm was almost totally on the floor.

But somehow, Crowning just found that more endearing. He settled into a chair with a smile, cracked open his book, and began the night's watch.

—|—|—

For the past three days, the sky had been dark and thick with choppy overcast clouds. The lead blanket had fallen over the whaling fleet hours after they'd left Tokyo bay, grounding their aircraft and forcing the ships to stare nervously into the dark water.

Shinano hated herself for it, but some part of her preferred the overcast gloom of the trip up to the cloudless blue sky she steamed under now. At least… at least under the clouds she could pretend she was a real carrier. She was just as helpless as Jun'you and Ryuujou. Her planes were just as pointless on her hastily converted deck.

But now that little measure of solace was gone. Jun'you and Ryuujou launched their planes with abandon. They smiled and laughed as glistening white fighter-bombers roared down their decks and burst into the sweet pale-blue sky. They were carriers, _real_ carriers.

Shinano just sailed lazy circles around the _Nisshin Maru_ and tried not to think about what they were doing. She didn't have a problem with whaling, but she did appreciate how hard they worked.

Manning a factory ship wasn't an easy ride under the best of conditions, and doing so in the middle of winter? With the ever present threat of submarine and air attack looming over their necks? And those sailors did it without complaint, day after day, month after month.

And so much of their hard labor would never be seen by the people of Japan. Shinano sniffed and hugged herself tight. Far, far too much of it would go straight to her useless belly!

"Hey, Shinano?" Kiyoshimo tugged at the streaming tail of Shinano's long overskirt.

Shinano sniffed, and pulled her glasses off. Maybe if she cleaned them hard enough, the destroyer wouldn't notice the red in her eyes. "Yes?"

"You okay?" She'd been awfully quiet this whole trip, especially after Shinano started crying when she asked her about becoming a battleship. Shinano hated herself for that too. Look at her, proud sister of the Yamato triplets crying like a baby in front of a destroyer who called her what she _was_.

Shinano nodded, and turned her face into the wind. Ostensibly to… look for planes… or something else that carriers do. But really, she didn't want Kiyoshimo to see her misery. The destroyer was more battleship than she'd ever be.

"You sure?" Kiyoshimo puffed her little chest and planted her hands on her hips with defiance. "A ba— a warship must always look after her division mates!"

Shinano sniffed, and slid her glasses back on. "I am," she said. "And thank you."

Kiyoshimo smiled. For a moment, the girl tried to give Shinano a nice pat on the head, but even standing on tip-toes she didn't have the reach.

"Hey hey!" Jun'you's giggling voice carried over the waves with a hint of sake-lubricated levity. Her long, gravity-defying hair wafted in the sea breeze, and her eyes wore the thousand-yard stare of a carrier focusing on her aircraft. "Got something here!"

Shinano glanced over, her curiosity overcoming her misery for the time being.

"Huhh…" Jun'you stared down, her eyes twitching like she was watching ants crawl along the waves. "Looks like there be whales, here!" she laughed, "I count…." she flourished a hand and started counting on her fingers. "one, two, three, four, five… looks like five humpbacks! 'bout thirty miles south-west of us, heading closer."

 _"Copy that,"_ said _Nisshin Maru._ Or at least one the factory ship's radiomen. _"Keep them spotted, will you?"_

Jun'you nodded, her eyes still glued to something far below her. "Okie Dokie!"

"Hey, Shina?" Ryuujou's laid-back accent crashed over the converted battleship's timid ears.

"Hmm?" Shinano worried her wrought-iron bow and braced herself.

"I'm, uh…" Ryuujou shrugged as a flight of zeros bounced down onto her deck. "Getting a little thirsty here."

"Me too!" added Jun'you. "A carrier can't live off _just_ sake, you knoww~"

Shinano blinked. She might be a useless carrier, but her avgas tanks were full to bursting, and she had plenty of ordnance for her acrophobic planes aboard. "Y-yes," she stammered, slinging her bow over her shoulder and fishing around in her armored quiver.

It took her a minute, she was still learning the ins and outs of her own hull. But eventually her quartermasters found what she was looking for and placed it in her hands. "Here!"

Shinano's face blushed into a timid smile, and she handed out nice blue bottles of Ramune to the two proper carriers. "It's… it might be a little warm."

Ryuujou shrugged, and took a gulp of the depressingly lukewarm beverage. Just one, little sip before she put it back down. "Thanks, Shina."

Shinano blushed, and nodded at the light carrier. "I— if I could get it colder—"

"Dun' worry!" Jun'you clapped a hand on the towering girl's back. "'s fine the way it is."

"Yeah," added Ryuujou, "It's a chilly day anyways."

Shinano smiled. She could _almost_ believe them. Almost. But it was nice of them to try. "Thanks."


	117. Chapter 88: Totally Logical

**Chapter 88: Totally Logical...  
**

Jersey woke with a contented yawn. She couldn't remember a time when she slept that peacefully, not since… well, since she came back. Her whole body felt refreshed, like she'd spent the night at a friendly port instead of floating adrift with her crew huddling at battle stations. She even had a dream. One of the nice, calming, natural ones, not a creepy vision from beyond or below or whatever the fuck that frozen sea thing was.

She couldn't remember much of it, just a few flashes. Oiled-up beach volleyball, mostly. But also Musashi licking… _something_ off her belly. It was really weird, but in a way the battleship was strangely okay with.

"Mornin, world," Jersey grunted and wiped a rivulet of oily drool off her mouth. It shimmered against the back of her hand like oil, but it stank like rotten bilge water… which it probably was.

On the other side of the room, Crowning was fast asleep in his chair. A book of ancient history lay open across his lap. Jersey would have passed it by, but the cover caught her interest.

A woman in flowing white robes—a quite stunning woman at that—stood on a churning ocean with a flaming sword in her hand. Behind her were a handful of scared-looking men in Greek-looking armor.

The title read "Shipgirls of the ancient world", by a "Daniel Ja—" Jersey couldn't make out the rest of the author's name, Crowning's fingers were in the way. It didn't really matter anyway, it looked like the kind of book she'd bore herself to death reading, especially when she could just have him tell her the good bits.

The battleship scrubbed the back of her hand macros her face, making sure she cleaned up as best she could. Then, clasping her hands behind her, she leaned over to plant a single soft kiss on his scruffy cheek. "Thanks," she whispered, allowing herself one more kiss. "For watching over me."

The professor shifted in his sleep, and Jersey swore she saw the corner of his mouth flick upwards for a moment.

Jersey suppressed a giggle and turned for the shower. He was probably still asleep, who knows how long he stayed up watching over her. But on the off chance he'd woken up, Jersey took a moment to pull her shirt off before she ducked into the bathroom.

With her back turned to him, her lats flared like the hood of a cobra—No! No, like the wings of an eagle. A big, soaring bald eagle. With shutter-shades. Yeah, yeah, that's so much cooler than a snake. She might not be the bustiest battleship around, but there wasn't even a _question_ that she was the strongest. And if Crowning was into her for her strength, well… she could afford to show off off a little.

Besides, she wasn't _really_ being vain. She was just providing a pedestal for all the naval engineers and shipwrights to show off their stellar work.

Yeah.

Tooootally not vain.

The battleship smirked to herself and finished getting naked in the shower. She might be a show-off, but even she still had standards. Unlike IJN _Terrified-that-someone-somewhere-wasn't-able-to-oogle-her-fucking-oversized-pagodas._ Jersey had _class_.

Even over the crash of water—warm water this time. She wasn't feeling mopey enough for a cold shower—against her hull, the battleship heard someone stir. "Yo, Doc?" she stood on tip-toes and stuck her head over the shower rail. "That you?"

"Mmhm," Crowning let out a medley of sounds like a cat stretching out in the sun. "You're up early."

Jersey blinked. "I am?"

"It's a quarter past ten."

"Huh," Jersey cracked a smile, "Look at that."

"You're a regular early-bird," chuckled Crowning. "I'm gonna get some breakfast and—"

Jersey's belly let out a howling roar. The battleship hastily clutched at her middle with a pained grunt. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"I'll get us a table then?"

Jersey smiled and cranked the water up a bit to cover her growling tummy. "Yeah, please."

"And warn the food staff you're coming?"

"That too," Jersey socked herself in the stomach and shot the insubordinate organ an officery scowl. It was so much easier to deal with backtalk from the rank-and-file when said rank-and-file wasn't literally part of you.

Stupid shipgirl bullshit.

"Don't spoil your dinner," teased Crowning.

Jersey rolled her eyes. "As fucking if!" Come to think of it, she really couldn't think of a time she'd been full. _Contented_ , yes. But never so full she couldn't eat another plate if she tried. There was always room to slosh around her her belly, which she supposed made sense.

Steaming—or walking—around with her bunkers filled to bursting hurt her torpedo-protection. Not to mention making it miserable for her crew to get around with her holds overflowing with things.

But before she could contemplate the metaphysical mysteries of being both girl and ship in one, her primal urge for pancakes overtook her and she turned the shower off.

Her hair was already mostly-dry by the time she'd fumbled though the steamy mist for her towel (Awesome shipgirl bullshit!), and she hastily tied the warm terrycloth around her. Not so much to dry off, but to keep her hair from tickling her butt.

She hated that.

She finished drying off, and changed into her usual outfit—or usual plus the special vest Bowers' provided. She'd save the special date outfit for later, she wanted it to be a surprise.

Then, after taking a moment to make sure her Superior American Engineering…es were properly displayed to the downtrodden masses forced to toil with Inferior Japanese Products, Jersey pulled her cover on tight and bolted for the mess hall.

She'd never seen the place so deserted. Normally she stopped by around lunchtime for her first meal, and again around dinner time to finish out the day. But apparently ten-thirty hours wasn't a popular dining time.

But who cares? There's pancakes!

Jersey giggled to herself and loaded a tray with pancakes. She only stopped once she ran up against the structural limitations of pancake-based architecture. Delicious they may be, but they don't stack well once you get over a foot or so.

Then, after helping herself to a hearty helping of bacon, sausage, ham, hash-browns, scrambled eggs,fried eggs, hard-boiled eggs, coffee, coffee cake, French toast, non-surrendering toast, and orange juice, the battleship went looking for her lo— her lov—- her _friend._

"Think you've got enough there?" Crowning chuckled from behind a modest meal of buttered toast, scrambled eggs, and a few strips of bacon.

"Fuch yuah," grunted Jersey though a mouthful of syrup-drenched pancake. "Ahm eatahn foah ovah nuntuun-hunna!"

Crowning rolled his eyes. "Swallow, Jersey. Swallow."

The battleship did that with some reluctance."I _said_ , I'm fucking eating for over nineteen hundred." She blinked, and patted her stomach. "This is gonna get really fucking weird if I ever get pregnant."

Crowning cocked an eyebrow. " _Can_ shipgirls get pregnant?"

"I dunno, can we?" Jersey popped a hard-boiled egg into her mouth and smiled. "I mean, we're boats, not peoples."

The professor shook his head and took a small bite of his toast. "Jersey, you're not a boat. You're a—"

"Ship," said Jersey. "I'm a ship." There as a fragile finality to her voice, and she locked eyes with him for a full minute without eating a thing. "I'm a ship," she almost pleaded.

A shadow passed over Crowning's face, then he slowly, sadly nodded. "Fine, you're a ship. But a very pretty one."

Jersey thought for a second. "Acceptable. So, where's everyone else?"

"Cruisers are out shopping," said Crowning, "Then I think they're gonna marathon the first three _Star Wars_ movies."

"Which first three?" asked Jersey with deadly earnest.

"The good ones."

"Okay," the battleship settled back behind her rapidly-depleting mountain of food. "Continue."

"Taffies and DesDiv six have already had their first two meals," Crowning ticked off his fingers, "Naka and Tenryuu should bring 'em by for lunch in an hour or two."

Jersey giggled. There was something adorably cute about the destroyer's need-slash-preference for lots of small meals scattered though the day.

"And Musashi's with Wash and Kirishima on the patrol line."

"What about Kongou?" Jersey wolfed down a whole stack of pancakes.

"I'm… not really sure," said Crowning. "I asked Gale, but she gave me a long explanation that I couldn't follow. Something about quantum super-position and Schroedinger's Dess."

Jersey chuckled. "I have no idea what that means, but it sounds accurate."

The professor smiled, and gave a sheepish shrug. "That's what I thought. So, you excite for our outing?"

"You can say 'date'," said Jersey.

"Fine, you excited for your first date?"

The battleship blinked, "Go back to the first one."

Crowning took a sip of coffee and shot her a knowing look over the mug's rim. "So you _are_ excited."

"Fuck you," Jersey drained her mug before he'd put his down. "I'm not fucking scared of anything."

"Not even your feelings?" teased Crowning.

"I will cut you," grumbled Jersey. "What were you reading earlier, anyway?"

Crowning smiled, and leaned in over the table. His eyes glinted with the glee of a practiced storyteller, and his voice was low and enticing when he spoke. "Jersey, have you ever heard of the _Aeneid_?"

The battleship nodded, "I _can_ read. I just choose not to."

The professor smirked, "In book nine, Trunus, enemy of the Trojans, marches against the Trojan camp. He's unable to find a way though their defenses, so he circles around to their defenseless boats and burns them to their keels."

"Uh… huh…" Jersey blinked.

"But what he'd forgotten," Crowning smirked, his voice breathy and tense as he spun his tale. "Was that those ships were no mere boats. They were blessed by the old gods. Cybele, mother of the gods and sister to Saturn offered her sacred grove to form their keels, and begged her son Jupiter to render them immortal."

"Holy fuck," breathed Jersey.

Crowning was too into his story to notice. "As Turnus and his army watch, the burning ships pull free of their anchors and slip beneath the waves, only to surface again as sea nymphs." He paused. "Beautiful maidens standing astride the waves."

The professor settled back in his chair with a knowing smile. "Thousands of years ago, Virgil described a shipgirl summoning and got every last detail correct."

Jersey was too excited to even eat. "Get to the part where you start talking _really fast._ "

"Most scholars," said the Professor, still keeping his even tone for now, "Consider this the first literary _deus ex machina._ These ships had gone though so many trials and torments… they deserved more than burning undefended at anchor. So Virgil took a few liberties with the facts, and gave these valiant ships a chance to live again. To live in glory."

"Doooooc," Jersey motioned for him to speed up. She wasn't the only one listening, not anymore. What felt like the entire mess hall was huddled around the professor, hanging on his every word.

"For decades, centuries even, people though the _Iliad_ was a myth," said Crowning. "Until in 1870, Heinrich Schliemann dug up a bronze-age city, right where Homer said it'd be. What happened to these Trojan ships was a _deus ex machina._ But _not_ a literary one."

He pointed a finger squarely at Jersey, "Gods." He swung his hand to point at a battle-weary destroyer sitting at anchor, "From the machines."

Everyone in the mess hall held their breath, and even Jersey could only mouth an utterance of terrified surprise.

"And," continued Crowning, "I think the scholars are right. Just not the way they thought. Look at the girl's we've got back. Battleships. Jersey—"

The battleship almost jumped from her seat.

"You were built to rule the seas. To lay claim to an ocean and _dare_ any who opposed you to take it from you. To inspire terror and awe with your very presence," Crowning's voice was faster now, his diction perfect but tinged with hot-blooded intensity. "To stand like a rock in the storm, and _defy_ any who'd touch those under your protection. To tell the world that if they want what's behind you, they must stand _in front_ of you."

He took a breath, and the room held its own.

"History never let you live up to your potential," said the professor. "But now the old gods of the sea have given you a second chance. A chance to show them and the world what you truly are."

Jersey stared slack-jawed at him for a full five minutes. "Is… are— are you sure?"

"No," admitted the professor. "But it makes more sense than any other theory."

The battleship blinked. Then, slowly, she pulled her aviators off her hat and settled them over those startlingly blue eyes. "The old gods brought me back?"

"Possibly," said Crowning.

"Well," Jersey smirked and cracked the bones in her muscular neck. "I came here to eat pie and kick abyssal ass." She glanced at one of her many watches, "And it's almost time for pie."

—|—|—

"Sir, UAV is on station."

Captain Solomon let a smile cross his lips for a few fractions of a second. His gaze drifted from the slowly melting slivers of ice bobbing in his tea to one of the many screens added to _Mo's_ bridge in her many refits.

The UAV, like every other piece of modern technology aboard the old battleship, didn't work. TV signals were garbled and washed out with noise and static. Radar returns—when there _were_ returns—were too weak and scattered to make heads or tails of. According to every technician, every diagnostic system the old battleship had aboard, her technology was useless.

However, nobody'd ever told the _operators_ that. Despite what the diagnostics said, _Mo's_ radar saw keen and true. her UAV might send washed-out garbage to every _other_ ship in the fleet, but it gave _her_ a crisp report.

"Good girl, Mo," Solomon smiled again, and ran his hand along the battered bridge rail. The battleship trembled under his fingers with the roar of a quarter-million American horses churning seawater to foam, and… something else. He almost thought he heard a voice murmur something, but it was too quiet to make out. Like a conversation overheard through a thick wall.

"Target spotted," grunted Holland. The old XO needn't have bothered. The two abyssal battleships dwarfed the fleeing destroyers. Their low-riding angular hulls knifed though the water with the distinctive lines of a Scharnhorst-class…

Solomon hesitated to call them battleships. _Mo_ was a battleship. She was built to command the seas and defend a nation. These abyssal monsters were predators. Hunters seeking to ravage the week and flee from any who'd stay their greedy hands.

They were evil incarnate, from the inky black of their hulls to the bloody red of their war-flags.

He clenched his jaw as the two battleships ran down destroyers a quarter their size. Amatsukaze at the lead frantically signaled to the bigger _Burkes_ as all three warships ran for splashes. The frantic jinking was keeping them alive—barely—but each turn cost them precious speed, and the abyssals had no need to dodge. Not at that range.

"TAO," Solomon slammed his mug down so hard he heard it crack. Those battleships were nothing more than bullies, and he _hated_ bullies. "Range to target."

 _"Range to target forty-five thousand yards,"_ came the hoarse rasp of _Mo's_ grizzled TAO. The old sailor'd fought her in the gulf, now he was taking his beloved battleship into yet another war.

Solomon scowled, and tore his eyes from the screen to the churning ocean off _Mo's_ slender bow.

 _"I can get though them at anything under thirty-thousand yards."_

"Hmm?" Solomon glanced around for the source of the dusky whisper.

"I said," It was Holland's voice now, "We can get though them at anything under thirty-thousand yards."

Solomon smiled, "Main batteries?"

"AP's loaded up," said the XO, a bloodthirty tint to his calm voice. "Eight minutes to target."

The captain nodded. The Abyssals were closing on the destroyers, yes. But they were closing even faster on _Mo_. "TAO!"

 _"Sir?"_

"Weapons released." Solomon took a quick sip from his chipped mug. "You may fire when ready."

 _"With pleasure, sir."_

Outside the spray-washed bridge windows, the battleship _Missouri_ swung her titanic turrets over her port bow. Barrels bigger than any sailor in decades had witnessed climbed to elevation. Beneath his boots, Solomon felt the warship shudder with anticipation.

Deep within her armored citadel, the captain knew her CIC was abuzz with frantic action. With every passing second, orders were being shouted across the spotlit consoles. Firing solutions were refined as every available scrap of data as fed into her Ford-built firing computer.

But on the bridge, everything was deathly silent. The minutes ticked by with nothing more than the distant roar of _Big Mo's_ propulsion plant and the crash of salt against steel between seconds.

Then, in a titanic crash _Mo_ spoke her furious invocation. Six rifles spoke as one, smashing craters a hundred feet wide in the churning ocean. Fireballs blossomed from her muzzles as the barely-perceptible blur of super-heavy shells roared downrange. All the modern, shock-hardened screens flickered as twenty-first century design cowered before twentieth-century ironwork.

"Hell yeah!" Holland pumped his fist as a cheer went up on the bridge. Solomon was sure most of the ship was doing the same. When _Big Mo_ speaks, _everyone_ listens.

Her guns dropped to their loading angle with the hungry haste of a angry boxer, each turret swarming with men scrambling to feed the Mark seven rifles' angry appetite. Running heavy naval artillery was a lost art, but her crew had found it anew.

At this range, the shells would spend nearly thirty seconds in the air. Her crew would only need twenty to send the next set on the way.

He glanced over to the UAV's feed just in time to see the first salvo slam into the water. Great crimson-dyed splashes bracketed the lead battleship, one landing close enough to splash bloody water over it's foredeck swastika.

The two abyssal battlewagons halted their ruthless bombardment of the destroyers, and Solomon swore he saw panic cross their twisted metal visages.

"Got you," whispered the Captain, "You sons of bitches. Helm! Come right one-five, let's keep the range on them."

His orders were passed back with deadly earnest, but Solomon was already planning his next move. At thirty-thousand yards, they didn't have a hope in hell of penetrating _Mo_ , and at thirty-one knots, they couldn't close the distance. But he couldn't let himself enjoy an easy victory, lest it turn into an avoidable defeat.

The two battleships heeled over in sharp turns. The sudden movement was enough to throw off _Mo's_ second salvo. Only one shell found its mark, but even then it simply passed though the target's upper fantail without encountering anything substantial enough to detonate it.

"They're running for open water," growled Holland.

"I know," Solomon grunted. "TAO, Kill those ships _now_."

 _Mo's_ guns spoke in response, hurling another barrage of deadly American steel downrange. The battleship'd found her range. With the need to sprint ever closer removed, she could swing her fat stern out enough to unshadow her neglected after turret.

This time her fire found its mark. Shells crashed though the fleeing battleship's stern, tearing up armor, structure, and machinery alike. The ship visibly stuttered in the water as at least one of its screws suddenly ceased to exist.

The crash-stop was almost enough to save it from the next barrage. Almost. One of _Mo's_ shells tore a great bite out of the battleship's raised Atlantic bow, while another simply scraped the top several layers of its mast off and deposited them atop the second turret.

The other battleship bolted for the horizion, leaving its twin to founder in a pool of churned-up oil. Solomon would be astonished if it as making over twenty knots.

"Sir," the OOD's voice floated though the hot Hawaiian air. Tense, as always, but with an undercurrent of angry frustration. "We're to return to our patrol anchor. Orders from the Admiral."

Solomon took one last look at his prey, "Say again?"

The sailor's voice bubbled with angry disappointment. "P-8 caught another trio of battleships moving on Pearl from the south-east. Scharnhorsts. Plus… another they can't identify."

Solomon scowled at the limping abyssal battleship. It so close he could almost taste the burning cordite in the air. "Does he know we're engaged?"

"Aye sir. Reason he let us get far out."

The captain grumbled under his breath. He was so close, only to run out his leash and get yanked back by the neck. But he didn't have a choice. He wasn't like the abyssals, he didn't fight just to kill.

He fought to _defend_.

"Helm, bring us about," he slumped into his bridge chair. "Best possible speed for Pearl."

 _Mo_ let out a great sigh as her hull heeled over in the turn. He'd heard ships make that sound before, it was just a product of waves crashing against her bow as she turned. But somehow, it just seemed so much more _frustrated_ this time.

"Sorry girl," Solomon ran his hand along the rail, "you'll get your day."

—|—|—

The ride down to Seattle had been more or less uneventful. Or as uneventful as riding in the back of a painfully overloaded ten-ton truck with fifty-eight thousand tons of American fighting steel embodied into a stunningly attractive young woman could possibly be.

Jersey kept mentioning how excited she was to get a chance to gorge herself on pie. Crowning had made sure to call ahead and make sure the bakers were prepared, and he'd even—though the Navy, of course—arranged to buy the place out so Jersey could stuff herself in peace.

He had, however, made the mistake of mentioning this to Jersey. It flustered her momentarily, but soon she was ranting about her upcoming feast in even more detail. Apparently, she was looking forwards to her feast so much she even restrained herself into eating a 'light breakfast'.

Crowning didn't want to think about that too much. He'd been at breakfast with her, the girl ate a mountain of pancakes bigger than Musashi's ego. He'd even talked with one of the culinary ratings about it. Apparently she'd eaten 'round about a quarter-ton' of pancakes.

Luckily, it wasn't too hard for the professor to push those offending thoughts out of his mind. Jersey'd got her hands on a new outfit for their outing—that she refused to call a date for reasons known only to her.

And what an outfit it was.

Gone were the short-shorts and puffy vest. In their place were a pair of stone-washed jeans that her long, sinewy legs—and of course, that superb stern—just barely fit into, and a white turtleneck that hugged her breasts just enough to make their perfect shape known without being ostentatious.

She topped it all off with a neat midnight-blue jacket that hugged her waist just enough to show off that hourglass figure of hers, but was zipped low enough to expose hints of her upper works.

"Doc?" Jersey smirked at him, and Crowning saw his own reflection blush in her ever-present aviator shades. "Something you wanna say?"

"Hmm?" Crowning rubbed at the close-cropped stubble on his chin and shot her a confused look.

"You've been staring at my tits for the past fifteen minutes," said the battleship with a contented grin.

The professor paled, and his mouth hung open. "I… Jersey, I didn't—"

"No," the battleship shook her head. "I'm not mad. Actually, uh… I didn't mind."

"Jersey," Crowning locked eyes with his own reflection in her shades, "I am sorry. You're a kind, loving woman. You deserve more than to be leered over your your body."

The battleship blinked, her cheeks slowly turning a throughly communist shade of red. "But…" she glanced down, and crossed her arms to squish herself. "Tiddy…" the poor girl seemed utterly bewildered by what he'd just said.

"They're very nice," Crowning didn't let his eyes drift by a fraction, "All of you is…" he closed his eyes, trying to gather the words. "Jersey, you're a work of art in a very real sense."

"Get to the part where you start staring at me again," Jersey sank back on her bench with a pout. "It felt nice."

Crowning shook his head. "Jersey, I don't _want_ to leer at your chest or drool over your stern."

"Not even a little?" mumbled the battleship.

Crowning plowed on with nary more than a smirk. "I want to _love_ the Black Dragon. The most decorated battleship in history. I want to know, and love, and be loved by the girl who mere hours after throwing up all but the last dregs in your bunkers charged into battle against dreadnoughts to save those under your care."

Jersey blushed and squirmed to get away from his piercing gaze.

"Your beauty is not why I love you," said Crowning. "Your courage, your faithfulness, even your awkwardness are why I love you."

Jersey stared at him for almost a minute. "FUCK!" She smashed her fist into the truck's sidewall hard enough to leave a noticeable dent. "What the fucking hell, doc?"

Crowning blinked. From experience, he knew it was best to just let her work her anger out by herself.

"Why…" Jersey stared him down, "Why can't you just… fucking… drool over my tits or shit. _That_ I can handle." Her glare seethed with icy anger and she jabbed a knife hand into his chest. "Now you're… you're… making me deal with motherfucking feelings and shit, and you _fucking well know_ I can't handle that!"

For a moment, the battleship just glared at the professor, her hand still pressed against his sternum, her chest heaving against her tight sweater as frustration pounded in her boilers.

Then a cough sounded from the cab. "Uh… Ma'am?"

Jersey glanced over with a huff.

"Are you okay?"

"Not really," she mumbled. "Need fucking someone to drool at my boobs."

There was a pause, then the driver added a timid, "Is… that an order, Commander?"

"Lewd," hissed Jersey.

"I'm a Marine, ma'am."

Her frustration melted away and a good-natured smirk brightened up her finely chiseled features. "Awww, all's forgiven then. But, uh…" she glanced across the cabin at where Crowning was visibly forcing his gaze down along her curves, "I _think_ that position's already been filled."

The battleship smiled, and swung one leg over his until she planted her stern squarely on his lap. Her chest bulged against his face, and she smiled as she felt his glasses tickle at her skin though her clothes. She was just about to offer him a kiss when the marine spoke up again.

"Uh… Commander…" his voice was taut with awkward tension. "Could you… not… move around, please?"

Jersey settled back with a frustrated scowl.

"You're too heavy," mumbled the marine. "Suspension's already maxed-out as is."

"Did you just call me fat?"

"Yes," Crowning smirked at her, "He did. You ate a quarter ton of pancakes."

The battleship blinked. "I don't follow." She flopped onto the bench beside him and let her head fall onto his shoulder. "Head scratchy?"

Crowning smiled, and gave the crown of her shimmering strawberry blond hair a quick kiss. "You're such a child sometimes."

"Head." Jersey somehow pronounced a period. "Scratchy." After a moment, she added an uncharacteristically timid, "please?"

The professor chuckled, and ran his fingers though her silky soft hair. Before long, she was purring contentedly against his shoulder. It wasn't quite what he pictured when he'd planned this date… but she was happy. That alone made him happy.

—|—|—

Urakaze held the shimmering midnight-blue silk to her chest and sighed. She hadn't been expecting to find something so nice to wear to the Christmas ball. She and her division mates always had trouble finding cute dresses to wear for formal events. There weren't a lot of shops in Japan that catered to girls as… unbalanced as herself, Hamakaze, or Isokaze, and those that did weren't at all suitable for destroyers.

But America had unlimited supplies of anything she could ask for! It only took her and her sisters a few _hours_ to find a store in town eager to sell them nice, cute dresses. Dresses that fit them like gloves without being lewd in the slightest. Even Atago couldn't find anything to take in or let out, and the cruiser had a keen eye for seam work.

Urakaze giggled and squished the kimono against her figure. The dark blue silk went perfectly with the brushed gold of her sash. She couldn't believe there was a shop in town that sold kimonos, let alone ones so pretty.

"'Laska!" the destroyer bounced down the carpeted halls towards the large—not battle, _large_ , she was very emphatic about that—cruiser's room. Ever since she'd gotten back, the American had gone out of her way to make Urakaze and her sisters feel welcome.

She'd even tried cooking them all rice and dumplings, and was mortified when Nachi accidentally mentioned they were _Chinese_ -style dumplings. Not that Urakaze really minded, they _were_ delicious, and it was really the thought that counted.

"'Laska?" She scuffed her boot against the door. "You home?"

"Yeah," The large cruiser's airy, contended-but-confused accent wafted though the air. Urakaze liked that accent. It sounded like how a warm fleece blanket feels. "Come in."

Urakaze smiled and bumped open the door with her hip. "'Laska, look at this—" she froze mid sentence.

Alaska sat cross-legged in the middle of her floor, a veritable nest of boxes surrounding her like a cardboard redoubt. A half-finished model kit—an _Essex_ -class carrier by the looks of it—sat on her lap, while a collection of photo-etched detail kits, pots of paint, brushes, glue, and tools lay scattered around her. The cruiser even had a stray bit of sprue super glued to her temple that a faerie work crew were fruitlessly trying to dislodge.

The cruiser glanced down at her makeshift work space and blushed. "Sorry about the mess, I—"

"EEEEEEEEE!" Urakaze squealed. She flung her dress on the cruiser's bed and bounced over to give her a tight hug. "'LASKA! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US!"

Alaska opened her mouth to mutter a confused reply, but she was quickly muffled by the destroyer's chesty hug.

"YOU'RE SO LUCKY!" Urakaze hugged the cruiser tight. "Stay here! I have to tell the others!" The destroyer spun on her heel and bolted out the door as fast as her little turbines would carry her, leaving Alaska as throughly confused as she normally was.

The cruiser blinked, shrugged, then went back to gluing 20mm Oerlikons into their gun-tubs. The tiny light-AA guns had been a huge pain in the stern to get done, but her faeries had been invaluably in folding the itty-bitty photoetched ammo drums.

Alaska smiled as she took her her half-finished build. There was something relaxing about building models. It was a nice break from the daily grind of patrols and scouting missions.

"'Laska!" The cruiser looked up just soon enough to get a face full of her best friend's limitless cleavage. Judging by the slight dampness on her skin—and her outfit of a coral-blue bikini with an airy sarong tied around her hips—Atago'd cut her bath short to come by. She hadn't even bothered to trumpet her arrival with one of her "panpakapan"s. This must _really_ be serious."'Laska, why didn't you tell us!"

"Um," Alaska blinked, and pried her face out of Atago's bouncy chest to meet her best friend's sea-blue eyes. And then she spat-out the hotwheel clenched between her teeth. Atago really needed to talk to her faeries about hiding stuff in her boobs. "What?"

Atago giggled, and grabbed the taller cruiser in a huge wet hug. "It couldn't have happened to a nicer girl!" She squeezed Alaska tight, then let her go and leaned over to nuzzle the American's flat parka-clad tummy. "Your momma's the best cruiser in the whole navy!"

"Momma?" Alaska cradled her belly protectively and flashed Atago a confused look. Not that Atago noticed, the Japanese girl was busy cooing sweet nothings to her belly and snuggling.

"Yes," Hamakaze nodded knowingly, "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

"You're building models," added Isokaze.

"You're so lucky!" Urakaze squealed with happiness and pounced on her two sisters for lack of anything better to hug.

Alaska's mouth hung open, but then it promptly shut again. She _had_ been building a lot of models recently, and her mood had been getting sunnier by the day. She thought it was just the Christmas spirit, but the pregnancy theory made a lot more sense.

After all, she was building _boats._

"I…" Alaska glanced down at her stomach and smiled, "I… I'm pregnant?"

"You must be!" Atago giggled and nuzzled the American's flat tummy, "Panpakapregnant!"

"It _is_ the most logical possibility," opined Hamakaze.

"We should tell the admiral," said Urakaze with a happy smile.

"And you," Isokaze pointed at the American, "Should call Dreadnought. She knows more about being a mother than anyone alive."

Alaska nodded. She could always count on her friends to keep her on the straight and narrow path. "That's a good plan," the cruiser started to get to her feet when Atago gently pushed her back down again. "You should stay here."

"Mmm," Hamakaze nodded, "It's not good for you to exert yourself in your condition."

Alaska nodded. That seemed smart.

"I'll get your laptop," Isokaze tip-toed though the modeling debris scattered around the room, "Dreadnought should be up by now."

"I'll go tell the Admiral!" Atago bounced to her feet with a triumphant giggle. She laughed and bolted for the Admiral's office at a giddy skip.

"Is there anything else you need?" asked Urakaze. "Some pillows? Warm milk? Glass of water?"

"I'm fine," Alaska blushed at all the attention she was getting. "Really. I can't be that far along…" she glanced from her flat belly to her half-finished model kit. "I think…?"

Urakaze shrugged. "This is uncharted territory."

Isokaze nodded sagely and handed the cruiser her computer. "There's really nothing else we can get you?"

Alaska shook her head. "Really, no. I'm fine."

The two destroyers shot her a concerned look, then slowly filed out of her room. "We'll be right out here if ya need us," said Urakaze.

Alaska smiled at them, then opened up her e-mail. Before long, she had a message typed up for the mother of all battleships.

 _From: "USS Alaska"_  
 _To: "HMS Dreadnought"_  
 _Subject: How do I mom?_

 _Hey, this is USS Alaska. Obviously. Uh… It's so nice to be able to talk to you._

 _Anyways, I think I'm pregnant. I've been building a lot of model ships, and that seems like the most logical explanation. What do I do?_

 _Love,_  
 _Lt. CDR Alaska_

 _PS: we can skype if you're okay with doing that. My user name is "Eskimopie." Not "Eskimocreapie", don't click that. It's… lewd._

Alaska smiled, and tapped the send button. Dreadnought would know what to do!

—|—|—

Atago burst into the Admiral's office with a cheerful "Pan-pakapakapakapaka-pa~n!" and a happy giggle. She threw her hands in the air in time with her own trumpeting, and Hamakaze deftly ducked under the cruiser's frantic gesticulations. "Alaska is Pregnant!"

Admiral Raleigh glanced up from his paperwork at stared at the to shipgirls over the lid of his laptop. He slooooowly closed the computer and regarded the smiling cruiser with a practiced stare. "Atago."

"Yes?"

"You want to run that by me again?"

Atago planted her hands on his desk and grinned, a few loose lego bricks falling out of her low-cut bikini from the violence of the motion. "Alaska, my best friend in the whole wide world is building a little bundle of joy!"

Raleigh reached for his well-worn mug and took a long sip of coffee. "She's pregnant."

Atago nodded. She was starting to get upset he wasn't getting the picture. "Yes! We found her building model ships in her room, of course she's pregnant!"

Raleigh stared at her for a solid minute. "You found her building models, and that makes you think she's pregnant?"

"Yes!" Atago pumped her fist in the air, happy her Admiral was finally getting the picture.

"And this seems logical to you."

"Of course," said Hamakaze with a slight nod of her head.

The admiral sighed again. "Atago… you were complaining to me just yesterday that Alaska hasn't so much as said two words to that boy at the store."

"I was!" Atago beamed. It always made her day when her Admiral remembered something about their conversation.

"And you think she made a move," Raleigh rubbed his temple, "and grew out of her dorkiness long enough to get laid?"

Atago's smile dimmed. As much as she wanted to see her best friend happy, that did seem like a bit of a stretch.

"You don't think it's possible," Raleigh smirked, and slowly placed a sheaf of newspaper coupons on his desk, "that she's just taking advantage of the holiday sales."

Atago puffed her cheeks out in a pout. "But… but… little bundle of joy…"

"I'm sure it'll happen sooner or later," Raleigh rolled his eyes at the cruiser. "Just not today. Kongou has dibs on the first shipgirl baby after all."

"It's true," added Hamakaze, "She literally does."

Atago and the Admiral shared a mutual double take.

" _Jane's_ ," said Hamakaze.

"Ooooooh," Atago nodded sagely. "Of course!"

Raleigh chuckled. It was just like Kongou to get her family intentions on the official record. "Now," he motioned to the stack of paperwork accumulating on his desk. "I've got work to finish, and I believe you girls have a ball to get dressed for."

Atago glanced down at her damp bikini and blushed. "Right, yes. Thank you, Admiral!"

The two shipgirls trotted out of the Admiral's office, with Hamakaze making sure to close the door after her. "Think we should tell Alaska?"

Atago shrugged. "She'll figure it out on her own."


	118. A Certain Lady Part 22

**A Certain Lady Part 22**

Hiei returned to consciousness with a slow, easy pace. She shook off the fog and the cobwebs of sleep as she sat up with the kind of lazy grace more comparable to a well fed predator. While she quite enjoyed the soft lapping of the waves against her hull or the serene calm of the docks, she would readily admit they did not quite compare to a warm, comfy bed. Particularly one replete with the feeling of home.

It was one of the better perks of having been granted a form capable of experiencing the sensations of the body and the ability to comprehend and appreciate them. That she was still a fully capable and qualified Kongou-Class battleship made it even better. Well, there were the obvious downsides. A body capable of feeling pleasure was equally capable of feeling pain as well. Joy and despair to boot.

She rolled her shoulders before arcing her back and reaching towards the ceiling with her remaining hand in a long stretch. That tense feeling of taut muscle brought a satisfied moan from her lips. A grunt and another moan accompanied formerly misaligned machinery and slightly off-kilter joints easing back into their appropriate places.

With a gasp she released the breath she had been holding and relaxed, slouching over before flopping back onto the bed.

"Nnn..." She stared upwards for a few moments, letting her mind drift to the past few days. So much had happened in such a short span of time. Things were already a bit of a madhouse before New Jersey had been summoned by the Americans. But then it seemed as if everything had kicked into high gear. Hmm... Kinda like back in the forties. And then Arizona of all ships had showed up!

In Japan no less!

It made her head hurt when she tried and wrap her mind around it. Maybe if she'd seen the summoning herself? Her Admiral had a way about having strange things happen in his life, so that probably had something to do with it.

"Hmm... thoughts for later. I have things to do!" declared the battleship to no one but herself.

She sat up and all but bounded out of bed, landing on her feet with a slightly unsteady thumping sound. Balance... would be an issue for a while. She was missing a few hundred tons of herself mostly on one side after all.

"Step one, getting dressed." Hiei strolled over to the closet and began rifling through the myriad clothes hanging neatly pressed upon hangars of varying colors and designs. The only ones with any sort of uniformity were, reasonably, the ones sporting uniforms. "Nope. No. Hmm... Not in the mood for white. Or a button down. Oh bugger, this one has a hole in it. ...And that one does too."

It took her a few minutes of searching, grumbling, and tossing of most holey garments before finally grabbing a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans that she deemed suitable. Plus, they were easy enough to put on. The shirt was quite baggy, so it didn't irritate her wounds any more than it had to. And the same went for the jeans. Though that was less about any easing on her screws than it was they were really, really comfortable. She might be bereft a bra or her bindings, but she really didn't want to try putting the latter on with one arm and all her sports bras were probably going to be a bit too tight on her shoulder. Something of Mutsu's might work. Or if she could find one of her camisoles…

Well, there weren't any here, so she'd need to go hunting through the laundry to find a clean one. And while perfectly capable of simply going through most of the day without, you never knew when you might need to run out unexpectedly or who might stop by. She wasn't that kind of ship after all!

One way or another she'd get it sorted out.

But she actually had to get dressed first. And therein lay the trouble. At least she didn't need to get undressed first.

Sometimes just sleeping in nothing but your knickers was really comfortable.

"Oh, fiddlesticks," Hiei remarked as she held out the shirt by a sleeve and tried to grab the its pair with her other hand, only to realize that hand wasn't there anymore. This would definitely take a lot more getting used to than she initially thought. Conceptually, no problem. In practice… very real problems. "Right. Okay. I can do this!"

She contemplated the upper wear for a few moments before nodding sharply and tossing it into the air. With a deft hand, she caught it by the lower end and draped it over her head. With a bit of struggling and nearly putting her head through a sleeve she managed to finally adorn herself with the shirt.

Backwards.

One frown and a mild curse later, Hiei had managed to right the apparel and no longer looked quite so silly. Well, no more silly than anyone wearing a shirt saying '#1 Dadmiral' on it. It was also a bit large for her. At least it was a bit easier to manage thanks to that. Well, sort of.

"Hiei-mama?"

"Oh! Jane!" Hiei blinked and turned to face the littlest Richardson, a smile blooming on her face until it was plain as day. "Good mor-guf!"

Hiei found herself interrupted as Jane barrelled into her stomach with the most bearish hug that could possibly be delivered by a child. And either she was way more drained from her ordeal than she thought, or Jane was channelling some deep mysterious reserve of power. Probably the former.

"Well, someone's full of energy this morning." She ruffled Jane's hair affectionately and was rewarded with a bright smile. It was good to be home.

"Of course I am! Everyone came home and Daddy said he'd take me on an outing tomorrow and Mutsu-mama finally came back and Ari-mama made breakfast for me!" She released her hold on Hiei and bounced around the half-clothed battleship like an over-enthusiastic tugboat.

"Lucky. I want to try some." Hiei pouted as she realized she'd missed a nice, home cooked morning meal. And one made by Arizona no less. As a ship who prided herself on her culinary exploits, she was always up for trying new foods. Or even everyday things made by different people. Lots of new experiences and ideas to be had there.

"She said you needed your rest." Jane paused in her dashing to and fro to pose sternly with a hand on her hip and a finger raised as if she were some sort of humorless instructor. "The Lieutenant needs as much time to recover as possible if she is to return to her duties."

Hiei snickered openly at Jane's attempt at imitating Arizona.

"But Ari-mama did leave you some leftovers to warm up. And she gave me instructions and everything just in case you couldn't find them before she left." She dropped the attempt at acting imposing and grinned. "I think she's worrying too much."

"Probably. She's got a ton of spirit and I bet she doesn't know what to do with it all. So she just fusses over every little thing. In her own, grumpy way." Hiei laughed alongside Jane at the good-natured ribbing of the absent Standard. Arizona did get pretty wound up about things. Some with plenty good reason, too. But if the redhead were home, she'd probably have heated words about her current state of dress. Or a conniption fit. Maybe both.

Speaking of dress…

"Jane, is all of the laundry clean?" She rolled her wounded shoulder subconsciously as she asked.

"Hmm…" Jane placed a finger to her lips as the thought about it. She was pretty sure it had been done. It was Daddy's turn and he was usually really good about it. She had clean clothes at least. But what got washed with what tended to be up in the air at times. "I… think so?"

"Would you help me out and go find one of my camisoles or one of Mutsu's bras?" Her shoulder was really starting to ache right now. Not painful, per se. But definitely uncomfortable.

"Okay. But why do you need one of Mut-oh! Oh! Sorry. Yeah!" Jane's expression went from confusion to realization to shock before arriving at determination. All in the span of a swiftly spoken sentence. "I'll be right back!"

"Don't run down the stairs!" hollered Hiei as Jane bolted from the room. At least she didn't need to explain the why about needing certain undergarments to Jane. The girl was pretty quick on things sometimes. However the rapid thumping of footsteps made her briefly reconsider that thought. Really now.

"Next up… pants."

By the time Jane had returned, a sizable brassiere in hand, Hiei was a barely decent tangle of limbs and denim laying on the floor.

"...Mama? Are you okay?"

"I've been better?" Hiei flopped onto her back with a huff, her shirt hiked up and pants only partially up to her knees on one side. "I really overestimated what I can do like this."

"Can I-may I help?" Jintsuu-mama's lessons were not for nothing!

"I… Yeah." She was not above asking for help. But it didn't make her feel any less silly about the whole situation. Objectively it's really easy to tell that missing an entire limb is going to change your life in all sorts of ways. But in reality it was a bit harder to wrap her head around just how deep those changes went. The shirt should have been her first indication if last night hadn't hammered it in. Maybe she was just too happy to have been home to really notice or remember all of the advice and warnings she'd been given by Parkson.

"Then sit up so I can get you dressed," Jane ordered in the same tone of voice she normally used when she was playing Ensign.

Hiei somehow managed to sit up and salute without laughing at the sight of a determined Jane barking orders with a bra in hand.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am." Okay, so she was grinning like a buffoon. She didn't have that much restraint. But at least she could keep it together better than Mutsu. Mutsu would have been on the floor trying to breathe between laughs.

If the Abyssal menace really wanted to stand up to the Nagato-Class, then they should hire a comedian.

Fortunately humor seemed to be beyond them.

"Okay! First is..."

It took some work and a fair amount of pinched skin as Jane wasn't exactly the most gentle of assistants, but Hiei was ultimately able to find herself fully dressed with the requested help. Even though the child didn't do more than pull on the clothes or help steady the battleship at said battleship's request it was still enough. And sometimes enough was all you needed to get through the day. But she would definitely need to get used to doing this on her own.

Hiei rolled her shoulders with an approving look on her face. Yeah, some bits could be better off. But she was dressed and all good to go.

"Alright. Much better! Thank you, Jane!" She reached down and pulled Jane in for a hug that was reciprocated quite readily.

"Anytime, mama." Jane smiled before disengaging and dashing over to the door. Her smile turning into a smirk that was all too reminiscent of her father. "But I bet Daddy could do it even better!"

And with that she ran off, laughing all the way.

"Wh-You little-! Get back here, Ensign Jane Elaine Richardson! Don't make me come after you!"

Hiei sighed and let a slightly wistful smile grace her lips after her outburst. Well, that was fine. The teasing and the laughing and all the madness. Her sisters might not be here, running around across the Pacific as they were, but it was still home. Her home.

"Gotta catch me~!"

...And now it was time for her to have some fun of her own. She smirked ominously. Catch her? Did she think to flee from a Kongou? Surely Jane's words were in jest.

"I don't know. Hide and seek might be a bit tough for me right now. I'm just so hungry. Ari's breakfast might not be enough," she called out in reply as she strolled out of the bedroom. Her blue eyes twinkled with mirth. "You know what? The Major sent me that really good recipe for cinnamon rolls. I should probably make some. But I don't know if I can do it on my own."

Hiei could almost feel Jane's gaze from her hiding spot.

"I might have to pass on making those giant, gooey cinnamon rolls, dripping with frosting and piping hot." She looked down at her side where Jane had all but magically appeared, tugging at her shirt. Hook. Line. And sinker.

"...The Major's recipe?"

"Gotcha." Hiei laughed at Jane's look of embarrassment before ruffling the girl's dark hair. It was fun to do. "Come on. With all our spirit and hearts full of love, lets get cooking!"

"To the kitchen. All ahead flank!"

It was a warzone that decorated the pile of baked goods some hours later, but they were the best cinnamon rolls anyone had eaten in a long time.


	119. Chapter 89: Old Brit Boats

**Chapter 89: Old Brit Boats**

With a hiss of compressed air and the exhausted grunt of an overstressed diesel engine, the ten-ton truck groaned to a halt. Crowning'd made sure to plan ahead for parking, but Seattle's tangled mess of narrow streets and steep hills gave him precious little room to maneuver. The truck had to park almost a mile away in an empty university parking lot.

Not that Crowning particularly minded. The winter air was more crisply brisk than actually cold, especially compared to some of the winters he'd endured on the East coast, and the body of the walk was along a gentle, scenic canal.

And of course, he didn't have to walk alone. "You need some help there, Jersey?"

The battleship hissed at him and clambered down the back of the truck. Crowning tried not to stare, but the view of her stern was too entrancing to ignore. Jersey filled out her jeans to bursting, and even the denim wasn't enough to totally hide the tension in those massive muscles of hers.

"There," She dropped to the floor with a loud thump, and the trucks' suspension groaned as her immense weight was finally removed. "Okay…" She pursed her lips and stuffed her hands into her pockets.

She looked… like a dream given form. Her long hair streamed over her shoulders in a messy half-braid. Its fiery tips hung past her waist, kissing the plump shape of her stern with ever passing breeze. Puffs of rolling breath slipped though her lips, and her icy blue eyes soaked in the afternoon sun.

"You look fine, Jersey," Crowning chuckled. "C'mon, it's just this way."

The battleship nodded and fell into formation off his side. For a while, the two just walked. Or to be more accurate, Jersey walked while Crowning sort of half-walked half-trotted. Jersey's stunning legs were long even for her height, and she was a _very_ tall girl.

"Doc?" Jersey's cheeks glowed a brilliant red, and she kept her eyes pointed straight ahead as she spoke. "Uh… can I ask you something."

"Of course," Crowning smiled at her.

"This isn't a date," the battleship's voice carried equal tones command and desperation, "But… um… to you think maybe we could act like it was?"

Crowning winced internally. He could think of a few reasons why Jersey wanted to avoid calling this outing a date, from military decorum to winning some sort of convoluted bet. But the most depressingly probable possibility was her desperate need to avoid cutting herself even the slightest bit of slack for her own mistakes. The same reason she so vehemently protested that she was anything more than a ship.

"Yeah," He nodded, and forced a slight smile. Jersey had her issues, and she'd have to work them out herself. The best he could do is love her unconditionally and support her any way he could. "I _was_ in the drama club in high school."

Jersey shot him a withering glance though her shades. "You're such a dork."

Crowning chuckled, and put his arm around her waist. Even though the fabric of her jacket and thick sweater, he could feel her rippling muscle tense under his grasp. For a moment, she felt like corded steel, and he saw her chest start to flutter with quick, shallow breaths.

But then, ever so slowly, she settled down. Her muscles loosened under his fingers, and he felt a tinge of soft humanity under all that fighting steel. And then she started purring. It was a very soft, quiet sound that he felt though his touch more than he heard with his ears. But there was no mistaking it. She _was_ purring, and it was just as adorable as it sounded.

For minutes that felt like hours, the two walked in silence along the canal. Every so often, the battleship would squirm in his grasp and try to work herself closer. Soon, she was practically pressed against him, and every sashaying step sent her broad hip crashing against him. But her purring never stopped, not even for an instant.

Then the pair reached a soring drawbridge. Crowning had made sure to look up the route, and even call up one of Solette's friends in the Army Corps of Engineers to double-check for him. The bridge was built for heavy car traffic, it _could_ bear their weight without a second thought. That didn't keep it from groaning alarmingly with every step the battleship took, though.

"Crowning," Jersey hissed as she planted one footed foot before the other. "If you call me fat, I will fucking eat your babies."

Crowning smirked. Jersey _was_ fat, there was no denying that. She just happened to carry all of it in exactly the right places. But just as he was about to voice his opinion, a horrified look passed over Jersey's aquiline face.

"No," she hissed. "I didn't… that's not what I meant!"

It took the professor a second to catch on, but he shrugged it off like the battleship's angry utterance had flown over his head. She was just grouchy from hunger, it was just a slip of the tongue, it had to be. "If you say so, Jersey."

The battleship blushed, and grumbled something under her breath. The only words he caught were "motherfucking Freud," followed by stifled giggles.

"Get it?" said Jersey. The battleship prodded him in the side, "Motherfucking Freud? Because… you know…" Jersey made a circle with her fingers and started frantically jamming her other finger in the cavity she'd created. "Motherfucking?"

Crowning rolled his eyes.

"Fuck you," Jersey huffed. "That's fucking comedy Go—"

Crowning stood up on his toes, planted a hand on the battleship's head, and started gently scratching at her blond locks. In an instant, the fiery battleship's temper cooled and her voice turned into a gooey purr.

"Where were we?" said Jersey.

"Getting pie," chuckled Crowning.

"Right," The battleship threw her fist in the air. "Onwards, to pie!"

The last few blocks took nearly as long to get though as the entire rest of the walk. Now that the pair were into the city proper, they couldn't go more than a few dozen steps before being asked to stop for pictures. Jersey basked in the attention, though she seemed utterly astonished at how so many people recognized her without her usual uniform.

At least she was until Crowning pointed out she towered over literally every other person in the whole city. And that the Pie shop had hung a "closed to feed _New Jersey_ sign in the door with a stylized drawing of Jersey gobbling down pie by the truckload.

Jersey blinked. "I need that," she smirked and planted her hands on her belly like the little drawing of her. Her own stomach wasn't nearly as rotund as the drawing, but somehow Crowning knew she'd do everything in her power to rectify that.

"Yo," Jersey ducked though the door into the surprisingly narrow restaurant. A half-dozen smiling workers looked over at her from behind the counter, and the warm air was a welcome contrast from the chill outside. "Who—"

Jersey stopped and sniffed. Crowning chuckled. The air was heavy with the sent of baking pies and sweet caramelizing fruits.

The battleship scowled and shook her head, "Who did this…" she trailed off and leaned over a pile of mini-pies. No doubt they were intended as single-serving pies for someone who didn't have the appetite of a first-rate fast battleship. "Uh…"

"Don't worry," said Crowning, "She does this all the time."

"Fuck you," Jersey flipped him off while still staring at the little white-topped concoctions. "These are pies."

"Yes," smiled a waifish young man with his hair in a top knot.

"They smell like meat," Jersey poked one of the pies, only to come back with a bit of creamy mashed potato stuck to her finger. "Explain." She pointed her potato-kissed finger at topknotted fellow with a look of pure desperation, "EXPLAIN THIS WIZARDRY!"

For his part, the baker just smiled at her sudden confusion, "They're Shepherd's pies. We thought you'd like it."

Jersey yanked off her shades to examine the mini-pies more carefully. She very carefully plucked one from its little porcelain cup, turned it around in her hands, and dumped the whole thing in her mouth. Then her eyes lit up and she grinned from ear to ear. She swallowed the whole thing in one bite and grabbed the baker in a crushing hug.

"THIS IS AMAZING!" she thundered. She let go of the baker only to grab another pie and all but pounce on Crowning. She slammed him against the wall while her breasts piled up against his face. "Look at this!" she eased up just along enough to shove the pie in his line of sight, "there's meat in a pie!"

Crowning coughed and sucked down a desperate breath.

"I fucking love America," Jersey popped the pie in her mouth and walked back to the counter. "Anutha pluhs?"

"Jersey," Crowning took in another breath and tried not to think about what'd just knocked the wind out of him.

The battleship was already busy gobbling her way though all the meat-related pies the bakery had ready.

"Shepherd's pie is British." Crowning smirked at her.

You could have heard a pin drop as the battleship slowly pivoted around to stare at him. Her stare was cold as ice, and the muscles in her neck tensed under her sweater. She would've been terrifyingly imposing if she didn't have specs of pie crust sticking to the corners of her mouth. "The fuck you say?"

"Shepherd's pie is a British invention," said Crowning.

Jersey scowled, then she smirked. "Fuck you, It's American now."

"How does that even make sense?"

"FREEDOM!" Jersey threw a plastic spoon at him, which he effortlessly parried away with the back of his hand.

Crowning and the baker shared a sideways look.

"Freedom motherfuckers!" Jersey laughed and face-planted in a freshly baked apple pie. She'd licked the tray clean in under a a minute. "More please?"

This went on for some time.

Crowning tried to strike up a conversation with the bakers when they weren't frantically trying to bake faster than Jersey's ravenous appetite could consume. For her part, Jersey tried to be as personable as possible, but she was limited to grunts while eating and the odd few words gasped out while she changed plates.

For a while, all was well. Watching Jersey gorge herself might not be every man's idea of a perfect date, but Crowning couldn't imagine anything he'd rather be doing. And then it all went downhill once the subject of after-dinner activities came up.

And one of the bakers said something very, _very_ stupid. "If you guys have time, you should check out the statue of Lenin."

Jersey froze mid pie. Slowly, icily, mechanically her head pivoted up to lock eyes with the topknotted baker. Her gaze burned with fury, and the cherry filling smeared over her face suddenly looked a whole lot like the blood of her slain enemies. "Do you want," she hissed with icy anger, "To say that one more time."

The baker blinked, and staggered back a step under the force of her glare. "It's… it's just a block down thirty-sixth."

Jersey thought for a second. Then she cracked a wicked grin. "Bring me all the cream pies you have."

Crowning sighed. Somehow, this was exactly how he imagined a date with Jersey would end.

—|—|—

Large cruiser Alaska balanced her laptop on her belly and waited. She'd only nets the Skype request to Dreadnought a few seconds ago, but it already felt like hours had passed.

She pursed her lips and puffed out her belly as much as she could. The fabric of her parka went taunt as her laptop rose until it commanded a high vantage point over her nonexistent bosom. Could she _really_ be pregnant? It seemed kinda hard to believe, but Atago's logic _did_ seem sound and concrete.

"Hmmm," Alaska cradled her belly and hummed to herself. Would it be a girl or a boy, she wondered. She was kinda hoping for a girl, but the large cruiser wasn't married to either option.

Speaking of, she wasn't married at _all_. She might want to take care of that before she gave birth.

Unfortunate, that'd require her to talk to a cute, or otherwise desirable, boy, something she'd thus far been utterly incapable of doing. Maybe she could get some of her faeries to communicate by semaphore?

But before Alaska could ponder her brilliant idea for a silent wedding, her laptop sparked to life with the kindly visage of HMS _Dreadnought._

Alaska let out a tiny eep of surprise as the steel-haired old battleship filled the screen. She was old, but in that timeless British sort of way, and her loose bun was kept in place by a little tripod pin. There was even an itty-bitty Union Jack flying from the tip.

 _"Alaska, hello,"_ Dreadnought smiled at Alaska, her clipped yet somehow soothing accent washing over the American's ears like buttered toast.

"Dreadnought," Alaska smiled back and fussed with her own snowy white hair. Hers was so much messier than the proper brit's. "I like your pin."

 _"This old thing?"_ Dreadnought tossed a bashful wave at the camera, _"Your superstructure's so much cleaner."_

"Yeah, but it's pretty." Alaska sighed, and drummed her fingers against her thigh.

 _"So,"_ the old battlewagon adjusted the little half-moon glasses resting on the tip of her distinguished ram-bow of a nose. _"You tell me you're carrying a little bundle of joy?"_

"Mmhm!" Alaska smiled sweetly and tilted her laptop so Dreadnought could see her belly.

 _"Very little,"_ said Dreadnought slyly.

"Hey!" Alaska bristled at the insult levied against her unborn daughter. "She's perfect just the way she is!"

Dreadnought just laughed. _"I see you've already got your maternal instincts down,"_ she said. _"When'd you realize you had one on the slips?"_

"Actually, I didn't," said Alaska. "My best friend Atago did." She moved her computer to frame her half-finished model, "She saw me building this on the floor and put two and two together."

 _"Splendid!"_ Dreadnought smiled and positively giggled with joy. _"You've got a very insightful friend there. Tell me, how's the father taking this?"_

Alaska blinked.

Dreadnought's smile faded slightly.

Alaska blinked again. "Father?"

 _"Of your child, sweetie."_

Alaska blinked again. "I don't follow."

 _"Alaska, child,"_ Dreadnought took off her glasses and wiped them on the end of her knit shawl, _"It takes two, as they say."_

"Oh," Alaska nodded. She tried not to think of things like that too much, it wasn't healthy to live in such lewdness. "There's this one boy I like… at least I think I like him…"

 _"But?"_

"But every time I see him," said Alaska, "My… it's like someone hid all my signal flags. I can't get a word out."

 _"You haven't even talked to him?"_ Dreadnought had to stifle her mirth with a quick cough.

"No," Alaska nodded glumly.

 _"Dear… then you're not pregnant,"_ said Dreadnought. The old battleship tried to put her glasses back on, but the effort of keeping in her laughter was too much for her to keep her hand steady.

"But…" Alaska glanced from the computer to her model and back, "Model."

 _"Dear,"_ Dreadnought's cheeks puffed out as she snorted out a laugh. _"I'm… you're not pregnant. You can't be."_

"But boat," mumbled Alaska with a nod towards her kit.

 _"You go to the baths when you're wounded, yes?"_ asked Dreadnought in a tone that implied this was more than a simple request for information. _"Does that mean you're wounded every time you take a shower?"_

"No," said Alaska. For a second she thought. Then another. Then yet another. "Ooooooooooooh."

 _"Sorry dear,"_ Dreadnought smiled sweetly at the poor confused cruiser. _"I'm sure you'll make a wonderful mother some day. Just… after Kongou, the old girl's claimed dibs."_

"I know," Alaska sighed. At least she wouldn't have to find someone to cover her duties, "Thanks for picking up, by the way."

 _"Oh, it's no trouble,"_ assured the battleship. _"There's hardly anything for an old ship like me to do around here."_

"Well thanks anyway," said Alaska, "You're a good friend."

—|—|—

Jersey's shirt was off before the door even closed behind her. She'd enjoyed her outing—even with the minor Communist detour and the police interview that came with it—more than she thought she would. The ride back had been calming, with every bump in the road gently stirring the pie sloshing around in her stuffed belly. Even her parting with Crowning had gone off like a dream.

They'd exchanged a few words of thanks, he told her to stay safe, she bragged about her invincible battleshipness, but thanked him none the less. He kissed her—or at least tried. She had to pick him up so he could really get his lips to hers—and they'd parted ways.

Officially, Jersey just needed a quick shower to freshen up and wash the pepper spray off her skin. But that was just an excuse, she was too badass to be bothered by pepper spray, even _if_ her CBR sprinklers hadn't flushed all the chemical agents over the side.

No, all she knew is that she really, truly _desperately_ needed a long, hot shower.

The battleship tore at her boots, clawing at the laces in a desperate attempt to free herself of their clutches. Next came her pants. Jersey plowed face-first into her bunk with a grunt nearly as loud as the groans of bedsprings creaking under her immense weight.

She at least managed to peel herself out of the tight-fitting jeans with out any drama. Unfortunately, Bowers had suggested Jersey wear something lacy and cute instead of her usual utilitarian sports bra and boyshorts. Well, the lacy and cute things were now lying in a pile of shredded fabric smeared accros most of her floor.

With her turbines roaring at close to maximum RPM, the battleship dove into her shower and slammed the faucet on as hot as it could go. She yelped in pain as the nearly-scalding water splashed against her skin.

But then… then she calmed down. The water was hot, but it felt good against the steel of her hull. She screwed up her eyes and let the water cascade down her body.

Jersey held her breath, letting the hot steam fill her lungs while she counted to ten in her head. Slowly she felt her body relax as her crew stood down to condition two. It wasn't much… but it was enough.

And then someone slapped her bare ass.

Really really hard.

It was like someone'd broken a 2-by-four across her stern. Which meant it could only be…

"Oi," barked a little Australian voice. "Now why aren't you already shacked up with the good professor?"

Jersey narrowed her eyes. "Victory…"

"Answer the question, ya wanker." The short, one-eyed British warship smiled at her reflection in the condensation-covered shower stall. By the look of it, she was wearing her gigantic Admiral's hat. And _only_ the hat.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Victory rolled her eyes and started pacing. "I mean look at him, if I wasn't a figment of your fracturing Yankee imagination, I'd be all over that." She wheeled around and thrust a finger at Jersey's nose.

Or tried to at least. Jersey was so much taller than her her hand ended up lost in the American's soaking wet cleavage. "Have you heard him talk? Or seen him work with those hands? Now go get some for the both of us."

"Not helping!"

Victory carried on like the American hadn't said a thing. "And if those destroyers are to be believed, the way he handles a sword is phenomenal.

Jersey let out a resigned sigh. "There are too many innuendos for me to even begin."

"How about you start," Victory flashed a wicked grin, "with the ones where he buries his sword in your endo?"

Jersey aimed a swat at the man-o-war that she deftly dodged. "Not. Helping," she hissed between clenched teeth.

"Bah." Victory shook her head. "So, how was your date?"

"Wasn't a date," barked Jersey.

"Oh, of course not," Victory put a hand to her little chest like she'd just committed some great faux pas. "You're just two unattached singles who are of the opposite sex and supposedly adults going to an eatery together."

"Not. A. Date," hissed Jersey.

"Did you at least enjoy the pie, mate?" Victory planted her hand on her hip and stared up at the battleship.

"Yes," sighed Jersey. "Yes it was quite good."

"What is it with you and pie anyways?"

Jersey stared at the naked sailing ship like she'd just proclaimed up was down, or that American didn't own the moon. "Because it's fucking delicious, duh."

"And not because Crowning baked you one as a bribe?" Victory elbowed Jersey in the gut. Or tried to, anyways. Her feeble wind-driven strength wasn't enough to even budge the American's abs of (literal) steel.

"No," hissed Jersey.

"Hmm," Victory clicked her tounge. "Ya know, you might wanna try baking one for him?"

Jersey thought. For once, the stupid Aussiboat actually had a decent idea. She should pay Crowning back for his generosity. She was a _battleship_ after all, she should actually do shit instead of sitting around getting pampered. "I… guess that'd be the nice thing to do."

"You'd enjoy seeing him taste it, right?" asked Victory. Her accent slipped until it sounded _almost_ but not quite English. There wasn't even a hint of her usual gently-mocking lilt.

"Yeah," Jersey smiled. She always liked to see him smile, and there's nothing that inspires smiles like— "wait, where are you going with this?"

In an instant, Victory's face changed from honestly concerned old woman to utterly smug old woman. "Well," she said with a gleaming smile, "I did always figure that you'd like to have him eating your-"

"Oh my fucking god!" Jersey swiped at Victory, only for her fist to pass right though like smoke. "You are the most EMBARRASSING ghost I have ever had living inside me!

The sailing ship bilnked. "Wait, I'm honestly confused, is that a large number? You say that as if there's more than one."

"Just…" Jersey scowled, "Let me shower in peace, will you. I have a movie to watch."

Victory sighed, "Fine. But remember what I said."

"I'm actively trying to forget it as we speak."

Victory huffed. "You Yankees, always so serious about love." Then she shrugged, and slipped out of the battleship's vision. "Enjoy the film, mate."

"Thanks, I…" Jersey glanced around. Once again she was alone in her shower. "Fucking hate when she does that…"


	120. Chapter 90: Weigh Anchor!

**Chapter 90: Weigh Anchor!**

Crowning was teetering at the very edge of the precipice of sleep when a very quiet knock sounded from his door. It was so quiet, so timid even, he almost thought it was a figment of his imagination. Then it happened again, a brisk set of quiet knocks tapped out by a quivering hand.

The professor fumbled for the light switch and squinted as the harsh glow assaulted his dark-adjusted eyes. He couldn't imagine who'd be calling at this hour. All the destroyers were worn out from the movie, Gale had to be asleep by now, and Jersey… well, it wasn't like the towering battleship to be so timid. "Coming," he coughed, stirring his voice back to action.

A very quiet whimper sounded though the thin wooden door, and Crowning heard the floor creak a bit. He knew _that_ sound well. It was the sound of fifty-eight thousand tons of warship nervously rocking on her heels like a high schooler picking up his girlfriend for the first time. But he'd _never_ heard Jersey whimper like that.

"Jersey?" Crowning steeled himself for… whatever was going on and opened the door.

The towering battleship smiled weakly at him. Her hair streamed down her back in a messy waterfall, and tears were melting off those stunning ice-blue eyes. "Um… hey," she mumbled. Her hands hung loosely off the waist of her sweatpants, and even her "MAXIMUM OVERTSUN" tank-top looked more subdued than normal.

"Is… everything alright?" Crowning bit his lip. He'd seen her sad like this before, and it always felt like someone twisting a knife into his heart.

"Mmhm," Jersey nodded glumly. "Um…" she shuffled a bit closer, her head just barely clearing the door frame. "Can I have a hug?"

Crowning didn't hesitate. His arms closed around her slender waist, and the tautness in her muscles slackened at his touch. Her soft, evidently braless breasts flowed against his chest. He felt her heart—or hearts, there was a distinct four-part harmony—beat in time with his own. Her head dropped until she rested her cheek against his silver-speckled hair.

"Thanks," she whispered, her hips slowly swaying from side to side as she cried into his shoulder.

"Of course," Crowning held her a little tighter and tried to massage the tenseness out of those steely muscles.

"He's dead," whispered Jersey.

"Hmm?" Crowning froze. As far as he knew, Jersey didn't know many men, at least not men she cared about so deeply. Most of her friends were girls, and he'd have known about any of the Admirals passing.

Jersey sniffed, and buried her face in his hair again. "H… han," she whimpered. "He's dead."

"Oh, Jersey…" Crowning squeezed her tighter, until he could almost feel the gentle hum of her shafts running down her toned back. He held her tight for almost five minutes before his sleepy brain shook off the cobwebs enough to make the connection. "Wait…"

"Hmm?" Jersey sniffed and tried to squeeze herself tigther into the hug. All she really managed to do was grind her hips against him though.

"You mean…" Crowning coughed. It was surprising hard to breath with an avatar of American Fighting Spirit hugging him, "Han _Solo_."

"Mmmhm," Jersey nodded.

Professor Crowning considered himself a kind man. He tried to treat everyone with respect, and that went double for someone he loved as dearly as the ideal of valor cradled in his arms. But even so, he let out a snort of stifled laughter and had to bite his lip to keep it under control.

"Fuck you," Jersey momentarily turned her hug into a painfully tight squeeze. Only the excessive cushioning on her chest kept it from being too painful. "He was my childhood."

Crowning snorted as hisses of stifled laughter slipped past his clenched lips. "J-Jersey…"

"Yes?" The battleship slackened her hug enough for him to pull himself out of her bosom.

"Is… that's what you wanted to talk about?"

Jersey nodded. "Yup!"

"Just Han Solo?"

"Well…" Jersey sighed, and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "It's also… you know… my last night before I ship out again."

Crowning froze. Part of him thought she'd ask for… part of him _wished_ that she'd ask for a night of solace and passion, but he quashed that thought as quickly as he could. Jersey was a woman of valor and duty, not some object to be lusted over. "Yes?"

Jersey flopped down onto her knees. Even sitting on her haunches, the titanic battleship nearly came to his chest. "Head scratchy?"

Crowning froze for an instant. Then he smiled. Then he started chuckling. "Of course, Jersey." He gave her head a quick ruffle, then moved to drag a chair over.

To his surprise, Jersey got up and followed him, but there was an odd halting jilt to her actions. She moved like she was trying to reign herself in, but only halfheartedly.

"Jersey?" Crowning cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Think…" the battleship clasped her hands behind her back and nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. It would've been adorable if it wasn't so terribly attractive. "Think I could sit on your lap?"

Crowning blinked, "Is that a totally good idea?"

"Maybe?" Jersey shrugged. "I've sat on flimsy stuff before, I don't think I'll break you."

"Fair enough," Crowning settled back on his chair and waited for the battleship to make her move.

Jersey's cheeks blushed a brilliant red, and she slowly took a step closer. Then another. Then she swung one long leg over his lap and settled herself in place. Crowning grunted as she put her full weight down. She was titanically heavy, heavier than even a woman of her staggeringly amazonian proportions should be.

Then again, muscle weighs more than fat, and steel weighs still more.

"Um," Jersey blinked. Her arms rested around his neck and her chest hovered tantalizingly close to his face. So close he locked his eyes on hers forbid himself from looking elsewhere.

"Hmm?" Crowning ran his hands along her thighs. Even though the fabric of her sweats, he felt her muscles twitch and slide like oiled pistons. Great bundles of sleeping strength lay like napping pythons, just waiting to unleash their great and terrible might.

"If you say I'm fat," Jersey's face twisted into a scowl, "I'll fucking eat your…" she blushed, "You know."

The professor smirked, "Head scratchy?"

"Please?"

"For you," Crowning started plucking at the crown of her head like a blond-stringed guitar, "Anything."

Thirty seconds later, she was purring against his chest with her eyes closed in bliss. Thirty minutes later, the battleship was sleeping on his bed—or at least as 'on' as her titanic frame and tendency to sprawl out would allow—while Crowning finished up the latest book in the _Changing Destiny_ series. He hadn't expected their date to end like this, be he wouldn't have it any other way.

—|—|—

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Wash bit her lip and examined herself in the mirror. It wasn't often that she visited the base gym—at least not when she wasn't heading to the docks for a nice soak. She felt horrible for depriving all these hardworking sailors of their swimming areas, she'd _hate_ to violate their space with her presence any more than necessary.

It was even rarer that she visited the weight rooms. She could push one-hundred-twenty-one-thousand horsepower though her shafts, raw strength was never her issue. Speed—and keeping herself _steady_ at speed like her far faster younger cousin—were her main concerns. She'd much rather run a few laps around the base than sit 'pump some iron' as Kirishima put it.

And it was _unheard of_ for her to visit the gym in such… revealing attire. She approved of the NAVY-branded sweatpants, and the pale blue sports bra felt heartily practical—if a bit snug. She would just have preferred to wear a shirt.

"Of course it is." Kirishima scowled at the serene American and planted her hips on the waist of her nontraditional Miko skirt.

Wash bit her lip and glanced down at herself once more. Where Kirishma found a bra she could fit into so well was beyond the American, very little seemed to come in her size. And she _was_ grateful, but… "This just feels so ostentatious."

"That's the point!" Kirishima stamped her foot on the floor, shattering tile in a two-foot radius of her pout. "Um… I'll clean that up."

Wash sighed, and dropped to her knees to help, "No, let me do it."

"No!" Kirishima flailed her arms in the air, whipping Wash with the tips of her flowing detached sleeves. "You mustn't dirty yourself."

Wash blinked, "Is that not the point of this outfit?"

"What?" Kirishima sighed. "No, Wash… I…"

"Then why am I dressed like this?"

"So that Yeoman Gale will notice you!"

Wash huffed, and experimentally poked at the space-age fabric. "It doesn't seem very modest."

"That's the _point_ ," grumbled Kirishima. "You _want_ Gale to notice you."

"You sure it's not too ostentatious?" Wash wound a strand of her russet-brown hair around her finger and thought.

"No!" Krishima waved her finger in front of the American's face. "Well, yes, but not for today. It's like a night battle."

Wash blinked, then slowly shifted her gaze from an indistincint point beyond the horizon to the Japanese battleship's beautiful storm-gray gaze. "What?"

Kirishima huffed, evidently upset her metaphor wasn't clearly understood. "You glide though the night like a specter. Watching, observing, yet unnoticed."

Wash fished a notebook out of her bra, grabbed the pencil stuck behind her ear, and started taking notes.

"Then," Kirishima hunched over, all but whispering into the American's ear with conspiratorial glee, "Just when your target's least expecting it… YASEN!" She threw her arms up and belted out the word at the top of her very considerable lungs. "You strike her with the full force of your BURNING LOVE!"

Wash recoiled as spit sprayed over her face, but notes flowed as quickly as ever from her pencil.

"Then you fade," said Kirishima, "Vanish into the night like a dream, leaving your target dazed, confused, and consumed by lust for something she knew but for an instant."

Wash nodded. It was an interesting tactic. The kind of thing she'd never think of, let alone try. But then again, Kirishima and Kongou _were_ the resident experts in love and romance. Well, experts besides doctor Crowning, but his love for New Jersey was too pure and focused to disturb. "An interesting technique."

"Isn't it?" Kirishima planted her hands on her hips with a dreamy sigh.

"How'd you come up with it?"

The Japanese girl seemed to deflate. "A, uh… friend taught me," she mumbled, "this one time in…" her voice trailed off into nothing.

"Oh," Wash nodded. "You'll have to introduce me to this friend of yours."

"Yeah," Kirishima smiled timidly, "I guess I will."

Before Wash could say anything further, she noticed her target walk up to the check-in desk. Yeoman Gale was looking as pretty as she always did. A selfless, kind-hearted smile adorned her face, and her hair was done up in an adorable little ponytail.

Oh, and she—like Wash—had elected to work out without a shirt. This made Wash very happy, because the battleship caught a glimpse of the sailor's tummy. A tummy which she'd found made for the most comfortable and calming pillow in all of human history.

"Is this really a good idea?" asked Wash. Suddenly, the battleship was having even more intense second thoughts than usual. What if she messed up? A woman as kind and sweet as Gale could have any man—or ship, for that matter—she wanted. What if by trying to 'show off' Wash only drove her friend away.

"Yes," Kirishima nodded, planted her hands on the small of the American's back, and gave her a good shove. "Now go! I'll be watching you from the ceiling."

Wash blinked. "How will you…" but Kirishima was gone. In her place was only a small pile of powdered drywall and the rustle of a ceiling tile being put back in place. "Huh," Wash put a finger to her chin, "So that's what that feels like."

—|—|—

Crowning stepped onto the shipgirl pier and almost immediately clapped his hands over his ears. The crackling spark of arc welders and angle grinders, the roar of idling turbines and cold boilers, and the hearty metallic clang of munitions and components being manhandled around merged into a truly awesome thunder.

He fumbled a pair of foam earplugs out of his pocket and stuffed them in as tightly as he could. The pier still roared with the sound of military might, but it was at least tolerable now.

Someone tossed him a hardhat, and he gratefully obliged as he made his way past girl after girl. The destroyers were already making lazy circles in the Puget sound, their little boilers took next to no time to warm up.

The cruisers were finishing up their own preparation. Lou was checking the buckles on her leather gun harness while Frisco bounced on her heels to loosen up her sinewy muscles. Prinz Eugen just stared at the horizon with a murderous smile.

Crowning didn't bother them. They were clearly finishing out their own pre-battle rituals. Rituals he'd do best not to interrupt. Besides, they weren't the reason he came down, the battleships were.

One battleship in particular, actually.

"Jersey!" Crowning shouted over the sound of of industry.

"Sup!" Jersey waved back. A dozen men in bright colored sweaters scrambled around her like a well-ordered ant swarm or a drilled pit team. There wasn't a shred of hesitation in their moves as they tightened her gunbelt securely around her broad hips, and snugged the heavy webbing harness on her vest tight to her stunning figure.

"They treating you well?" half-asked the professor. Williams told him these shore crew were pulled from aircraft carrier deck gangs. Fighter pilots trusted them with their lives every time they hurled down the deck, and that trust hadn't been misplaced yet. Crowning had every confidence they knew exactly what they were doing, but he couldn't help but feel a little worried.

"Hell yeah!" Jersey pivoted just enough to show her chest. With her vest tightened up, the fabric was practically painted on her figure. It hugged her slender waist and teased at the muscles of her taut lats, but Crowning couldn't help but be drawn to the swell of her chest.

The shimmering blue fabric hugged the curve of her perfect breasts, but failed to dive the valley between them, letting them stand like veiled mountains with the zipper just low enough for her yellow scarf to tuck away.

"That's…" Crowning smiled at her, "looks like you're in good hands."

"I know!" Jersey gave her chest a pat, "Mushi's sooo jealous."

"AM NOT!" thundered the Japanese super battleship.

"ARE FUCKING TOO!" Jersey bent over so Musashi had a good look and gave herself a good grope. She also shook her stern a little, buffeting one of her pier crew in the helmet and giving Crowning a perfect view of her quadruple shafts. So the professor wasn't too upset about her gratuitous showboating.

Musashi huffed and threw out her chin.

"You quite done?" asked Crowning.

Jersey shrugged, "Yeah, I'm good." She stood back up just in time for a sailor to slap an armored harness on her back. The splinter-painted steel ran up her spine between her shoulder blades, while slender arms wrapped around to cradle her underbust. She winced as another gang of sailors bolted the armor in place with air drivers, but it looked more like surprise than pain. "Oh, one thing."

"Hmm?" Crowning stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept out of her launch crew's way.

"I bought you something," Jersey fished around in her pocket, "For Christmas. I meant to wrap it, but…" she trailed off. "I didn't. 'cause I'm a lazy fuck."

"Jersey, you're not—" Crowning's objection died when she handed him a box that couldn't have possibly fit into her shorts pocket. A 1/700th scale model kit of… herself.

Kongou gasped and applauded, earning herself a stink eye from the American.

"In my defense," said Jersey, "I didn't know what that mean when I bought this."

Crowning smiled. As nice as the idea of Jersey with a daughter or two was, it was just that. An _idea_. Nobody was even sure if shipgirls _could_ have children, and he still didn't know exactly where he stood with the emotionally-fragile young battlewagon. "I'm sure you didn't," he said.

"Thanks," Jersey blushed, then quietly defocus up. One of her launch crew brought out a heavy pelican case and cracked it open before her. A wicked grin passed her face as she plucked the contents out of their foam cradles.

Her guns. Three matte-chrome plated Smith and Wesson model 29s. 'The gun of Dirty Harry', she's once called them. The most powerful handguns in the world, at least in their time.

As Crowning watched her loving load each chamber with a polished brass cartridge, he couldn't help but agree with the battleship. Those guns were powerful, but in her hands they were awesome in the truest sense of the word. Weapons of great power standing as totems of great and terrible strength.

He smiled as she flipped the cylinder closed, spun the guns around her fingers and slammed them into the contoured plastic carriers strapped low around those broad hips of hers.

"Like what you see?" she teased, shaking her stern just enough to draw his eye as she prepared her third and last weapon.

"Whenever I look at you," replied the professor.

Jersey blushed, and slammed her third gun into the horizontal holster in the small of her back without further theatrics.

"Stay safe out there," he said.

"As fucking if," Jersey rolled her eyes, "I'm a fucking _Iowa_ , 'gaist fucking World War one battlecruisers."

Crowning motioned to himself, "Sorry, I know words, not boats."

Jersey narrowed her eyes, "I will eat them and shit on their graves."

Crowning stifled a laugh, "Very eloquent."

"Fuck eloquent," Jersey rested her palms on the grips of her guns, "I have GUNS!"

Kongou golf clapped, "Very American, Dess."

"Hell fucking yeah!" agreed Jersey.

Crowning shook his head and smiled. "Then good hunting."

"Thanks," Jersey smiled, then glanced around. Her own launch crew were busy stowing their tools, Kongou was working up steam, and Musashi was focused on making sure her breasts were being properly leered at

"And, uh…" the battleship blushed and took a step closer to Crowning. There was just enough difference between the water she stood on and the pier _he_ stood on to put him almost at her eye level.

For a second, she froze. Then she put her hands around him and drew him close for a kiss. Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips met, and she allowed herself only the briefest taste before pulling away. "I… I owed you that."

Crowning just smiled. "I'm sure you did."

"Right," Jersey clapped her hands, her posture visibly shifting from the shy, childish girl she was off duty to the battle-hardened Commander she was at sea. "Let's go kill some Nazis."

—|—|—

Yeoman Sarah Gale liked hitting the Gym after work. With all these stunningly attractive shipgirls walking around—many of them in far less than regulation clothing—she had plenty of motivation to tighten up her increasingly soft body.

But more to the point, she _liked_ lifting weights. There was a simple grace to it. For a few brief moments in time, all she had to worry about was herself, the bar, and her form. Whenever she was on the bench, or hammering out crunches, or even squatting, she fell into a kind of zen state. She was at peace in a world without sparkly shipgirl bullshit to clog everything up.

Or at least she liked hitting the Gym until Wash inexplicably showed up there. And she was wearing an itty-bitty sports bra that she _only_ barely fit into. For… some reason, it wasn't like her to dress so showily.

But Wash's outfit wasn't the biggest problem, although it did make things worse. The biggest problem was that the battleship never quite left her sight. Every time Gale would finish up a set and move to another part of the Gym, Wash would be there a few moments later. For a moment, Gale thought the battleship was intentionally following her, but the patten of movement didn't make sense.

Sometimes Wash wouldn't move until Gale was on her last set, and sometimes she'd move even before the sailor had finished. It was spooky, but then again what wasn't with the legendarily stealthy battleship-who-was-also-a-girl.

Also, Wash was so much stronger than her it wasn't even funny. Gale considered a reasonably strong woman, but Wash was borderline superhuman. She couldn't quite see how much the battleship was squatting, there were three hulking Marines on each side spotting her in awe, but it had to be at _least_ three hundred pounds.

And of course, she was doing all this without a shirt on, which only highlighted her belly. Wash wasn't as shredded as Jersey was, Gale didn't think any living woman had _that_ level of definition, but her belly was tight and toned. Which only made her bulging chest more frustrating.

Boobs are made of fat! Why does she have fat _there_ but not elsewhere.

Of course, Gale couldn't get mad at the battleship. She was just trying to better herself, and she was too darn serene and focused to think bad of. Gale wasn't even sure the queenly battleship noticed she was there.

After less than thirty minutes, Gale gave up in frustration. At least she could go run laps now, Wash wouldn't be showing everyone up with that insane endurance of hers.

Moments after the sailor had collected her stuff and left, there was a rustle in the ceiling. Powdered drywall fell from the rafters, followed shortly thereafter by a ceiling tile. And then a short-haired Kongou-class battleship landed flat on her stern in the middle of the free weight area with a crash of steel and flesh.

"Okay," Kirishima rubbed her bruised rear, "that did not go as planned."

Wash walked over with the same serene half-smile her face always wore, "I don't think so, no."

"Tea?" proposed Kirishima.

"Yes," Wash nodded, "Lets."

—|—|—

Large Cruiser Alaska wasn't comfortable. To tell the truth, she'd never been totally comfortable since she came back from… from wherever ships go after they're scrapped. Cuddling with her friends _helped_. She could momentarily push her confusion at having legs aside when a sleepy Hamakaze curled up on her lap like some kind of silver-haired cat, or when Atago offered to watch over her while she slept—like most shipgirls, Alaska _hated_ sleeping alone.

But… she'd never quite got the hang of being a girl. Or… really of being a _ship_. Even back in her steel hull, she'd been stuck in an awkward limbo. Too big and strong to be a cruiser, yet not a battleship and _certainly_ not a battlecruiser.

But this was worse.

"'Tagoooo…" Alaska let out a quiet whimper and hilarious failed at hiding herself behind a support column. She scuffed her beloved sneakers against the carpeted floor and wrung the hem of her shimmering evening gown. "'tagooooo"

Atago sighed and gave Hamakaze's DesRon a quick briefing on who they were and weren't allowed to hit on, then sent the three busty destroyers in their beautiful evening dresses off to have their fun. "Coming, 'laska!"

"Not so loud!" Alaska hissed, and grabbed a whole tray of little sandwich roll things from a passing waiter and shoved them all down her throat. "'s rugh thuah."

Atago bounced over with her usual glowing enthusiasm. "Panpakapan!" she pulled up abreast of the bigger American with a glowing smile and a friendly giggle.

"'Tago!" Alaska elbowed her friend in the ribs and mumbled something incoherent.

"Swallow, 'laska." Atago dabbed at the corners of Alaska's face with her hankerchief.

Alaska gulped down the sandwiches. "I said, he's _right over there_!" She pointed as frantically as she dared as the young man standing alone by one of the tables. The young man dressed in a sports coat that could generously be described as 'fitting' while looking painfully out of place among all the other high-class attendees. The young man she'd ran into all those times at Toys 'R Us but never worked up the courage to talk to.

Alaska pulled herself back behind the support colum. Which work better if it was more than a few inches around, but it's the thought that counts. "'Tago!" she grabbed the busty heavy cruiser by the neck of her halter-necked dress and hissed. "He's _right there_."

Atago leaned over at the waist to get a good look. Her beautifully done-up blond hair fell down as she examining the boy in question. "Yes!" she said without even the barest lip service to the concept of stealth. "He is!"

The boy smiled at the two cruisers and waved. Atago shot back one of her giggling full-body waves.

"'tago, why is he here?" Alaska grabbed the cruiser's dress again and pleaded with her.

"Oh," Atago chuckled, "I invited him! We did get those plus-ones you know."

Alaska blinked. "That's what that meant?"

"Yes!" Atago smiled, "what did you think it meant."

"I thought…" Alaska glanced down at her tummy. "They were just congratulating me."

"But you're not pregnant."

"They don't know that."

Atago sighed. "'laska… what're we gonna do with you."

Alaska hummed in thought, but before she could say something clever, Atago'd grabbed her by the waist and forcibly shoved her at the boy.

"Panpakapan!"

Alaska came crashing to a stop mere inches from him. Her sneakers squealed against the floor as she threw her screws into full reverse—if she had two rudders like a battleship, she might've been able to stop further, but alas, she was only a cruiser.

"Hi," the boy smiled at her, and raised his punch glass to Atago in thanks.

"Um," Alaska winced and straightened up, "H-hi."

—|—|—

 _"Narwhals, Narwhals, swimmin' in the Ocean!"_ the airy, lilting accent of airborne aircraft carrier-/dirigible-/zeppelin-/whatever she decided she wanted to be called today- Akron filled the Eastern Seaboard Combined ASW command's TOC.

 _"Somethin' somethin' awesome!_ " she sang with reckless abandon.

Meanwhile, Admiral Carraway stared into the inky abyss of his coffee cup and tried to hate it out of existence. It didn't work, just like the last thirty-seven times he'd tried that. The coffee, like Akron and her sister Maccon's sunny disposition and airheaded attitude, was all but immune to the feeble powers of the Brass Stare.

 _"Somethin' something' touch your balls!"_ Akron giggled and for a moment there was peace and quiet. Mostly because she needed to take a breath to continue singing.

The same song.

She'd been singing.

For the past three hours.

And she didn't even know most of the words!

"Akron!" Carraway tore a handset out of its cradle and snapped at the loopy carrier.

There was a pause. _"Admiral?"_ said Akron with solemn dignity. Then she audible smiled, _"Hey, wadddup?"_

Carraway sighed. It was impossible to stay mad at her for long. Her planes and the 'cats under her command had all but eliminated the sub threat in American waters. She'd earned a little eccentricity, and she was too damn sunny to get mad at anyways. "Akron…" Carraway planted a hand on his hip and paced his usual route, "I know it can get boring up there."

 _"Not really,"_ protested the airship. But as sweet and kind as she was, she was an _awful_ lier.

"Akron, don't lie to me, you're staring at a featureless sea for days on end."

There was a pause, _"Okay, yeah. I get kinda bored."_

"Which is why," Carraway steeled himself for what he was about to say. "I don't mind you singing to pass the time."

 _"Awesome!"_

"But please," Carraway bit back the pleading tint to his voice. He had sailors around him after all, he had to project the image of a strong, respected commander. Not a man desperately pleading with a girl-who-was-also-a-blimp to stop cheerily driving him mad. "Make sure you know the words first."

 _"Oh, okay!"_ chirped Akron, _"sorry."_

The admiral stifled a smile. It was so damn hard to stay mad at her. "You're forgiven," he said. He'd learned the hard way that she'd keep apologizing until he actually worked the word 'forgiven' into a sentence.

The handset was barely back in its cradle when she started up her next song.

 _"NyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyan-"_ she belted out the words at the top of her lungs, giggling every few repetitions with that cheerful giggle of hers.

This went on for some time.

Carraway glanced at his yeoman and sighed.

"Technically," said the sailor as she deftly replaced his coffee with a fresh cup, "she did what you asked."

The Admiral sighed. "I guess that's—"

 _"Admiral,"_ every shred of levity was gone from the airship's voice. Carraway'd never heard her be this focused. Even when she was harassing subs to their doom she kept at least a hint of bouncy sun in her voice.

"Yes," Carraway clutched the handset to his face, "This is Carraway, what's up?"

 _"Battle fleet coming though the Bahamas,"_ said Akron. _"Heavy surface fleet. Looks like three cruisers and—"_ there was a pause. _"That's gotta be a battlecruiser, but I don't recognize the desi-wait."_

"Akron?" Carraway clenched at the handset.

 _"Okay,"_ Akron's voice was quiet and haunted. _"I… I recognize that now."_

—|—|—

Atago smiled and popped a cherry in her mouth. This party was going swimmingly! Alaska hadn't just _met_ the boy she'd been dreaming wistfully about all these months, she was actually talking with him!

Well, okay, he was doing most of the talking while she nervously fidgeted and stammered out one-or-two word responses. But the level of fidgeting was going don at a small but noticeable rate. Atago considered that a success. She was well on her way to achieving her goal of getting Alaska a much-deserved boyfriend!

And maybe, just maybe if things went smoothly, Alaska'd _really_ have a little bundle of joy for Atago to fawn over. The Japanese cruiser had already decided she was going to be the best aunt ever, even if Alaska wasn't technically related to her.

But before she could indulge in her fantasy of domestic bliss any further, someone tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

"Yes?" Atago smiled and spun on her heel.

The smile vanished. A very young, very _scared_ sailor stared back at her. "Ma'am," he worried the hem of his uniform jacket, "You're needed back at base. All of you."

—|—|—

Hunched in what used to be a hotel conference room, large cruiser Alaska scribbled down notes on her Admiral's briefing. While she'd never admit to liking the Abyssals, their very sight sent her blood boiling into a furious rage, a tiny part of her was happy they'd chosen tonight to stage a raid.

Well, not happy but… something. Fighting at sea was something she knew. She was good at it and she knew what to do. It was in her blood—or feedwater, really. It was certainly less emotionally taxing than trying to socialize. Alaska did not make friends easily, especially with people she was furiously crushing on.

She'd actually breathed a sigh of relief when Atago collected her, as much as she was ashamed of it now.

That feeling of relief lasted exactly until her Admiral put one of Akron's aerial photos up on the screen. Then, in an instant, her blood ran icy cold.

"Oh no," she breathed.

Three cruisers steamed in a narrow arrowhead formation. Alaska knew the sleek, multi-turreted design by heart. _Atlantas._ Her stomach twisted inside her at the sight. Those were American ships, but they were _not_ American. She let out a low, involuntary hiss. Her hands shook too badly to write, and the corners of her vision tinged a pinkish red. Those ships were _not_ her friends.

Her friends… Flint and Sandy and… Juneau and San Juan… and _all_ of them deserved better than this. They were good ships, proud ships, _honorable_ ships.

Her pencil shattered in her grasp.

"Alaska?" the voice of her Admiral shook her out of her rage.

"S-sir?" Alaska shook her head to clear the red haze. "Sorry, I…"

Then she noticed the ship in the center of the formation, the battlecruiser from her briefing. Its hull was long and wickedly pointed at both ends. Its four twin-turrets lay menacingly against its decks. A towering monolithic superstructure all but identical to Alaska's own loomed over the fore turrets, and it's massive funnel trunking was surrounded by a single inky black band.

But more importantly, the water around burned with a brilliant blue-white light. This wasn't the subtle glow of churned up algae, the water almost boiled in hate.

"That's—"

"A _Lexington_ -class battle cruiser," said her Admiral solemnly.

"What's that glowy stuff?" asked Hamakaze.

Then, in an instant it all clicked for Alaska. All those books she'd been reading in her down time… that black stripe on the stacks… she _knew_ what that glow was. "Cherenkov radiation," she whispered.

Her Admiral nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"What…" even Atago's voice was dark and worried, "what does that mean."

"Radiation," said the Admiral. "That ship's so hot she glows. Combined with that stripe on her stack, and we know the exact ship she's based on."

"Saratoga," breathed Alaska. "We're hunting sister Sara."


	121. Chapter 91: War Machine

**Chapter 91: War Machine**

"Wait," Ryuujou's voice washed over the steel-gray sea. Her usually laid-back voice was suddenly clipped and precise, "I've got something?"

"Hmm?" Jun'you straighted out. There was nothing more than a vague aftertaste of the drunken giggles she'd been indulging in mere seconds before.

"Incoming strike package," said Ryuujou. "Three hundred miles, bearing one-seven-nine."

"Copy," Jun'you tilted her head to the side by a fraction while Shinano watched in awe. The gigantic conversion hadn't seen carriers—real carriers, proper carriers—in battle before. The way the moved and spoke… she was in awe.

"Looks like… Stukas?" Ryuujou shot Jun'you a sideways glance. "I count sixteen."

"Stukas?" Jun'you messed with one of her gravity-defying hair tufts. "This far from a shore base?"

"There's a flattop around here somewhere," said Ryuujou, causing Shinano to whimper quietly and hug her chest as tightly as she could.

The converted battleship knew she was utterly useless without even a single carrier-qualified pilot aboard. But watching the two _real_ carriers work… they moved with the kind of precise grace she'd only imagined. Everything they did only drove home how much _better_ they were at this than her.

"No…" Jun'you shook her head. "You're not thinking—"

"Graf Zeppelin," said Ryuujou. "Or… some twisted version of her."

Jun'you cursed under her breath. "Want me to vector a few planes over?"

Shinano cocked her head. She was no expert like the two _real_ carriers, but even she knew what a Stuka was. An excellent ground-attack plane, yes. But it as slow, underarmed, and lumbered around the air like a pregnant hippo. Even a handful of fast, agile Zeros could tear the whole pack apart.

"Yeah," Ryuujou nodded. "Could be escorts I'm not seeing."

Shinano winced. She should have thought of that! Stupid… shitty almost-carrier!

"Gotcha," Jun'you flicked her head to the side, her hands fidgeting in a way too deliberate to be nervous flutter. "Six birds moving to link up with yours."

"Thank you," Ryuujou nodded, but her attention was clearly focused on setting up her fighters' attack run.

"Should be on-station in ten minutes," said Jun'you, "They'll be coming in from the East at ten-thou."

"Gotcha," Ryuujou put a finger to her ear and relayed the info to her pilots.

"Please don't shoot my boys down," teased Jun'you with just a hint of levity.

"Don't plan on it," said Ryuujou with a smirk.

Shinano rubbed her neck. She'd practically gotten whiplash from watching the two professionals do their job. She'd tried to take notes so she could improve herself, but… but every passing second made the gulf between them and her feel all the more vast.

She'd _thought_ she as doing well in her training sessions with White, but the little escort carrier must've been slowing things down so Shinano could follow. What Ryuujou and Jun'you were doing… it wasn't even a set of actions. It was just one long continue dance they did without a moment's hesitation.

"Wait," Ryuujou froze, her gaze locked on the burning midday sun. "Something in the s— BREAK!"

Jun'you's head whipped to the side as she ordered her planes to scatter, but it was too late. Her muscles tensed and she let out a scream as the pain of shredded airframes was transmitted back to her. "W-what?" she stammered out.

"I don't know!" Ryuujou's voice hovered just below full-out panic as the little carrier frantically bobbed and weaved. Her teeth clenched and blood dripped from her fingers, "Damn, they're fast!"

"Gah!" Jun'you howled like someone punched her in the gut. "Lost another one. I've got three—" She screamed again as, "Two! I have two planes left! What are these things?"

"Damn they're fast," Ryuujou screeched as a gash appeared across her cheek. She shook her head, sweat and blood dripping off her brow. "I, uh… I see tapered wings, blunt tips…"

"Radial eng-" Jun'you stopped, and the two carriers shared a glance for a heartbeat. "Focke-wulfs."

Shinano cringed. The A6M Zero was a brilliant turnfighter, but it lacked any armor, and and the FW-190 was notoriously good at murdering turnfighters. They tore spitfires to shreds, and spitfires _had_ armor. It's how they got their nickname, _Butcher Bird._

The only planes the little fleet had that _could_ stand up to the Abyssal Butcher Birds were her own Shiden Kais. But they were uselessly lashed to her pointless deck with pilots who didn't know how to fly while all the _real_ aces were getting cut to ribbons in zeros.

Shinano would have cried if she wasn't so angry at her own uselessness.

"AH!" Jun'you screamed and fell to her knees. "That's… I'm out."

"Me too," Ryuujou wiped at her brow, but only smeared more sweat-thinned blood over her quivering features.

"They're still coming," said Jun'you.

"I know," Ryuujou winced as she tried to make her summoning gestures with battered, bloody arms. "Vector— vector everything you've got left in the air."

"Mm," Jun'you nodded and relayed the order to the handful of pilots she had left. By Shinano's count, she'd lost fully a third of her fighter wing in less than five minutes, and Ryuujou had to be almost out. The big converted carrier clutched at the heavy wrought-iron grips of her bow. If… if only she could just _help_!

"Launch everything you've got spotted," ordered Ryuujou, "Then batten down and head for home."

"But," Shinano winced, "But what about the whaling?"

"They can fish another time!" Ryuujou spat blood with every word. "We can't afford to loose those ships."

"R-right," Shinano stammered. Her crews bolted to their stations, following all the drills White had taught her. Damage control teams stood ready with hoses while her hanger crews purged her lines. Gunners scrambled to man her AAA batteries. She might not be able to launch the planes sitting in her belly, but she could at least help where she could.

"Um," She bit her lip, "How… how many did we get?"

"One," said Jun'you. "One Stuka."

—|—|—

The Battlecruiser princess smiled as the last rays of sunlight washed over her hull. By daybreak, she'd be well within the Gulf of Mexico. By daybreak, her guns would be hot with the sweet stench of burning propellant. By daybreak, she'd be wreaking hell against a spineless, traitorous nation.

She'd fought well. For years she soldiered on in the service of her country, and she was rewarded at the end by a glorious baptism in the atomic light. Her hull glowed with that great and terrible power, but her heart burned with furious indignation.

Her country, the country she so proudly served, had bent the very might of God to their will. They'd harnessed the atom into the most awesomely destructive weapon man had ever dreamed of. And then they used it only _twice._

TWICE!

They could have purged the red stain! Wiped the malignant Communist tumor from this earth with the cleansing fire of the atom! Instead they grew weak and timid, refusing to unleash the atomic might even when they learned of its true and terrible power!

They emptied their coffers raising up their beaten foes, instead of burning them to glass!

They were _weak!_ They were _cowards_ and _traitors!_ And she would punish them for what they'd done.

She would show this festering scar that called itself America the true glory of war. The gulf would run _red_ with their traitorous blood by the time she was through.

But first… first she had her part to play. She was but a piece in the vast game of shadows, and she knew her role. Smash the oil rigs. Spill the precious lifeblood of trade into the gulf. Throttle the vast trading fleet until they gasped at fumes just to keep their lights on.

Force the traitors to watch their heretic allies starve while _mountains_ of food piled up on their docks.

A wicked smile crossed her lips as she steamed past Florida unopposed. A few fighters had tried to stall her progress. Tried. Her escorts shredded the strange propellerless aircraft like chaff before a combine until there was nothing left but a powder dissolving into the sea.

She would not be stopped by such trivial means. She would _have_ her price in blood.

For the glory of the Atom.

—|—|—

 _"Alright, I'll keep this brief,"_ Alaska's head rang with the sound her Admiral's voice. _"We've got a P-8 shadowing the—"_ there was a brief catch in his voice, _"Battlecruiser princess. She's headed into the center planning area, home of over thirty-three hundred active oil rigs. We loose those rigs we can't fuel our convoys."_

Atago spoke up, grim determination darkening her usually sunny countenance, "Can we try an aerial attack."

 _"Florida ANG tried,"_ said The Admiral, _"They lost a half-dozen Eagles before they even reached weapons release. This is going to be a purely surface action."_

Alaska nodded. She wasn't a battle cruiser, but… maybe… she could fight like one if she had to, "Understood sir."

 _"Plan is as follows,"_ her Admiral barked out, _"Hamakaze, you're on Alaska. Isokaze, you're on Atago. Urakaze, you're on Nachi."_

The three destroyers issued curt words of acknowledgement and took up position off their charges.

 _"_ Vicksburg _and_ Normandy _are diverting up from Panama to join you."_

"Sir, is that wise?" asked Alaska. As much as she appreciated the extra firepower, she hated to think she was sapping Wiskey's escort to get it.

 _"It'll have to be,"_ said her Admiral though gritted teeth, _"I can't hold those ships back from an imminent threat to fend off a potential one."_

"Understood sir."

 _"Captain Takeda knows you're coming. Wiskey's raring for a fight. Push the princess south if you can, west if you have to. But do not let it raise hell in the oil fields."_

"Understood, sir."

—|—|—

A tiny glimmer of appreciation—the closest thing her stoic face had achieved to a smile—passed over the bone-white skin of her pale features. The American had done her job splendidly. She closed her eyes, and listened to the song of her victims.

The two long, fast ships peeled off with a hum of slashing screws and a rumble of turbines. They were the ones who gave her such a cutting headache with their constant pinging. Not that it mattered, with her belly firmly planted in the icy embrace of the sea floor, there was nothing for them to see but an oddly-shaped bit of silty rock.

They tried to find her, she knew they did. But they were weak, out of practice. And she was very, _very_ good. Slipping past the hunting gaze of those aerostatic annoyances had meant a long, boring trip up the South American coast.

But once she was in the Gulf… it was a happy time. Those ships above her tried to sniff her out, but they were simply no match for her skill. They'd gone complacent with their fancy buoys and aerial assistance.

They couldn't believe anyone was _really_ lurking under the placid waves. They'd grown complacent, and she would punish them for their error.

Not that it mattered anymore. The roar of their screws drowned out whatever quite sounds she made. The two long, fast ships were scrambling to put distance between her and her… targets.

A few ancient frigates, and a half-crippled battleship with two screws already firmly in the grave.

They were not, as some might claim, her prey. Nor was she a predator. To use such words implied an emotions connection that simply didn't exist.

She didn't lust for battle, she didn't thrill in the chase or revel in the kill.

She didn't even hunt for sport.

She _killed_ because that's what she was made to do.

There was no glory in what she did, just grim mathematical operations. She never expected to come home alive, nor did she expect to die with glory and valor. She would die, forgotten and alone in the freezing depths.

Her only prayer was that she'd sink enough to _hurt_ her foe. That she'd live long enough to earn back the steel put into her.

She wasn't a predator, she was a _weapon._

A killing machine so utterly devoid of soul and emotion she didn't even have a name.

Just a number.

Five-one-one.


	122. Chapter 92: Reckoning

**Chapter 92: Reckoning**

Support carrier Shinano winced as the stone-gray sea stung at her hull. The ocean churned with unnatural chill against her flanks, and each crashing wave stung like daggers against her decks. She'd never faced the Abyss before, but she knew they were out there, knew they were coming for her.

And she knew she couldn't do a thing but lash her planes down and hope for the best. Her guns were manned, but she was still stuck with the borderline useless 25mm mounts. Her Damage Control teams stood ready, but this would be only their second action in the face of _real_ enemy fire.

Above her circled what was left of Jun'you's and Ryuujou's fighter wings. Less than two dozen Zeros to fend off the horde.

Shinano clenched at the wrought iron grip of her bow and muttered a timid whimper. She'd been scared before. The worry that she might just do something wrong and screw up the fishing trip hadn't left her mind since the moment she got her mission assignment.

But now that she _knew_ there were monsters coming with the express intention of murdering her and her friends… she was _terrified_. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on White's lap and cry until she just couldn't cry anymore.

"Here they come," Ryuujou's bitter hiss crashed over the freezing air like a file dragged along a rusty wire. The light carrier's bangs were matted down with sweat and blood, and her hand shook with exhaustion as she pointed to the horizon.

She was down to her last four fighters, and the strain of losing so many so fast was chiseled on her grimy features.

"Mmm," Jun'you just nodded and motioned her planes to join the CAP. Blood still oozed from a cut on her brow, but Jun'you still had a full dozen zeros in the air. The strain assaulted her on every side, but she was still standing strong. "I count…" her voice trailed off in exhausted resignation. "T-twenty Focke-Wulfs, about that many Stuaks."

"I'm seeing the same," Ryuujou wiped a matted string of hair out of her eyes and threw her rudder hard over. "We're not gonna be able to stop them."

"Don't have to," Jun'you's voice sounded a lot more assured than her face looked. "Just… scatter them and dodge."

Shinano nodded and threw her rudder hard over. She couldn't spot planes, and even if she could she didn't have the pilots to launch them. She couldn't fight back, not really. Her twenty-fives were barely worth the displacement they cost. But she _could_ steer. Her rudder worked, for now, and she'd work it with everything she had.

"I,Sh- Shinano," she struggled to put on a brave face when she wanted nothing more than to find a nice friendly corner of the shower hall and cry until she vanished into a puddle of tears, "Will dodge."

Jun'you gave the giant support carrier a brief nod, but most of her attention as focused on her fighters barreling towards the merge. Zeros crashed into the seething mass of Focke-Wulfs and Stukas, exchanging fire with a brilliant fireworks display of tracers and smoke.

The zeros fought well. Ryuujou's pilots were aces to a man, and Jun'you's airwing wasn't far behind. They danced though the Abyssals like sprites on a breeze, putting a few quick shots into a target before peeling away in hard turns.

They were exacting a toll in blood, but it wasn't enough. With no armor and a less potent engine, the Zeros had absolute no margin for error with their attacks. The Abyssal planes, with their hard-hitting cannons and heavy armor, shrugged off all but the hardest hits while punching back well above their weight.

And with more powerful, boosted engines, the Focke-Wulfs had the luxury of disengaging at their discretion and rocketing to altitude. They could attack on _their_ terms, and slash down when—and _only_ when—the situation favored them

The Japanese planes fought like caged tigers, but they were outnumbered and outmatched. By the time the Stukas reached their drop point, there wasn't a single Zero left to oppose them.

"BREAK!" Jun'you screamed with a voice coarse and strained. Her spiky hair was slicked back and soaked in blood. Her flanks erupted in strobing fire as her anti-aircraft guns poured flak into the air. With her rudder wildly shifting to screw up the dive bomber's approach, they couldn't have hit the broadside of a barn. But… maybe just _maybe_ she could get a lucky hit or two.

With the Focke-Wulfs circling lazily above, the Stukas rolled over into howling dives. Their sirens screeched a cry of hateful fury as they power dived onto the carriers.

Ryuujou screamed as a bomb slammed into the front edge of her deck, tearing a hole in the wood and exploding inside her bridge. Another three bombs smashed into upper hull, tearing her deck into a pile of splintered wood and buckled steel.

A bomb punched through Jun'you's elevator, sending splintered though the precious few airplanes she still had left.

Even Shinano wasn't spared. A stick of bombs landed on her bow. Her armor kept her useless planes safe within her belly, but that was the end of the good news. The attack cratered her armored flight deck and tore the last twenty feet of her deck into burnt, twisted metal.

She screeched in pain as her left arm was torn into a bloody, ragged stump at the elbow. Oil soaked the rugged fabric of her Kimono, and Shinano hugged herself with her free arm as her damage control teams scrambled to do… to do whatever had to be done.

Shinano couldn't think, she'd never felt pain like this. Her crews were scrambling just to figure out what to do, her gunners poured ineffectual flak into the air as she mentally retreated back into her safe, comforting corner.

The Abyssal Focke-Wulfs made sport of tearing down from their high perches just long enough to strafe one of the fleeing ships before powering back up to altitude. But eventually, even they got bored. The big fighters formed up with the Stukas and faded into the horizon, leaving the three shell-shocked carriers in their wake.

—|—|—

Alaska seethed with a barely-controlled firestorm of rage. A fury so intense it nearly burned away every shred of humanity contained in her hull, refining her down to a cold, calculating warrior. The corners of her vision throbbed an angry red, and her voice sounded distant even to her own ears.

"Okay,"she said in a voice so tranquil it'd terrify her if there as room for any emotion besides righteous anger in her heart. "Listen up, here's the plan."

Atago and Nachi inclined their heads to give her their full attention. Normally, it was impossible to get the stern, serious-minded Myoukou and the bubbly, outgoing Takao to agree on _anything_. But right now, the same look was present in both cruisers' faces. A look of resolute determination.

"The… _Princess_ ," Alaska spat out the word with all the vitriol she could muster. Just thinking about that unholy abomination wearing the skin of her friend turned her stomach. But it had to be _Sara._ Sister Sara, the sweetest, kindest girl Alaska'd ever known. "Wants me dead."

Alaska set her jaw. She'd been eating a steady diet of Abyssal Panzerschiff and surface raiders for the past month. Whoever was commanding them _had_ to be angry his fleets kept dying for nothing. And Alaska was the only ship in the Carribean fast enough to stay with the Princess _and_ big enough to hurt it. If she died, the Princess could wreck havoc in the oil fields in peace.

"I can't outrun it," said the Large Cruiser, "But it can't catch me. And even if it _can_ , it's not gonna want to close the distance until my guns are silenced."

She glanced from Atago to Nachi. Her friends, her fellow warships, girls who'd fought beside her for a country that sent them to the bottom all those years ago. "I'm the bait," she said, " _Wisconsin's_ the trap."

"What about us?" Asked Atago. There wasn't a shred of her usual playful cheeriness hiding in her voice today. Just focus.

"Keep the pack together," said Alaska. "Don't let those cruisers break off into the oil fields. Sink 'em if you can so the Air Force can do their thing. But _do not_ let them break off."

"Understood," chorused Atago and Nachi.

"Good," Alaska glanced at her phone. Akron's planes helpfully kept her updated on the exact location of the Princess's battle group. As if the sickly blue glow wasn't indicator enough.

"Um, 'Laska?" Hamakaze fiddled with the screw on one of her torpedoes and gave the towering American a glance though her silver bangs.

"Mmm," Alaska grunted in response as she turned over to setup the stern chase.

"It's a long way to Panama," said Hamakaze, "Can you make it all the way there?"

"Gonna have to," said Alaska.

—|—|—

Five-eleven glanced at her watch. Even this deep underwater, the luminous characters glowed with a gentle green florescence. It as only the barest slimmer of the brilliant firestorm the American trailed in her wake, but the U-boat preferred subtly over raw power.

She held her breath as the last few seconds ticked by, one hand pressed to the hydrophone headset clamped around her bone-white face. She could hear the battleship's cruiser escorts fade away into the distance, and the purr of a vast cargo ship's choppy screws would mask her sound from the half-deaf frigates left behind.

Slowly, the seconds ticked by. Five-eleven felt a tension build within her body. Stale air, sweat, and battery acid mixed into a noxious slurry, but she forced herself to stay calm. Wars below the waves weren't won by grand actions or heroic gestures. They were one with mechanical precision and mathematical slaughter.

Then, at long last, the hour came. Five-eleven spun up her screws and carefully lifted off the bottom. All around her, although she couldn't hear them, she knew her wolf pack was doing the same. A dozen submarines converged from every direction on a target unaware of their very existence.

For a split second, five-eleven allowed herself a tiny smile. Few things pleased her more than the oiled precision of a well-timed attack. But the moment passed in a heartbeat. She needed every shred of attention she had to set-up her attack.

Then she heard it. A shift in pitch of one of the frigate's screws. One of her packmates had been heard, either by inexperience or simple ill fortune. The escort ships were suddenly alert and hungry for a kill.

Five-eleven wouldn't mourn her packmate's loss. They were only weapons after all, expendable in the long run. What mattered was only that they survived long enough to earn back their steel.

Or, perhaps, give another a chance to land a killing blow.

—|—|—

The usually-placid waters of the Mexican Gulf churned with foaming fury. Waves frothed white where screws had frantically tore into them, biting into the sea for every shred of purchase they could find. Towers of spray loomed over the angry surface where sixteen-, twelve-, and eight-inch shells landed short.

Alaska screamed in rage as her bow knifed though a column of spray. She hadn't taken a square hit. Yet. But even close misses pounded at her hull and sent bruises sprawling over her snow-white skin. The thirty-three knot seas pounded against her, driving the pain home anew with every crashing wave.

But still she soldiered on. She'd dragged the Princess out of the oil fields, and Atago and Nachi'd bagged one of the anti-aircraft cruisers. Her plan was working. It was hurting her every second, but it was _working._

 _"Alaska, come in, over,"_ Alaska felt the voice of her Admiral rasp over her radio. Only it wasn't the calm, assured voice she knew and loved. This time his voice was… tired. Almost defeated.

"Alaska here," the cruiser habitually put a finger to her ear as swung wide around a splash. Her core tensed in agony as the maneuver put yet more stress on her bucking hull plating.

 _"Alaska, re-route to Galveston, over."_

Alaska felt her breath slip from her lungs. "T-Texas, sir?"

 _"Yes, dammit!"_ snapped back her beloved Admiral in an uncharacteristic rage.

"B-but…" Alaska blinked. The only way back to Texas was though the edge of the oil fields. If Atago and Nachi couldn't keep those cruisers contains…

 _"Don't argue, Alaska,"_ snapped her Admiral. _"Wisconsin's gone, her cruisers are heading back to the Canal. Our new priority is keeping you girls alive."_

Alaska blinked. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. "But the Princess!"

 _"Air Force has a trio of Bones prepping as we speak."_ For a second, her Admiral's voice almost cracked. _"Just make it to shore and we can protect you."_

"No," said Alaska. There were still two healthy anti-air cruisers escorting the Princess, plus whatever guns it carried itself.

 _"Dammit, Alaska!"_ her Admiral's voice filled with rage, but something told her it wasn't directed at her this time. _"You're not expendable."_

"Understood sir," said Alaska. It took every reserve of strength she had left to keep her composure, "Routing to Galveston. We'll take as many of these CLAAs down as we can."

 _"Understood, Alaska. Godspeed."_

The second the line dropped, Alaska let out a howl of fury and despair.

—|—|—

Jun'you clutched her side as her convoy limped for home. Her stomach twisted with pain as shards of twisted aluminum rattled around her bombed-out decks. Blood matted her hair down and dripped off onto her ragged white jacket, and her skin was clammy and soaking in sweat.

Ryuujou wasn't any better. Like Jun'you, she'd lost every fighter she had in the last… it wasn't a battle. A battle implied some kind of even exchange of blows. It was a _massacre_. The Marinaras all over again.

Ryuujou's hat was torn to bits, and one eye was swollen shut as she stumbled along on auxiliary control. Her deck was a smoldering wreck, and her hands shook with exhaustion as she staggered though the waves. Shattered glass was ground into her shell-shocked face, and avgas dripped off her fingers.

And then there was Shinano. Everything below her left elbow was just _gone_. A ragged stump of twisted, scorched metal and the blood-soaked canvas of her kimono was all that remained. Her face was as young and fresh as ever, save a tiny cut over her left eye, but somehow… that made it all the worse.

She still looked like what she was: a young, scared girl struggling to deal with the misery of her failure in battle as much as she was with the pain of her wounds. Hell, Jun'you'd seen _Kagerous_ who looked older and more weathered than poor Shinano. The carrier's lips quivered as she muttered under her breath, staring off into the horizon and worrying with the heavy iron of her quiver.

Jun'you couldn't bring herself to look more. It was sights like that that made her long for a nice bottle of warm sake.

At least their whaling fleet came out with minimal casualties, albeit with their holds less than half full. Almost a dozen men were wounded, but… somehow there weren't any dead. At least not yet.

 _"Bonin task force, be advised,"_ Ooyodo's voice crackled over the radio. Crisp, precise, and tense with sleep-deprived frustration only barely kept in check by lethally high doses of caffeine, it rang with all the features Jun'you never wanted to hear from her. _"Abyssal air-attack en-route to Tokyo. Advise you divert to Osaka, how copy?"_

"Uh…" Jun'you blinked, trying to clear the haze of battle fatigue from her burned-out brain, "What… what about shore aviation?"

 _"We spent everything we had blunting the last attack,"_ said Ooyodo with clipped, tense frustration. _"They'll cut though the CAP like butter and hit out planes before they can finish refueling. Divert to Osaka,"_ the cruiser's suggestion was far more order this time around, " _How copy, over?"_

"Dammit!" Jun'you swore with all the energy she had left. "Understood. Diverting to Osaka." The carrier turned West with an exhausted sigh. She wanted to be mad, but she didn't have the energy left to work herself up. Her planes were gone. Ryuujou's planes were gone. Shinano didn't have a single carrier-qualified pilot, and none of _her_ planes had even been properly tested. She hadn't—

Jun'you blinked.

Shinano wasn't turning in.

"Shina!" Jun'you yelled at the top of her rasping lungs.

"N-no," whispered so quietly her voice was almost lost. Her unfocused gaze was locked on the horizon, and her mouth kept quivering she uttered timid almost-words.

"Shina, we have to GO!" Jun'you barked as loud as she could. Just yelling sent shooting pain down her throat, but she forced herself past it. Shinano was her _friend_ , she was not letting her friend die alone, even if she had to tow her back herself.

Shinano shook her head. "M-my name is Sh-" her voice sputtered and died. She closed her eyes, lips forming a wordless prayer. "Shinano."

Jun'you opened her mouth to bark an order. But all that came out was a hearty laugh. She planted her hands on her gut to try to steady herself as waves of sudden mirth overwhelmed her despair.

Ryuujou shot her a confused, horrified look.

"I…" Shinano straighted her back. Her bloody sleeve flapped against her side as she drew an arrow from her quiver with her heavily gloved hand. "Am the th-third of the Yamato sisters."

She hadn't failed to turn like Jun'you had thought.

"I was trained by—" Shinano bit her lip and brushed her gloved finger along the arrow's steel fletching. "By White Plains."

She'd turned, she just hadn't turned West like the rest of the fleet.

She'd turned _into the wind._

And she hadn't been worrying her quiver out of fear or misery. She'd been _spotting a strike._

Shinano's eyes flicked open, and she was suddenly staring at the horizon with a burning intensity that put the rising sun on her battle flag to shame. Her hand closed around the shaft of her arrow and she _hurled_ it into the air with all her might. "And I'll take you all on," she said with quiet conviction.

"No!" Ryuujou screamed as a Shiden rumbled down the carrier's battered deck towards the torn-up bomb crater at the end. Only for it to claw its way into the air with feet to spate.

Jun'you let out a howl and pumped her fist in the air. Shinano might be down, but she sure as _hell_ wasn't out.

"Shina, what are you _doing_!" demanded Ryuujou, "Your pilots can't land."

"No they can't," Said Shinano. Her voice was as quiet and gentle as ever. But there was an edge to her timid accent that wasn't there before. A conviction that what she was doing was right. "Not on me." She glanced over at Ryuujou, her matted black hair suddenly whipping in the salty wind over her bow, "But they won't have to."

"You're crazy!" barked Ryuujou.

Shinano shook her head. "No, I'm a _Yamato._ " She put her hand to her ear and linked into the fleetwide net. "Ooyodo, this is Shinano?"

 _"Yes?"_ snapped the cruiser, _"What?"_

"I've got twenty Shidens in the air one-fifty miles sou-south-west of Tokyo," said the carrier. _"where do you want them?"_ After a moment's pause, she sheepishly added, _"Um… over."_

 _"Uh,"_ the confused relief on Ooyodo's voice was palpable even though the radio's garbling. _"L-linking you into local air-defense. They'll guide your pilots in."_

"Thank you," Shinano nodded with a calm unbecoming her horribly mangled arm. Seconds later, she linked up with an unbelieving JASDF officer and coordinating her strike with calm conviction.

Meanwhile, completely unknown to the tightly-focused support carrier, Ryuujou stared in awe.

—|—|—

In his fifty-odd years of life, Jim Warren, curator of the Battleship _Texas_ museum, had seen his share of strange and odd things. But he'd never seen something quite as odd as the sight that awaited him at the pier this morning. Big T sat waiting at her berth like she always did.

Only it _wasn't_ his Big T.

Sloped-on dark blue paint over rusted-though metal had been replaced by the crisp gray and prissiness blue of Measure 21 camouflage. Her number two and four turrets bristled with 20mm cannons that hadn't been there in decades. Smoke curled from her stacks as boilers that hadn't been lit since before he was born hummed away like they were built yesterday.

As he staggered up the gangplank in awe, he noticed more and more things _wrong_ , but so terribly right with his beloved battleship. Secondary mounts that had long since rusted into place gleamed with oiled, machined precision.

Men in grubby, but clearly cared for Navy dungarees scrambled over her decks with the ordered chaos of a well-drilled crew. And the decks themselves! Battered, splintered wood held together with desperate plywood patches had been replaced by gleaming pristine teak.

As he set foot on the battleship's deck, a young man in a Lieutenant's uniform waved him over. He didn't say a word to Warren, but somehow, the old curator knew he was being directed to the bridge. Apparently there was something he needed to see.

He couldn't keep his mouth shut as he made his way forwards. He'd gotten used to the old girl's rather miserable shape. He could see the character in every ding and bit of rust she'd accumulated in her century-plus life. But all that was gone. Everywhere he looked he saw factory-fresh components and loving-maintained machinery.

Big T looked like she'd finished her shakedown _yesterday._ And when he stepped onto the bridge, he knew why.

A woman waited for him by the captain's chair. A short, plump woman with long shimmering gray hair falling down her back. A parasol rested on her shoulder, and a crisp white hoop skirt nearly as big and round as her chest hung off her hips.

She was the very image of a fine southern belle, albeit with just enough nautical touches to make her identity clear.

"T-Texas?" Warren stammered out.

She smiled and dipped her head. "I am indeed," she said in a voice more sweetly southern than sweet tea with biscuits and honey. "Now, I understand you're in charge of this museum?"

Warren nodded, "Uh, yeah. Yeah, you could say that."

"Well then," Texas twirled her parasol and smiled, "I hate to impose, but I'm lead to believe I'm needed?"

Warren nodded again, "Yeah, uh… yeah."

Texas' smile suddenly turned downright predatory. "Well then, I'm afraid I've got to ask you a favor." She planted her hand on the bridge rail and smiled down at her number two turret, "Might I please borrow your boat?"


	123. Chapter 93: Yellow Rose

**Chapter 93: Yellow Rose**

Support carrier Shinano clenched her jaw so tightly she felt sparks fly against her tongue as steel as ground to its melting point. Her temples throbbed with a piercing, agonizing pain as she struggled to keep her untested pilots together with her shot-up CIC. Blood and oil poured down the heavy canvas of her robes from her mangled arm, and every wave was a stinging reminder of the carnage inflicted on her deck.

But she was a Yamato _at full strength._ Japanese steel, courage, and spirit merged with American grit, ingenuity, and flat-out _defiance_ in the face of mortal laws.

She would not sink this day.

She would not let her beloved Japan down.

"I'm coming," Shinano wisped though gritted teeth. Her eyes stared beyond the horizon, an unearthly pallor coming over her normally hazelnut-brown irises. Her planes were unproven, her pilots untested. But her faeries had spent every waking moment practicing in the air or testing themselves in simulators.

And it just so happened that the very last simulation they'd played before Shinano put to sea, a simulation picked on a whim, was Shidens versus Focke-Wulfs.

"Tokyo air defense," Shinano wiped a trickle of blood from her nose and pushed her focus even sharper. "My planes are closing in, Angels ten at heading three-four-niner." There was a corded steel in her voice that would've surprised her if she wasn't concentrating on staying alert. "Please don't shoot them down."

 _"Wouldn't even if we had any missiles left, ma'am,"_ came an exhausted soldier's voice.

Shinano nodded and glanced down around her. It was a strange sensation she hadn't quite gotten used to. She saw her hull cut though the water, saw the ocean a scant few dozen feet below her bridge, saw Jun'you and Ryuujou steaming home beside her.

But she _also_ saw the seas from thousands of feet up. She saw the glittering spires of Tokyo glistening in the morning sun. She could practically smell the gritty smoke pouring from the city's AA emplacements as her fighters barreled towards her beloved homeland at full military power.

And she saw the gritty gray wings of a flight of Focke-Wulfs escorting lumbering dive-bombers, all blissfully oblivious of the violet lighting closing on them from the rising sun.

The carrier took in a breath of the fridged high-altitude air and held it in her lungs. The acrid stench of burning city stung her throat, but she refused to let it go. That stench could not… _would not_ be allowed to exist a moment longer.

Her country needed a hero to save them. They needed an invincible carrier who cowed death himself with her very presence. But _Enterprise_ wasn't back just yet.

For the time being, Shinano'd have to do.

She felt wind whip at her face as her planes rolled over into a howling dive. Her Shidens were just as fast as the Focke-Wulfs. But the Abyssal fighters had slowed to a crawl to keep with their lumbering dive-bomber, while Shinano's fighters were powering down as fast as their roaring radial engines could take them.

The green-painted fighters tore out of the sun with a howl of twenty-millimeter cannon fire. The engagement window was only a scat few seconds, but each fighter poured thirty-seven high-explosive rounds a second from their four guns.

Focke-Wulfs were solid birds, but _nothing_ can shrug off that much lead from such a close range. Some of the Abyssal fighters simply vanished in a puff of exploding aviation fuel and burning, bleeding metal.

Still more were left hobbled by vast gaping holes torn in their airfoils or splinters in their engine bays.

Shinano didn't stop to look. She felt blood pool in her boots as her fighters pulled out of their attack and into a furious zoom climb. The Shidens had energy on their side, and their greater power-to-weight ratio and climb rate sent them rocketing from Abyssal fighters scrambling to build up to combat speed.

The carrier felt blood trickle down her lip as her headache intensified. But right now she didn't care. Fighter combat was a game played out in instants, she couldn't afford to loose concentration for even a second while her planes played out their dance of death.

Cannons barked behind her, and she felt tracers burning with indescribable hate whip past her face. She didn't care. Her fighters kept up their energy while the Abyssals struggled to claw down the difference.

The Shidens wheeled around in the air, pouncing on the Focke-Wulfs struggling to stagger after them. Guns barked and more fighters fell out of the sky with coal-black smoke. But this time they hadn't been caught unaware. Abyssal shells slammed into the Shidens, sending razors down Shinano's nerves.

If those were Zeros, there wouldn't have been anything left but ashes.

But those _weren't_ Zeros. They were _Shidens._ The hearty fighters laughed off the attack and countered with a devastating barrage of their own. As they roared into the merge, what had been an organized attack erupted into a chaotic furball.

Abyssal pilots, used to pouncing on Zeroes or Vals, struggled to stay with the faster-climbing Shidens in an energy fight. But Shinano's pilots were drilled by the best teachers the IJN and USN had to offer, and the hardy Shidens gave them plenty of second chances.

In less than an hour, the Focke-Wulfs had been cleansed from the sky like the stain they were. Shinano's planes were shot to hell, mostly out of ammo, and staggering though the air like boxers after nine furious rounds. But they still flew, and Shinano couldn't be prouder of her pilots.

The carrier directed them to Tokyo International while a flight of F-2s made meals of the now-unescorted dive bombers.

Shinano felt the sky fade around her as one by one, her pilots touched down. Their landings were nothing to be proud of. Five of her exhausted pilots had to be frantically waved off by ground crews when they forgot to lower their landing gear, and one spun out and nearly plowed into a parked 747.

But Shinano didn't have to be proud of their landings. She was proud of their _fighting._ Of _her_ fighting. She just hoped her big sisters were too.

—|—|—

A agonized scream forced its way past Alaska's gritted teeth out into the freezing Gulf air. Her features scrunched up so tight the steel groaned and buckled as shells landed mere yards short of her stern. Blood poured down her mangled legs, gluing her shorts to her charred skin and soaking into her shoes.

Every wave splashed angry salt into her shredded flesh, a stinging reminder of the mauling she'd received. Half her secondaries were shot to hell, and the ones that weren't were flat-out gone. Her turbines struggled to push her twisted hull past twenty-two knots, and even then she felt the water hammering at her gut with every breath.

She'd hurt the Princess back, but it wasn't enough. She was just a large cruiser fighting in the face of a _proper_ battle cruiser. The abyssal warships was steadily closing the distance, and it'd already shot out all Alaska's radars.

The cruiser wiped at her face and squinted though the haze of smeared blood and burning metal obscuring her vision. Her radars were gone, her optics were smashed, and her guns were all on local control. She didn't even _have_ any working rifles in her stern turret anymore, the damage was so extensive.

Atago and Nachi were faring better—barely. Their hulls were charred back from the waterline up by rapid-firing abyssal cruisers, and their clothes were torn to ribbons kept on only by dried-on blood. But they'd escaped the murderous wrath of the princesses' sixteen-inch rifles.

Probably because _their_ rifles would flat-out bounce off the princess's armor unless they got suicidally close.

Even their torpedo salvos had been in vain. Furious hails of five-inch fire from the princesses' screening cruisers forced them to drop far, far too early. But they could still make steam.

"'Tago!" Alaska's voice rattled from her gritted teeth like a starving animal, "Nachi! Break," every word took titanic effort from her shredded lungs, "For land!"

"No way in hell," Nachi's voice was just as shattered and exhausted as Alaska's, but there wasn't even a hint of give.

"Damnit!" Alaska howled as another shell splashed off her flank. Even the near-miss sent lightning bolts of pain shooting down her body as the shockwave punched at her hastily-repaired seams. "Thats! That's an order!"

Atago flashed her a defiant stare. "I _just_ got you talking to your boy!" she yelled, "You are _not_ sinking on me yet!"

Alaska couldn't spare the breath to argue back. Even if she wanted too, a shell slammed into her upper works and sheared her bridge wing clear off and taking her last working signal light with it.

A piercing pain shoot though her head, like someone drove an ice-pick though her temple with a sledge hammer. The world around her glowed white and her ears resonated with a screeching wail.

She panted and wiped bloody muck from her eyes. She could see land in the distance. The narrow channel between Galveston island and the Bolivar Peninsula was less than ten miles away, and with it, safety. She'd done it, she'd reached land. Now she was going to die in sight of it.

At least, that's what she thought.

Until she saw _them._

Her angels.

With her radar gone and her superstructure shot to hell, Alaska didn't even hear them until they were right on top of her. She knew they had names, but her mind was barely limping along as it was. All she knew was the sleek black bombers howling so low their engines seemed to kiss the surf were the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.

Their giant wings were tucked back against their arrow-shaped bodies. As they thundered overhead, Alaska heard a roar the likes of which she'd only imagined. Their four engines belched angry orange flame, and spoke with a sound like a full broadside of her rifles.

Only this sound didn't stop like a gunshot. It roared with fury and anger towards the battle cruiser princess with righteous indignation.

The angels nosed into a shallow dive, hurtling towards the abyssal warship faster than Alaska ever imagined a plane could go. Flak bursts filled the air around them, but it wasn't enough. The princess's directors were as badly mauled as Alaska's, and her guns simply couldn't find their marks.

Alaska felt a happy whoop of joy slip past her split lips as the angels opened their bellies. More bombs than she'd ever even seen came pouring from each plane's bay, peppering the ocean with splashes and smashing though the princess's superstructure.

Explosions cracked though the air, but the angels almost drowned them out with their engines. The planes roared over the princes so low their wings almost chopped off her mast, but their vast tail planes were already cranked to max deflection. Their engines pounded giant furrows in the ocean as the angels thundered into the air.

They hadn't stopped the princess's murderous rage, but they _had_ stalled it. They'd bought just enough time for Alaska and her friends to make it round Bolivar point and into the welcoming waters of the bay.

"Oh, honey," a kind, sweet voice that sounded like honey on fresh biscuits wafted over the bay and wrapped around Alaska like a warm blanket. "You look terrible."

"S-sorry, ma'am," Alaska stammered out, but she couldn't keep a weary smile from passing over her face.

"Now," the gently-smiling face of battleship Texas sent a caring look towards the battered cruisers. "You girls rest up, now, you hear?" The battleship idly spun her parasol over her shoulder with one hand while the other rested on the hilt of an ivory-handled Peacemaker. "Let me take care of this here demon, hmm?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," Alaska clutched her side as she slowed down as gently as she could. Her whole body ached from the hours-long stern chase. But somehow, the old battleship's kind words washed over her like a soothing balm.

"That goes for all ya'll," Texas twirled her parasol again and locked Nachi in a kindly gazed backed by the finest steel.

"Yes ma'am," muttered Nachi almost in instinct. Atago followed suite not much later.

"Mmm," Texas smiled, and carefully rolled a crick out of her neck. She tossed her parasol aside and settled a wide-brimmed hat so her piercing eyes juuuust peeked out from under the brim. "Now then," the battleship slid her hands over the heavy revolvers hanging off her wide hips, "who's this I hear trying to harm my beloved country?"

A smirk crossed the southern-fried battleship's face as she steamed towards the open ocean. It'd been a long, hard sprint to get down here in time, and her tired old engines would certainly have unkind words for her in the morning. But it didn't really matter. In a few short minutes, they'd see the fruit of their frantic labor.

Texas rounded the point at just under twenty-one knots. Her skirt flared around her legs as she steamed into the battlecruiser's sight at what was almost a walking pace. Time seem to grind to a crawl as a look of confusion, then sheer horror replaced hate on the cruiser's bone-pale face.

A stiff ocean breeze blew though Texas' superstructure, flaring her steel-gray hair behind her and blowing the fabric of her skirts back past her holstered revolvers. The cartridges lining her heavy gun belts glittered in the sun, and Texas's grin gleamed like sunset on the plains. "Howdy."

The battlecruiser tried to get her guns around, but it was no good. Texas wasn't called the fastest gun in the west—mostly by her—for nothing.

In less than an instant, her hands closed around the ivory grips of her peacemakers and drew the chrome-plated weapons from their rugged leather sheathes. Texas let the guns spin around her leather-gloved finger. She flicked the hammer back with her thumb as her grip closed around them.

There was no point in even trying to aim. The princess was less than six-thousand yards away. Texas couldn't miss from this range even if she tried. She squeezed the triggers, and a broadside of ten massive fourteen inch rifles spoke. It was a music Texas never thought she'd hear again, and it put a wicked smile on her face even as her guns rose to their loading angle.

Her shells covered the scant distance in an instant before slamming hard into the princess's paperweight armor. Steel only barely heavy enough to alert the shells to its presence touched off fuses in the massive rounds.

Explosions rippled though the Abyssal's hull as splinters tore apart the battlecruiser's machinery spaces. Electricity arced though her hull as turbo-generators shorted out and sparked fires deep within the hull.

At least one of the ten shells found its way to the after magazine and touched off the handful of shells aboard that _hadn't_ been used up hurting Alaska and her friends. Secondary explosions ballooned steel like bubble gum, and burning powder erupted into the air as the battlecruiser cracked in half. There were precious few ships that could endure a point-blank broadside of fourteen inch shells. The princess was not one of them.

Texas smirked, and spun her revolvers around her fingers to slam them back into her holsters. In less than ten minutes, the battle cruiser had turned into so much shrapnel sinking into the channel. Even her hateful blue glow was fading fast.

The battleship tugged on the brim of her hat. "Don't mess with Texas."


	124. A Certain Lady Part 23

_E/N: And with this, the FFN archive of the main story and Certain Lady sidestory are finally caught up to the thread. Teach me to put this off like that..._

 **A Certain Lady Part 23**

"Did you compare the numbers on form H1-31.R with what was in file H-1941?" intoned Jintsuu's gentle, yet firm voice just as the target of her instruction had been about to sign off on a rather lengthy report.

"I..." Yamashiro paused and felt a ball of nerves settle in her belly. She didn't remember seeing that form. Her eyes widened as she began to frantically thumb through the stack of papers in front of her, not once bothering to look up and question the cruiser's words. "It-It's not here. But where then?"

Jintsuu chuckled while Yamashiro's pace quickened.

"It's not here. There's nothing that looks like it." Had she missed something so simple as a sheet of paper?

"That's because you don't know what it looks like." She paused. "And It's not part of that report."

"Eh?"

"You need A-150." Jintsuu plucked the file from the stack Yamashiro had passed over without a second thought. Indeed upon it were the magical numbers that were needed to help make sure the gears stayed greased in their little fleet.

Jintsuu would not laugh, nor chuckle at the defeated look the unfortunate battlewagon gave her in response. She would smile however. Yamashiro was doing her best in trying to learn how to fill in for herself and for Mutsu. Or any real command position, really. A curve ball here and there would help prod Yamashiro into making sure all her i's were dotted and her t's were crossed. On paper, that is.

"Check your procedures if you don't know and check them even if you think you know. It takes a lot of time and exposure before you can begin starting to go off your memory." Jintsuu leaned in and stage whispered a little morsel of information that she hoped would bolster the depressed woman. "I still use them and so does the Lieutenant Commander."

Yamashiro let a sliver of a smile cross her normally dour face. Okay, it was hard to argue with that. And she really did need to learn these things. If not for furthering the functionality of the war effort, then certainly for her sister. Fusou-oneesama would be terribly disappointed in her if she wasn't up to standard.

Couldn't have that, now could she?

"Do you have a copy, I... Ah. Don't have mine." She did not really want to admit having left it back at the battleship dorms.

"There should be one over here." They were using Mutsu's office as it had far better facilities for this sort of work than Jintsuu's own, but she still knew every nook and cranny like the back of her own hand. As testament to that it took only a few moments to locate Mutsu's copy of the massive tome. Tucked away behind a few inconspicuous photos, baubles, and unrelated books.

Jintsuu had been about to hand over the book when there was a tremendous crash. Both flinched as the door to Mutsu's office was all but blown off its hinges and then once more at the revelation of who had made such a violent entry.

Battleship Arizona.

Yamashiro all but whimpered at the sight of the... considerably angry looking Pennsylvania-Class. A powerful and experienced battleship she might be, but a raging standard was the stuff of nightmares.

Jintsuu on the other hand, blinked as the shock of seeing Arizona so furious gave way to confusion and then to a kind of baffled amusement.

"Where. Is. The Lieutenant Commander?" Arizona growled out as her chest heaved with each deep, ire-laden breath. Her red hair was all but alight and she looked as if she would burst a vein or maybe some piping with the slightest prodding. Both were certainly on the table. And the twitch in one eye couldn't be healthy.

"She's out with Kawakaze and Shigure." Jintsuu placed the form she had been holding back on the desk before tilting her head in thought. "I believe they wanted to try some kind of cake shop. And do a little Christmas shopping while they were at it."

She would liked to have gone, but teaching Yamashiro superseded that little luxury unfortunately. Along with the minute detail of her assigned day off being a day that was most definitely not today.

Missions were going to become even more frequent and likely even more dangerous if what she had heard was accurate. So in response to that, Admiral Richardson had scheduled a number of days off for the ships under his command. He had also added the promise of a bonus day if they could fulfill a specially assigned task. Her's was to make sure Yamashiro was at least competent in substituting for the role of Yeoman or XO by the end of today. One or the other.

So of course, she had decided to take it up to eleven and grind the battleship until she was skilled in both roles.

She'd have her extra day without question. There were movies to see!

And Star Wars. Without question, Star Wars. If another Abyssal task force reared their ugly heads, Jintsuu swore she'd choke them out by herself or drag them to the theater before doing so!

"Miss Jintsuu?" Yamashiro hesitantly prodded the suddenly silent cruiser. She could understand if Jintsuu was spooked by the American, but the violent determination and reddening cheeks coloring her expression did not really speak of fear. Rather something she really wasn't sure she wanted to name. "Miss Jintsuu, please."

"Yeoman?" There was a slight less fury in Arizona's voice, but it was hard to tell for the untrained ear.

Jintsuu coughed and shook the daydreams from her mind, her reddening cheeks turning into a full on blush of embarrassment.

"Oh, sorry. I-" Jintsuu halted as she once again took stock of what Arizona had done. ...And what she had barged in with. She snorted in a matter not unlike Mutsu before covering her mouth. "S-Sorry. But, what do you think you're doing, Arizona?"

"Something about decency?" piped up Aviation Cruiser Chikuma in her airy tone of voice. She really mind being carried underarm like a sack of potatoes by the battlewagon, but that was only because her dear sister couldn't see her in this unusual state.

"Ou! I was running laps and this lagwagon just-"

" _Lagwagon!?_ "

"Yeah! This old slowpoke just yells at me and the next thing I know, I'm being dragged along at a snail's pace." Shimakaze folded her arms indignantly as she glared up at Arizona. She'd been making great time and this old biddy just had to interrupt her. How she got caught, she didn't know. But all she cared about was the fact she wasn't running right now.

"Oh, it's rare to see you this angry." Chikuma smiled amusedly as she glanced in the destroyer's direction. "Did she catch you running?"

"Hmph! Of course she did. What else would I... be..." Shimakaze's words slowed to a halt as she realized just what she had been about to admit. She, probably the fastest warship ever put to sea during the Pacific War, had been caught.

While running.

By a standard.

Both cruisers chuckled as the color drained from Shimakaze's face and her entire body went limp in Arizona's arm.

Yamashiro would have shared a look of resignation with Arizona, but a breeze made its way into the office and blew a not insubstantial amount of paperwork around. She let out a yelp of surprise as she leaped from her chair to grab hold of the now airborne sheets. Only for her movement to jostle yet more paper free and send them flying about the office.

Jintsuu sighed in defeat as the disaster zone expanded. At this rate Yamashiro wouldn't be fit to put postage on an envelope, much less fill out either of the duties being foisted upon her. Maybe she should lower expectations? No. Never! She must have her Force Fix!

"Arizona, why don't you put them down and have some fun with your day off," suggested Jintsuu with a sigh. Not all days off had been scheduled for the same day, hence why she was working while others were playing.

"But, Yeo-! Ji-! Miss Jintsuu!" Arizona swore she'd get it right on the first try one of these days. "I cannot stand by while such indecency runs rampant on base! A destroyer is running around wearing nothing but strips of cloth and string while a cruiser parades about with no undergarments!"

"I'm wearing something," protested Chikuma with a slightly embarrassed tilt. Well, kind of. It was just so much easier to move around like this. And something didn't quantify what. Or where. So it was still true.

"I saw nothing when that thing you call a dress was carried up by the wind!" Arizona's eye began twitching even more violently. And atop her blazing hair, a fairy stood with arms spread like an entertainer's. She turned her furious gaze back to Jintsuu, sending the fairy flying. "There must be some kind of dress code. Some regulation towards decency to be followed!"

"No..."

"There isn't."

"Sorry, but no."

"Have you _seen_ Lieutenant Commander Mutsu's skirt?"

Arizona choked as the other ships in the room shot down her hopes in a rather swift manner. However it was Shimakaze's biting retort about Mutsu's ensemble that finally did her in. Without a comprehensible word, Arizona dropped her two hostages with a crash and stormed out of the office. A trail of very dated and despairing words of heated indignation followed her.

"She's a bit of a grump," commented Chikuma as she sat up on the floor, readjusting her dress in the process. She'd never met the American before now, and her first impression was less than pleasant. It'd have been so much nicer if she could have been assigned down in the Gulf of Mexico with her elder sister. Well, in a peacetime setting.

"Lieutenant Arizona has... very strong opinions about what she considers appropriate dress." If that wasn't the most polite way to say the redhead was a stubborn prude, Jintsuu would eat the Admiral's hat.

"She needs to lighten up. Unnecessary things will just slow you down!" Shimakaze frowned as she pulled herself back onto her feet. "Hmph!"

"Why... don't you put on some shorts and show Lieutenant Arizona around the city? E-Everyone's strung out and she's going to waste her day off doing pointless things at this rate. I think the results of the last battle affected her more than we realize."

As one, every set of eyes in the room was turned to focus on the younger Fusou.

"W-What?" Yamashiro sniped defensively. She was rife with many misfortunes and failings, but blindness was not one of them!

So long as it didn't involve paperwork.

"No, that's actually a good idea." Jintsuu cast a level gaze upon the blond destroyer, who now looked somewhat nervous. Yes, two birds with one stone. Help Arizona control her prude rage and get Shimakaze to interact with something other than a stopwatch. What could possibly go wrong? Many things, if she were honest about it. But she didn't get where she was by not taking chances. "Shimakaze, go change and find Arizona. I'd like it if you didn't have me make it an order."

"Hmhm. I suppose that's what you get," giggled Chikuma, still lounging on the floor.

She froze as Jintsuu's vision swept over her, lacking any hint of her usual kindness.

"And I have a few things I would like you to do as well."

"Oh. Ah..." The cruiser swallowed nervously as it became rather apparent that she should have kept her mouth shut. "Y-Yes, ma'am."

"Oh... fine." Shimakaze rolled her eyes in exasperation. Her day was shot. No more running and now she was stuck escorting the slowest ship in the fleet. Some day off this was. Granted, Yamashiro had a point. And she wasn't in the best of moods either. But still!

"Oh, Shimakaze!" called out Yamashiro as the destroyer began making her way out of the office with a halfhearted salute and a noticeable slouch. "...Try to have fun. You can run all you like when you get back."

"Ou!"

Yamashiro sighed and bent down to pick up some more papers after Shimakaze left. A frown was etched quite clearly on her face. So troublesome. So unfortunate. Why couldn't her sister be here? She'd make everything more bearable. More joyous. More anything that was good in life.

I was nice to have Shigure around, the destroyer's mood always brightened whenever she caught sight of her. And she would admit that, yes, she liked having the Shiratsuyu around as well.

She looked up when she felt a tap on her shoulder and saw Jintsuu giving her a soft smile.

"Wh-What?"

"No. Nothing. I just feel that I've seen something nice today."

"...Can we please get back to work?" grumbled the battleship before pointing at Chikuma. "And what are you going to do with her?"

Jintsuu produced a list out of seemingly thin air.

"Grocery shopping."

"...Isn't that an abuse of power?"

"Not if she's securing supplies for the fleet."

Yamashiro was beginning to think she might have an idea why the light cruiser was so feared even outside the battlefield.

—|—|—

"You're sooo slow!" bemoaned Shimakaze as she led Arizona about the shopping mall. She meant it with as much good humor as she could, but Arizona really was taking her sweet time in following her lead.

"If you did not insist on running around like a jackrabbit, then maybe I would be able to keep up." She was well aware just how fast the destroyer was on the water. But she hadn't anticipated that haste translating over onto land. Perhaps she should have. Or perhaps she should have brought a leash. Though that would means she'd have to find a way to actually bind the girl with it.

At least Shimakaze was wearing something decent. Not very, mind you. But she didn't need to worry about answering very, very embarrassing questions for the local authorities.

And her eye wasn't twitching anymore either, so that was a plus.

"Are you certain you know where you're going?"

"Ou! The most efficient path is the fastest." Shimakaze's declaration was accompanied with a sudden turn. Had she not taken Yamashiro's suggestion, she might have flashed a good number of mall goers. Fortunately jean shorts and tights were counter productive to indecent exposure. It didn't really matter one way or the other to her, so long as she got where she needed to got as fast as possible. "And then take it as fast as you can!"

"I cannot really argue your first point..." Arizona picked up the pace as best she could so as to not lose sight of her guide. Weren't escorts supposed to stick close? "Where are you leading me?"

"You wanted to do some Christmas shopping, right?" Shimakaze queried as she spun in place to allow the standard to catch up. "You haven't been here long and you're living with the Admiral, so that means you don't know anyone else well enough to get them anything meaningful. So! That's only five presents that you're gonna be able to think about. I know exactly the place."

Insightful and well thought out.

Arizona lamented that such a sharp and considerate mind was hidden behind such a lewd dress code.

Were she a more... open-minded warship, she might not have been so bothered that Shimakaze looked like a street corner special in her supposed duty outfit. But she wasn't. All those skimpy, scandalous, revealing... Nope, try not to think about it.

And there was that twitch again.

"Maybe you should get Parkson to look at that eye. Your directors might be on the fritz."

"No, this is something else." Arizona rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to will away her rage. Be calm. Be content. Do not dwell on the indecency so openly displayed in the modern world.

The lingerie store passing by on their starboard did not help.

"You should probably get some more underwear. All that fancy red stuff is nice, but-"

" _What?!_ "

"Ouou! Loud. Really loud." Shimakaze winced at Arizona's outburst. Fortunately there was enough hustle and bustle that not one paid them anything more than a second glance. "Mutsu can help you out with that. She's the fashionable one."

"Why. Do you. Know what my undergarments look like?" she hissed angrily, her face taking on a color not too dissimilar to her hair.

Shimakaze gave her a flat look.

"Locker room. The docks. Clothing damage."

Arizona groaned and covered her face with both hands, unknowingly imitating her Admiral in his more exasperated moments.

"May... May we simply hurry up?" The sooner she could get this done, the better. Then she might be able to escape the madness. Maybe a book. A good manual on tactics or procedures. Or just throw caution to the wind and read something of no real worth. Anything to take her frazzled mind away from the insanity that surrounded her.

"We're already here though." Shimakaze would have prodded Arizona a bit more, but she was a plenty observant girl. You didn't live long as a destroyer if you weren't. And Arizona looked like she was headed bow first into that same crazy state that had somehow allowed the lagwagon to catch her. Better to just let it lie.

"I-Oh. We are?" she cast her grey gaze over the myriad storefronts in an appraising manner. "Toys and hobbies?"

"Ou. And there are other stores we can go by on the way back if you don't find anything here."

"I will one day figure you out."

"You're rated as a flagship. It'll happen eventually." She crossed her arms over her chest with a nod.

"I hope sooner than later." Arizona reached out and gave the destroyer an approving pat on the head. It wasn't Admiral-Grade, but it wasn't far behind. She grinned slightly. "At least by the time I convince you to wear something decent."

"Ugh, that'll take forever then... You'll have better luck figuring out Hiei."

"Do not underestimate a battleship's stubbornness."

"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, let's goooo-!" With a spin and a dash, Shimakaze ran about behind Arizona and gave the battleship a prodding shove towards the nearest shop. Understandably, there was no reaction until Arizona decided to play along. Maybe she should pester some of those tug captains about how to get a boat to move. So slow. Jeez...

There was the jingling of a bell as Arizona opened the door to the store Shimakaze had been attempting to guide her into. Despite the very modern, generic layout, the bell gave the store a comfortable air. People mulled about, browsing and playing and chatting away as commerce took place.

"Whoa. Busy."

"It is getting close to lunch. And it is the Christmas season."

"Yeah, but still." Shimakaze frowned as she handily dodged out of the way of a customer who couldn't completely see where she was going. "Let's just hurry up. See anything?"

"If my suspicion is correct, then I believe I have my gift for the Yeoma-for Miss Jintsuu." Arizona marched forward, her gaze firmly locked upon a very particular display. The crowds seemed to part as if the very sea itself for her approach. Her steely gaze and imposing demeanor no doubt helped her advance.

When she reached the display, Shimakaze hot on her heels, she reached out with a gloved hand. There was a pause as she scanned the items placed thereupon before nodding and grasping her choice. With a single deft movement, it was pulled free and held upright to be judged. Arizona's thumb ran over the uneven surface while her fingers readjusted themselves into a more comfortable grip.

"Yes. I think this will do."

There was a sharp hiss as the crimson blade ignited, illuminating the redhead's face with an ominous light.

"Yes indeed."

"Oh, she'll like that. And it's combat approved!" remarked Shimakaze as she looked at one of the other, shorter lightsabers for sale. She poked at the notice confirming just that on a Yoda model. "Not our type of combat, but it's not gonna break if she has a duel with someone. I bet some of those geeks in Intel would love that."

"I simply want to get her something she'd like." Arizona deactivated the lightsaber and held it at her side. She would not admit she might want to swing it around a bit.

"She will. Probably too much." A shudder ran down Shimakaze's keel as she imagined Jintsuu's reaction to such a gift. "But that was nice and fast. Who's next?"

"I will probably want to obtain gifts for the Admiral and Lieutenant Commander elsewhere. But I'm sure I can find something for Jane, Hiei, and Albacore here. Jane and Albacore at the very least." Hiei might be a bit more difficult, so she would have to see what options presented themselves.

"Albacore? The subthief teaching the lewdmarines how to submarine when she's not stealing Admiral Richardson's pants?"

"I... Yes. That's her." Really, that girl. "I owe her tremendously, so I should at least get her something with some thought put into it."

Shimakaze merely nodded in understanding. She'd read the reports. And with great haste!

The duo wandered about for a while longer, browsing and chatting relatively amicably. It wasn't too long before Arizona decided that an art store replete with a rainbow of gel pens would be the best option for Albacore's gift rather than many of the odd trinkets they had come across thus far. And Hiei would require a trip to the bookstore. It was rather hard to find a cookbook in a toy store.

"Oh!"

"What'd you find?"

"This."

"Ou..." There was a hint of awe in Shimakaze's voice as she beheld what Arizona was showing her.

"She enjoys building models, so I think one of these would suit her nicely." Certainly the plethora of kits Jane had shown her were a suitable inspiration. And there was a very distinct note of pride in the child's voice when she had told her about them in a few of the more jovial moments of downtime. And she didn't recall seeing either of the two she had grabbed off the very, very sparcely populated shelves anywhere in the house.

"Which one then?" Two was a bit much, even for Christmas.

"I'm not certain. I'll buy both and save one for her birthday. Or return one if needed." Arizona raised an eyebrow in a questioning look. "That would be the most efficient method wouldn't it?"

"She can be taught!" laughed Shimakaze with an air of mock seriousness.

"One of us at least."

"Hey!"

"Tit for tat."

"Erk!" In an effort to distract Arizona from the loss of face, the high speed destroyer pointed at the two rather complex looking models. "Why those two?"

"Oh? Jane's fleet lacks a solid air wing, so a carrier is a must. But it does not hurt to have another battleship. And I found it odd she lacked a model for one of America's most powerful battleships." Arizona spoke in a very matter-of-factly tone of voice as she gestured to the rather sizable boxes in hand. One of Saratoga and the other of Missouri.

"Hm! Good choices." She pointed towards the checkout counter. If the were done here, then on to the next stop! "Ready?"

"Certainly." A lightsaber for Jintsuu and a model for Jane. The day was turning around, especially after such a disastrous beginning. "If you wish to meet me outside, I do not plan to dally."

"Sounds good."

As Arizona made her way to the register, Shimakaze noted a third, much smaller box tucked carefully under Arizona's arm along with the lightsaber. Why hadn't she noticed it before? And it was a little odd that Arizona hadn't made any mention of it... There was a very distinct lettering on the parcel as well.

USS Arizona.

But why buy a model of yourself?

Unless...

Shimakaze froze.

"No way..."


	125. Chapter 94: Shinano Break

**Chapter 77: Shinano Break**

A pair of guided-missile destroyers greeted the whaling convoy as they pulled into Tokyo bay. Old ships. Tired—even exhausted ships. Their decks were scorched black by rocket exhaust, their hulls were streaked with rust and mottled paint from hasty repairs, and their ensigns were charred and ragged.

But they still flew the rising sun proudly over Tokyo Bay. The city behind them, the brilliant jewel of the pacific, the capital of Shinano's beloved Japan stood proudly behind the defiant ensign. Battered, yes. Even this far away, Shinano could see columns of smoke rise into the air and taste the ash on her tongue. But the city still stood. For at least one more day, the great spires of glass and steel thrust towards the heavens. And even a divine wind would not bend them down.

But as she got closer, Shinano noticed something on the destroyers she hadn't before. Their decks were lined with splotches of blue and black. At first, she'd thought the splotches were just scorch marks or battle damage. But then she got closer, and she realized they had _faces._

They weren't splotches, they were _sailors._ Six hundred of them manning the rails and holding a salute to… her.

Shinano let out a terrified eep and worried her bow with her one good hand. The grip was slick in her heavily-gloved fingers, and she almost dropped it into the bay. Her pulse rocketed skywards, and soon it was nothing more than a furious whine ringing in her temples like the roar of a dozen fighters warming their engines.

They were saluting her, _her._ Not Ryuujou, not Jun'you, not the any of the whalers who went into harms way with nothing more than harpoons and guts to defend themselves, _her._

This… this didn't make sense.

Shinano fumbled with her bow and eventually slung it over her shoulder. The heavy braided steel string cut into her neck, but she didn't care. It gave her something to think about beyond panicking as she brought her hand to her brow.

The studded leather squished against the congealed mass of blood, oil, and sweat slicking her coal-black hair to her brow. Which was a good thing too, Shinano was shaking so much she couldn't have held a salute without it.

Things only got worse when she noticed Ryuujou's weary salute. The tired carrier's hands shook just as badly as Shinano's, but there was a giddy grin on her face that cut though the layers of blood and mauled skin on her face. It was a salute directed squarely at Shinano herself.

Even Jun'you was doing it, although at least she had the common decency to offer Shinano a cheeky smile to take the edge off.

The giant converted carrier felt her sarashi suddenly get impossibly tight. Her armored breastplate squeezed at her chest as Shinano started to hyperventilate. She didn't know what to do… White'd trained her how to fight, but she was still just a battleship halfheartedly converted into a support carrier. She was supposed to bring things to the heroes, not _be_ the hero.

Shinano was starting to seriously panic as she and her friends pulled into Yokosuka. She was close enough to the city now that she could make out details. There was damage, a lot of damage. Shattered windows glittered in the midday sun and scorched buildings shimmered as fire hoses stamped out the last embers. But damage she could deal with. She expected to see damage.

It was the banners that she couldn't deal with. At least two flew in the gentle breeze. Great sheets of white paper hastily lettered in red paint with what looked like a young child's hand.

"Thank you, Shinano," they read.

Shinano didn't have the faintest idea how to deal with all this attention. And it was _positive_ attention too, something she was even less familiar with. So she fell back to her usual standby and started hyperventilating and worrying the heavy canvas of her kimono.

Her steel-toed boots crashed onto shore with a heavy metal clank, and Shinano almost toppled onto her stern. She was still getting the hang of sailing, and doing it with a torn-up bridge while most of her senior staff was panicking made things even harder.

Her chest strained at the linen of her sarashi with each step she took. Her armor felt impossibly constricting as the towering carrier hyperventilated until her boilers struggled to keep a flame.

What seemed like an endless tide of people—kanmusume, sailors, and civilians alike—surged towards her. They clapped, they saluted, they stood on tip-toe to hug and kiss her. It was so much attention. More attention than the carrier had ever received in her life.

"Eeeeeeee!" Shinano pumped out a high-pitched squeal of terror from her furiously fluttering lungs. Her face would've glowed beet red if there wasn't so much sweat and grime obscuring her furiously blushing skin. Her blood-soaked sleeve flapped against her side as she bolted for the CVL docks as fast as her long legs could carry her. The pounding of her massive iron-reinforced boots hammering against the deck almost drowned out the sound of her hyperventilated squeals.

Almost.

—|—|—

Light carrier Houshou winced as her bare feet kissed the cool shower hall tile. Her hair was matted to her neck with sweat, and nicks all down her arms glistened with congealed blood. She'd done what she could to help defend Tokyo, but she managed training duties for a reason.

Her paltry dozen A5Ms were obsolete even in their day, they would've been hard pressed to take on even the Stukas. But they didn't have to, her pilots were just warming up their engines when lightning struck like a divine wind. Houshou hadn't expected much from Shinano, at least this early.

But her expectations had been toppled like so many cards. Shinano was _magnificent_ , a true heir to the Yamato name. No doubt, White would be pleased when she got back from the sea of Japan.

Houshou smiled as she slipped her kimono off and neatly folded it. Her pilots had watched in awe as the abyssal air group simply vanished under the fury of the violet lightning. And then her veteran pilots in their aging planes had naught to do but talk Shinano's frighteningly inexperienced—and terrifyingly valiant—pilots though their landings.

The old carrier smoothed the fabric of her uniform and put it away. She'd been prepared to die this day, and instead she'd witnessed something wonderful. The birth of a true carrier.

She stood, and gingerly tip-toed her way to the showers themselves. She might be old and battle-hardened, but Houshou still hated cold floors. But as she entered chilly room, she noticed something in the corner.

Something _giantic_ and dressed in heavy green and red canvas. Shinano hugged her massive legs to her chest, her boots skidding along the tile as she cried into her knees.

"Shinano?" Houshou worried the tip of her ponytail and drew near to the much younger girl. She was hurt, and badly. One arm was flat-out missing below the elbow, and her brow was criss-crossed with nicks and dripping with sweat. Seeing her like this… Houshou was astonished the carrier was even able to launch a strike. Enterprise herself would be proud.

Shinano let out a timid eep and tried to retreat further into the corner. Her boots skidded off the slick tile and she whimpered into her breastplate.

"Honey, are you okay?" Houshou settled onto her knees and put one arm around the carrier's massive shoulders.

"M-mmhm," Shinano nodded, then buried her face in Houshou's chest. Hot tears warmed Houshou's skin as Shinano cried.

"What're you doing here?" Houshou gently cradled the giant carrier. Or at least did the best she could, Housho was hardly the towering giant Shinano was.

Shinano sniffed, and glanced up. The blood on her face was smudged, and her round cheeks wore a distinctive blush. "Th-they were all," she sniffed again. "All saluting me and… and hugging me and…" she buried her face in Houshou's chest. "I didn't know what do to."

Houshou was very happy Shinano couldn't see her right now. The smile on her face was most unbecoming.

"S-so…" Shinano's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I… I came here. It seemed like the right thing to do."

Houshou couldn't keep herself from laughing. Her tired lips twisted into an exhausted smile, and she had to clutch Shinano's shoulders to keep from falling over.

"'s not funny," whimpered Shinano.

"Yes it is, child," Houshou plopped onto her stern with a squish of wet flesh and settling steel. "You're adorable, you know."

Shinano blushed and pulled her legs up to hide her face. "Mmhm," she muttered.

"You don't have to be ashamed of _anything_ you did," Houshou couldn't wipe the smile off her face as she turned on the water. It was nice and hot, just how she liked it. "Enterprise herself would've been proud of you."

Shinano let out a high-pitched eep of fright and scooted back further into her corner.

Houshou laughed, and tossed the giant carrier a bottle of shampoo. "Now let's get you cleaned up for Akashi."

Shinano fumbled for the bottle with her one good hand until her heavy gauntlet finally closed around it.

"And then," Houshou started picking the knots out of Shinano's ragged ponytail, "We'll get you some ice cream. How about that?"

Shinano blinked. "What— what's ice cream?"


	126. Chapter 95: Vestal Virgin

**Chapter 95: Virgin Vestal**

"Fuck!" Jersey bit her lip and scowled at the faintly visible outline of her own slender bow. Rain poured from the heavens in great sheets so dense she could barely even make out her own stunning figure—optically of course. Her radar punched through the squall like… like… like fucking radar thrugh rain. Jersey was too wet and miserable to think up a better metaphor.

The squall started dumping frigid rain a few hours after she and her girls had put Adak island behind them. It hadn't stopped for three straight days. Jersey was soaked to the keel. Just blinking made her feel soggy. Her shirt was glued to her sinewy arms by water just salty enough to grate and grind.

Her scarf was soaked through, which wasn't even the worst part. The soggy fabric had let a few droplets of water sneak through the zipper in her vest. And now even her bra was frigid and damp against her skin. "This is fucking bullshit!"

"Poi?" Yuudachi glanced over with what Jersey could only assume was an air-headed half-smile. The rain was too dense for her to make out anything more than the destroyer's lean, low hull and flappy-flappy hair tufts.

"Fuck you," Jersey scowled and hugged herself. She could deal with water on her legs and skin, she _was_ a warship after all. But getting water on her tits was just fucking _infuriating._ It was like an itch she couldn't scratch, and every passing wave made her even more miserable.

And grouchier.

"I, Musashi," there was a brief pause in the battleship's voice, and Jersey noticed her radar return flicker. Almost like the Japanese warship was shivering. "Am _quite_ alright!"

"She is," added Johnston, "She's not wearing her shirt or anything."

"Um," Hoel piped up with a timid cough, "I'm not sure that means she's doing okay. She still looks cold."

"How can you tell?" asked Heermann.

"Well," Johnston giggled, "she's got her searchlights—"

"ALRIGHT!" Naka's shrill voice had lost all its cutesy window dressings. Three days of rain had tested even her limitless patience, and the destroyers didn't make things any easier by constantly getting bored. Johnston couldn't even play her favorite game, 'I spy something and it's Mushi's boobs', with the rain cutting visibility down to nothing.

"Fuck," Jersey cursed again and squinted at the indistinct blur that was IJN _Shirtphobia._ The one fucking time she might have _enjoyed_ seeing Mushi without a shirt, and the fucking weather had to go and steal it away from her. "This. Shit," she hissed."

"It's not all bad, Jersey," Fubuki pulled up alongside with a half-grin. The little destroyer's ponytail was soaked to the back of her waterlogged uniform.

"Eh?" Jersey cupped her hands together and tried to breath some warmth into her fingers. She wasn't even that _cold_ , the trip up to murderize the Northern Princess had been a thousand times colder. But the rain was just fucking _miserable_ to be in.

"I said it's not all bad," added Fubuki with a strained grin.

"Fucking how," grumbled Jersey. Her fingers looked more like prunes than anything that belonged on a person—or a ship, for that matter. And speaking of prunes, she could _really_ go for a snack. Her belly was idly grumbling at her and the thought of steaming hot soup was enticing enough to make her drool.

"I…" Fubuki sighed, "It's just something you're supposed to say."

"Well it didn't fucking work," Jersey rubbed rain off her shades in a vain attempt to at least _try_ to retain some visibility through her optics. She scowled, and glanced down at the dutiful young girl steaming abreast. "Thanks, though."

Fubuki let out a moaning half-laugh and blushed. "T-thank you."

Jersey blinked. She'd forgotten how weird it was when she did that. "Uh… yeah."

Fubuki mumbled something incoherently happy and beamed a smile so bright it cut through the freezing rain. And for just a moment, Jersey was honestly happy.

And then a wave of rain crashed against her chest and poured into her shirt. "Fuck!" The battleship shook her head in miserable surprise.

"Don't worry," Kongou's kind voice was barely tinged by the miserable rain. Probably all that tea and Britishness in her blood. "We'll be in Japan soon, Dess."

"Yes!" Musashi's thunderous bravado boomed across the waves so loudly Jersey actually saw water droplets move out of the way. "And then, Jersey, you and I, Musashi, can share a steaming hot bath."

"A bath you say?" Jersey smiled. As much as the mental image of a very wet, very naked Musashi preening herself might appeal to her, she was more interested in taking a long, _long_ soak. She was honestly slightly worried her mind wasn't going to the lewd place for once, but she was just that fucking wet and miserable.

"A bath indeed!" Musashi's smirk was so cheeky Jersey swore she could hear it over the crash of freezing water against her deck. "Japanese style!"

"Oh no, Dess," Kongou sighed.

Musashi let out a roaring belly laugh, "Naked!"

"Naked you say?" Jersey licked her lips and shot a glance at the indistinct blur that was Musashi. She could tell from just the radar return that the overtitted Japanese boat was preening herself and her structurally superfluous pagoadas for all they were worth. She couldn't _see_ , but she could tell.

And that made her feel a whole lot less miserable.

But _that_ made her feel… strange. She couldn't deny that she really wanted stick a torpedo up IJN _Shirtphobia_ 's pointless skirt. Even if she didn't quite have… fucking… torpedoes.

Heh.

Jersey smirked. That metaphor worked out better than she thought it would, and she hadn't even intended it to _be_ a metaphor. Just a euphemism. Because a-fucking-apparently her internal monologue was deathly afraid of the word 'dick.'

That was probably Victory's fault.

"Fucker," Jersey grunted under her breath and hugged herself until her waterlogged bra started to wring out.

"Poi?" Judging by the oscillating frequency of Jersey's radar returns, Yuudachi'd inclined her head and let the wind flip her little hair tufts. It was a pretty cute image, honestly. At least in Jersey's head.

"Not you," Jersey bit her lip and scowled. She'd had fun on her shore leave. She'd gotten to unwind after the tension of battle, and… and she even fucking thought she'd made some kinda fucking progress with… with…

She'd gotten motherfucking head scratches.

Head scratches made her happy, they made her feel all warm and lo— looo— _liked_ inside. She'd felt _safe_ with Crowning watching over her in the night, safer than she'd ever felt before. She felt safer than she had with fucking _carriers_ watching over her. She's steamed with the motherfucking _big E_ and felt less safe than when she had Crowning watching over her.

And then she had to go and fucking leer and…

And fucking romance is hard when you're a boat not a people.

Jersey scowled and hugged herself tighter, "Are we there yet?"

—|—|—

Crowning stayed his hand moments before it made contact with the unassuming wooden door to Vestal's office. He wasn't so much afraid of the old repair ship as he was… intimidated. He found all the shipgirls intimidating to some degree or another.

Jersey, for all her adorable childishness off-duty, was still the greatest battleship the world had ever or will ever see. She was as beautiful as the dawn, and as mighty as a goddess. Depending on how you interpreted mythological references to shipgirls, she might actually _be_ a minor goddess of the sea.

Even the destroyers intimidated him. They were tiny, lovable, and precocious, but they'd charge headlong where angels fear to tread. They'd spend their lives without a second thought if it meant keeping their charges alive. These little girls who were barely able to operate a microwave without setting something on fire had more valor crammed into their tiny bodies than every man Crowning had ever met put together.

But Vestal… Vestal was in a league of her own. Crowning hadn't said more than two words to her. But the way every shipgirl, from Wash to the littlest destroyer-escorts, spoke of her with utter reverence graved an impression impossible to shake. If shipgirls—spirits of duty and valor themselves—looked to Vestal with awe, what could a mere man do.

The professor hissed out a breath though his teeth and brought his knuckles down on the door.

"'s open," came a warm, rough voice that Crowning could only describe as sounding like an ancient pair of thoroughly broken-in work boots: Old, tough,heavy… but somehow impossibly comfortable. It made him feel easy even muffled though the door.

Crowning stifled a smile and pushed the door open with the heel of his hand. "Vestal?"

A woman glanced up from a sturdy desk bucking under mountains of paper. Her silver-streaked hair shimmered like spun metal in the light, and welding goggles perched on her forehead reflected Crowning's feline features back at him.

"Doc," Vestal smiled and rubbed the back of her hand accros her soot-marked face. Which only served to grind yet more gritty dust into her wrinkles. There was no denying Vestal was old. Even Kongou didn't look more than thirty-something years old, but Vestal looked like she was at least forty.

But she was still a shipgirl. She was still beautiful to behold, and those wrinkles in her rough skin just made Crowning feel that much more comfortable around her.

"I'm not interruption anything," Crowning motioned to the mountains of paper filling Vestal's desk, "Am I?"

Vestal glanced at the paper and lazily leafed though a few sheets. "Nah," she shrugged and hauled herself from her chair with a anguished grunt. "Gonna push most of this to the nurse's desk anyway."

It took Crowning a second to realize who she was talking about. He was so used to Major Solette getting called 'docboat.' "You mean Major Solette?"

Vestal nodded. "Yeah. He does good work." She hitched up her heavy tool belt with a clink of steel on steel. "For Army. Or anyone who's not used to… well, us."

Crowning nodded, "So I've heard."

Vestal arched her back and pressed her hands against her spine until the bones—or chain links or whatever it was a shipgirl carried down her back—started to crack into place. "Ah," a smile passed her thin lips, "Don't see you down her often, doc."

"Don't come here often," Crowning's features grew a shade tighter. He'd lost people in the war. Colleagues he'd met working to bring Jersey back, Victory… _friends._ But it'd always been clean. Quick. One moment they were there, the next… gone like smoke. He'd never had to watch someone he cared about _suffer_ their way to the grave. He never wanted to.

"Mmm," Vestal nodded as a shadow passed over her face. "Pour you a drink?" she fished a bottle of rich amber liquid from her tool belt. "Technically, it's only supposed to be for medicinal purposes."

She clamped the cap between her gloved fingers and gave it a spin. "But, since I'm a repair ship, everything I do is medicinal."

Vestal grabbed a pair of mugs from under her mountains of paper, scowled into one, then shrugged and poured herself a drink. "And you look like you could use one."

"I could, actually," Crowning took what was apparently the cleaner of the two cups and let Vestal pour him a healthy drink. "Thanks."

Vestal waved him off and fished her pipe out of her jacket pocket. "So," She clamped the stem between coal-stained teeth and held a match to the end, "What're ya doing down here?"

"I needed your opinion on something." Crowning took a sip of the stiff whiskey and gingerly set the cup back down. "You wouldn't happen to have read _Janes'_ , would you?"

"I've…" Vestal let a puff of warm, sweet smoke curl from the corner of her mouth, "perused it."

"Peruse means to read carefully and at length," said Crowning on instinct.

Vestal chuckled. "I know. You think I'd just skim a book like that in my line of work?" The repair ship cradled her pipe in one hand and took a long sip of her drink with the other. "What's got your mind aflurry?"

"This." Crowning fished a massive book bound in some kind of plastic-composite. Simple silver-embossed words on the cover read 'IHS Janes' Fighting Kanmusu (2014-2015)'

"You got your own copy?" Vestal cocked an eyebrow. Steel rattled and chimed as she bent over, her makeshift skirt of tools and wrenches clanging against her desk like wind chimes. "Those aren't cheap."

"No," Crowning thumbed though the pages—and pages and _pages_ —of exhaustively detailed shipgirl writeups to get to the more general articles in the back. As much as he enjoyed the spectacular—though sometimes spectacularly off-base—art, he had a mission. "But compared to taking big J on a date, this is pocket change."

Vestal rasped out a thoroughly-aged laugh. "I can imagine that. What's that girl eat, quarter-million a day?"

"Something like that," Crowning smiled. He wasn't all that good at math himself, and he found distancing himself from the raw numbers describing the battleship's gluttony helped his precious sanity. "More, if it's pie."

"She's into pie now?" Vestal purred a noise under her breath.

Crowning decided not to read anything into that. "Like you wouldn't imagine." He'd never seen someone look quite as utterly happy as Jersey with a pie in front of her. Just thinking about her smile made him smile in turn. "But, uh…"

Vestal cocked an eyebrow and motioned for him to continue.

The professor sighed, and turned the book over so Vestal could read. It was open to an article he'd bookmarked a few days ago, just after he'd read it for the first time.

'A kanmusume's guide to pregnancy, by repairship Akashi (JMSDF) and Major Robert Solette (US. Army.)'

It was quite a well-written article, and very humorous at that. Solette's attempts to frame a shipgirl's bizarre antics in the context of human pregnancy were constantly at odds with Akashi's explanations of the same events in ship-related terminology. Crowning might not know all that much about biology _or_ naval engineering, but he came away feeling like he had at least a general overview of the important bits.

It helped that there were lots of pictures. Helpful infographics displayed an 'unnamed' shipgirl—although the hair-buns, nontraditional miko outfit, hair tuft, and propensity for dessing made the 'unnamed' girl's identity painfully obvious—illustrated every step of the process.

There were even little chibi-versions of Akashi and Solette chiming in from the margins whenever a point needed more elaboration. The major looked somehow angrier in his tiny state, while Akashi looked like _she_ was having the time of her life.

"Look," Crowning fussed with the hair on the back of his neck, "I'm no expert, but does this make any sense to you?"

Vestal fished a pair of thick-lensed reading glasses from her jacket and settled them on her slender nose. She looked like an old librarian who'd just returned to work after several hours working on her motorcycle. "Huh," she muttered. "Actually, yeah. This all makes perfect sense."

Crowning blanched. "Even," he flipped to a page showing a blushing totally-not-Kongou offering her T-headed husband a model kit, "This?"

"Model cravings?" Vestal puffed on her pipe, "Yeah." She nodded, "That sounds about right. Why, Jersey give you something?"

The professor bit his lip and hissed in a breath. "A few, actually."

Vestal smirked and puffed a steady stream of smoke from the corner of her thin lipped mouth. "And…?"

"Two of herself," said Crowning, "in different scales, a couple of Hornets, and a submarine."

"What class?" said Vestal.

"Hmm?"

"What class was the boat."

Crowning knit his brows and tried to think. "I… _Virginia_ , I think."

"Virginia, you say?" a smirk slid across the old repairship's features.

The professor suddenly felt his blood run cold. "Y-yes."

"You know," Vestal wandered over to one of her overflowing bookshelves and fished a binder out. "The navy authorized a new _Virginia_ -class boat just before the war started."

"Uh huh…" said Crowning with growing hesitation.

"SSN seven-ninety-six," Vestal's smirk grew until her pipe was barely staying between her gleaming teeth. "Three guesses what she's called."

"New Jersey?" said Crowning with a resigned sigh.

"Got it in one," Vestal chuckled to herself and planted the binder down so Crowning could read. "Big J wants your babies. _bad._ "

"That- no," Crowning shook his head. "That can't be. She… she doesn't want to call our dates dates. Hell, she won't even let me call her a _person_ instead of a boat!"

Vestal placed a hand on his shoulder. There was a strength to her motions which started the professor. A kindly, gentle strength, but strength none the less. Ropes of steel under weathered flesh.

"Because she's _scared_ ," said the old repair ship.

"Jersey?" Crowning shook his head as images of Jersey storming into battle out of a storm front with guns blazing and blood hotter than the sun filled his mind.

"Yes," Vestal nodded. "Look, I might not know you very well. But I _know_ New Jersey. Admitting she's in love means admitting she's human. It means admitting that she's _fallible._ "

Crowning mouthed the air and fumbled at his chin. "That— is that so bad?"

"For her?" Vestal nodded, "Yes. Jersey's not a fighter, if you hadn't noticed. The better part of a century under the flag, and she only fired her guns against another ship _once._ She spent decades as a shield, not a sword."

The repair ship settled onto the edge of her desk and paused to take a deep lungful from her pipe. At long last, she hissed out a sharp breath and gazed over at Crowning. "She counts _everyone_ under her protection. And she takes every loss as a damming sin."

Crowning blinked, and glanced at his shoes, "Samar."

"Mm," Vestal nodded. "Samar. The great act of destroyer defiance that will be remembered long after you and I are dead and gone."

"But the taffies," Crowning panted at the air, desperately scrambling for solid mental purchase. "They forgave her for it."

"I'm sure they did," said Vestal, "But it doesn't matter. Even if Captain Evens himself forgave her, she'd never _ever_ forgive herself."

The professor started to say something when Vestal shut him down with a steely glare.

"And don't try and tell me otherwise," Vestal's rough voice burned and her gritted teeth flashed. "She will take that shame to her watery grave, and you damn well know it because _that's why you love her so much._ "

Crowning started to form a retort, then thought better of it. "Yeah," he said. For better or for worse, for all her lazy, childish antics when she was off-duty, Jersey was… _unyielding._ The very embodiment of every virtue fighting Americans held high. She'd fight to her last dying breath it she had to. "Yeah, it is."

"Now's the part where you ask me what you can do," Vestal took a quick sip of her whiskey and shrugged.

The professor nodded. "How?"

"Love her," said Vestal. "She won't make it easy for you, but love her all the same. She's out there fighting demons, you fight _hers_."

Crowning nodded, and thought back to those times she'd asked him to watch over her in the night. "That, I can do."

"Good," Vestal smiled. "Oh, and come war's end, I'd _better_ see her with at _least_ one bun in the oven."

Crowning cracked a tired laugh. Somehow, the image of Jersey with a little bulge around the midsection was as hilarious as it was endearing.

Vestal smacked him across the face with a heavy leather welding glove. "You think I'm joking."

"A bit, yeah."

"I'm not," said Vestal. "Knock that battleship up. Doctor's orders."


	127. A Certain Lady Part 24

**A Certain Lady Part 24**

 **AKA: A Certain Sea-Going Snail**

There was a knock on Jane's bedroom door. Casual and slightly heavy. Certainly not a ship, that was for certain.

"Come in!" she beckoned the individual beyond the wooden portal as she continued scribbling away at her homework. Her English teacher had piled on all sorts of extra assignments for the winter break and she did not want it hanging over her head. Diligence aside, Jintsuu had enough on her plate without taking the extra time to make sure she was doing her homework.

Doing it correctly however... remained to be seen. Stupid English language. Why could she remember how Mutsu-mama's boilers worked but not her latest vocabulary definition sheets? It really bugged her to no end. Mostly because the latter was needed to advance to the next grade. Phooey.

The door opened with only the most mild of creaking to draw the girl's attention.

"Working hard?" queried her father with the kind of barely relaxed tone he seemed to sport only when he had managed to delegate every possible responsibility he could to someone else. It was quite rare if Jane were to be perfectly honest. And she'd heard it in earnest for the first time only after Hiei-mama had sailed into their lives. She liked hearing her father's voice like that a lot more than his normal tone.

"Yup!" She swiveled her chair around so she could look up at her father. "I'm doing my English language homework."

"Let me guess. Vocab is giving you trouble?" Richardson gave a small grin as his daughter nodded, her smile turning into a frown.

"And my teacher gave us a lot of extra work for the break, too."

"She's just trying to make sure you know your stuff. And she's the one who has to grade it, so the evil teacher theory isn't going to fly." The theory was almost as ancient as the profession. And he'd been convinced it was true for quite some time. But he had also been one of those problem students when he was her age.

"I know. I just don't like it. It's so hard to remember!" exclaimed Jane with a huff of frustration. "But I want to get it done so I don't have to think about it again. And stuff isn't as much fun if there's homework to do."

Richardson tried to not roll his eyes. Time for the time-honored tactic of drawing comparisons. Again. One day his little girl would get it through her head and have it stick. But she was shaping up to be just as stubborn as himself.

"Jane, what's the maximum range of Mutsu's guns?"

"Um... Which ones?" Jane blinked at the sudden shift of topic.

"Her sixteens and fives. The absolute maximum. In yards." He didn't really care what measurement system she used. It wasn't really the point. But requesting a specific one might help.

Jane sat there for a moment thinking before snapping her fingers in realization.

"Over forty two thousand for her big guns and over sixteen thousand for the other ones!" There was no way she could be wrong about those numbers. And she would have smiled at getting the answer right had her father not been looking at her flatly. What? She got it right!

"And why do you know her gun range and not what..." He leaned over and glanced at Jane's homework, aiming to pick out a word she had defined incorrectly and not yet realized or fixed. "...pedestrian means?"

"I... dunno. It's easier to remember. And I liked learning it a whole lot more. Mutsu-mama's a lot more fun to read about than my vocab homework." It was certainly very true. She could easily invest hours upon hours of her free time studying the navy and the ships who served, regardless of era or nation. Vocabulary was just... bleargh. Even if she forced herself, it just wasn't interesting!

"And there you go."

"Wha?"

"If it's fun, it's easier to work with. Heck. Your old man only gets as much paperwork done as he does because somehow found it kinda fun." Tolerate was more accurate. Which was a significant step up from utterly loathe.

Jane simply gave him a flat look.

The sort only a child could give their parent when they were pretty certain that the bullshit was being piled high.

"You get what I mean."

"If you say so, Daddy."

"But you do have more fun with ships."

Jane rolled her eyes and tried to keep the amusement off her face. It must not have worked very well considering her father chuckled and ruffled her hair.

"You want to keep working or are you up for a break so your old man can take you out to lunch and the museum like he promised?" joked Richardson.

"And dinner!" Jane proclaimed, her study related irritation evaporating in a heartbeat. "And ice cream. Gotta have ice cream."

"We'll see about the ice cream. The last time we had ice cream after dinner out, you ate too much and got sick." He raised an eyebrow in a look that was simultaneously questioning and judging. "All over Mutsu's dress to boot."

"That was just one time! Please, Daddy? Please?" Jane turned the full force of her Destroyer Eyes on her father, pouring every bit of cute and pleading she could into it. She didn't want to miss out on frozen treats!

Richardson turned his heart to ice and steel. He would not give in. Not again!

"C'mon, pleeease?"

"...Let's see how dinner goes."

Dammit.

"Yay!" There was still a chance! Lunch and museums and dinner and delicious ice cream! And she got to spend rare time with her father. So that was a plus. She all but rocketed out of her chair, sending a few papers and her writing utensils flying. A mess to clean up later.

"I'll be waiting at the front door, so go wash up and get ready." Richardson began making his way towards the door before remembering something and turning back around. "And don't forget to brush your teeth."

Jane simply rolled her eyes again.

—|—|—

Mutsu yawned loudly as she shuffled into the dining room and sat herself down on the first chair she could find. She slumped over and her head impacted the dinner table's surface with a dull thudding sound.

The hour was late and she simply couldn't be bothered to anything more than kick off her shoes by the front door. Much less care about potential damage to the table.

Oh what a day it had been.

One might think a battleship would be more than capable of dealing with a pair of destroyers, one of them even with a disposition towards good behavior, with plenty of energy to spare. That same individual would be sorely mistaken. Destroyers were still destroyers.

"You look like you've been through Hell."

Mutsu looked up to see Richardson with a mug in each hand, the aroma and rising steam hinting to the existence of freshly crafted hot chocolate.

She needed no prompt to accept the offered beverage.

"I may need a day off to recover from my day off..." The first touch of cocoa upon her lips sent a shiver down her spine as her senses reawakened. She savored the drink with a slight smile and closed eyes, not even bothering to hide her relief. Hiei must have made it. John made a good cup, but Hiei's were above and beyond his level of skill.

Mutsu didn't even care to reason why. It was Hiei after all.

"No can do," replied Richardson as he took a seat opposite his XO. Oh, she looked like hell alright. Beautiful, but still like she'd been through the wringer. Her normally well kept hair was a mess and her clothes looked ruffled as all could be. "We're trying for a summoning tomorrow and an immediate deployment right after. You can cash in your extra day later."

"Meanie."

Richardson merely shrugged and gave her a teasing grin.

"You should have scheduled your day in advance, like Jintsuu did." Jintsuu was also quite well aware that she could lose that day in a heartbeat. Given mention the increased Abyssal activity in the region and the plans coming down the line, it was more than likely to become a reality.

"Jintsuu didn't have to babysit two destroyers during holiday shopping." Mutsu shot her Admiral a flat look mixed with what exhaustion she could muster up and a slight measure of amusement. She then grinned playfully. "No sympathy for me?"

"No, she decided to teach Yamashiro how to do her job and yours. I'm also a little worried at how well she did it." Sometimes Jintsuu's level of competence and drive went far above what he could comprehend. He'd had to yank on her chain at times, but very rarely. And she was nowhere near the level of Oyoodo. "So, nope. No sympathy."

"D-Drat," Mutsu huffed with mock indignation as she stifled a yawn.

The battleship set down her cup before stretching her laced fingers upwards with a satisfied moan. She arched her back and tried to reach for the ceiling to no avail. Oh, she felt like she could sleep for days. She wouldn't be able to, but it was nice to imagine.

"How was your day with Jane? You don't look tired at all." Mutsu blinked after speaking, wondering for a moment why John was staring at her blankly. "John?"

"Right," Richardson lamely answered as he cleared his head. "We had a good time. Had lunch, went a museum. She wasn't that hungry for dinner afterwards, so we just grabbed something small on the way home. Probably burned herself out running around so much. I haven't seen her that wound up since she was really little. I'm amazed I'm not falling over right now."

"No ice cream?"

"Nah. She passed out on the way home. Didn't even crack an eye when I carried her out of the car." He paused to take another sip of Hiei's cocoa. The second Kongou had decided to take her leave with a mug of her own right after making the stuff, claiming with a grin that he shouldn't neglect his XO. Dammit Hiei. He knew that.

"Oh? You managed to carry her?" Mutsu inquired with a smirk. It had been a bit too long since she'd been able to sit down with John and just have a fun little conversation like this. Certainly longer than she'd have liked. She didn't even notice her boilers warming up. "Isn't that bad for your back?"

Richardson snorted.

"A lot of things are bad for my back. But since when has that ever stopped me?"

"Oh~ Since never?" A wry grin made its way onto her face as she crossed her arms under her bust. "You'd better be careful old man~"

"Har har. You're older than me, Mutsnail." Much as he'd hoped, Mutsu balked and turned a rather nice shade of red.

"Wha!" She narrowed her eyes dangerously. However the red on her cheeks lessened any effect it may have had on the man. "That's not very nice, John. And only Jane can use that nickname."

"I dunno. I like it. Better than Mutslug." He grinned like the asshole he knew he was when Mutsu turned an even darker shade of red. Those names made it far too easy to get through her defenses. Not that she had good defenses to begin with, but it was more fun this way. And he would admit that her reactions were rather cute.

"My, oh my. Someone's playing with fire tonight..." Mutsu loved Jane dearly, but sometimes she regretted not nipping that nickname in the bud. Mostly when John got into one of his moods to see how far he could toe her line. "Keep it up and you might get burned."

Richardson knew when it was time to retreat and coughed into his hand.

"Right."

"Hmph." Mutsu leaned back into her chair and sighed, letting the tension slip away. "While you and Jane were having a good time, I had to keep the fox and the hound on a leash."

"Did you at least have a good time?"

"Oh we did. People were running around, having a good time. It was almost like there wasn't a war going on. And those two girls seemed really happy to see that. Especially Kawakaze." Mutsu smiled warmly. "She's a hellion, but she's a really sweet girl."

Before Richardson could comment, Mutsu raised her finger with a bright look in her eyes.

"Oh! And you should have seen Shigure trying to pick out a gift for Yamashiro. She was going back and forth between stores trying to find something just right. I've never seen her so worked up before." Granted, that sudden abundance of energy was part of why she had come home so worn out. But the look on Shigure's face was well worth it. "Even Kawakaze seemed like she was having trouble keeping up at times."

Richardson found the sight hard to imagine. He might not know the destroyers nearly as well as some of the other, more permanent members of his fleet, but he liked to think he had a rather decent grasp on Teruzuki and Akizuki's replacements. And Shigure running around as Mutsu had described was more than a little outside his reasonings. Well, the more you know.

"I'm guessing she finally found something?"

"Of course~" Mutsu smiled as she twirled her raised finger. "And I'm not gonna tell you what it is."

"Afraid I can't keep my mouth shut?" sniped Richardson before finishing off his mug of hot chocolate. And now he wanted more. But there wasn't any more. Damnation.

"I'd rather err on the side of caution. And Shigure asked us to keep quiet about it." It was really quite cute. Apparently the normally reserved destroyer had a special plan in mind. And Mutsu wasn't about to dissuade the girl.

"I really wish I was awake enough to argue that first point."

"You know I'd win. Or call in Hiei if I needed support."

"So, every time then?"

"You live dangerously, Admiral~" teased Mutsu with a smile. She reached out and waggled her finger in a chastising gesture. "You should know better by now."

Richardson stood from his seat and leaned over, placing his index finger squarely on the tip of Mutsu's nose. The battleship froze as her eyes trailed up the path made by his arm. She dared not move at the sudden and, dare she say intimate, action. And the look in his eyes made her breath catch.

"And you should know I'm a very slow learner and a very stubborn old man." He gave the rapidly reddening Mutsu a mock glare that turned into a smirk. Said smirk devolved into a yawn as the day's events finally began to catch up to him. He might not have dealt with a pair of destroyers, but his daughter was plenty a handful already.

Words failed Mutsu as her boilers crept closer to the red line at an increasingly rapid pace.

Richardson shook his head and dropped his hand as he stifled another yawn.

"We should probably get some sleep." He looked out through the entranceway and sighed. "And I'm going to bet Hiei stole my bed again."

"She ...what?" Was Hiei becoming even more bold now that she was no longer on the combat roster? Or was she just milking the time off for all it was worth? That woman... Honestly.

"She had that look in her eye. That Kongou-look. The one that means she's going to do something Kongou-like again."

"That... only makes sense because she's a Kongou, you know."

"Can't argue that." Richardson paused and sat back down. Sure, he was exhausted as all hell. And it was finally starting to really hit him. Plus he could tell Mutsu wasn't in much better shape. Still...

"John?"

"Mutsu, it's been a while since we've been able to just... talk like this."

"Well, yes. With the war and our work and now the holidays..."

Richardson cleared his throat.

"Do you mind if we just talk? While we have the chance." He thumbed over to the kitchen. "I can make some more cocoa if you want. Or some coffee."

Mutsu shook her head, doing her best to ignore the now critical warning her chief engineer was giving her. Stupid boilers.

"No, that's fine." She smiled playfully after a few moments, managing to get herself under control. "We have a busy day tomorrow, but... I wouldn't mind some exclusive Admiral time~"

"I'm all yours right now." Richardson smiled.

In the end, neither of them made it to their beds.


	128. Chapter 96: Season's Gifts

**Chapter 96: Season's Gifts  
**

"You wanted to see me, Admiral?"

Goto glanced up from the piles of supposedly-organized paperwork dominating his desk with a tired sigh. The logistics problem was as tight as it'd ever been, but _hopefully_ the new arrival Richardson had been so kind to lend him would at least smooth over the more trivial matters. "Yeah," The Admiral leaned back in his chair, rubbing the grit from his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Ahem," The lithe American stepped into his office proper, her gritty white-on-black swimsuit soaking up the office lighting like a sponge. "USS Albacore reporting, sir."

She wasn't anything like what he'd expected. _His_ submarines bounced around in bright blue swimsuits perpetually glistening with a slick, wet sheen. Swimsuits that they'd come spilling out of if they so much as breathed the wrong way.

But not Albacore, her swimsuit couldn't have been more utilitarian if it tried. The high-necked cut kept any cleavage the American had neatly covered, and only the proud "US NAVY" painted across her otherwise unremarkable chest drew the eye from her salty spiked-up fauxhawk.

She was even wearing _pants_. Pants open at the front and rolled back over her hips to show where Albacore had written 'Albie's!' in pink glitter pen—complete with heart over the eye—over the original owner's sharpied-in 'Richardson' tag.

"Albacore," Goto smiled and offered her his hand. "It's good to have you here." His experience with the American sub was limited to her reports. Reports so text-book perfect he almost didn't notice they were written in gel pen with hearts over the I's.

"Thank you, Sir!" the submarine's cheeks glowed and her whole body seemed to swell with pride. "And, uh… you can just call me Ablie if you'd like."

"Albie then," Goto nodded. So she had a cute nickname. At least she wasn't bouncing around in a swimsuit three sizes too small while turning the mere mention of the word 'torpedo' into something unspeakably lewd. "You've gotten settled in?"

Albie nodded, "Nagato bunked me with Imuya and Shioi." The American planted her hands on her hips and tutted her tongue. "They, uh…" she scratched at her salty up-do, "what does 'sempai' mean?"

Goto hung his head, "Why do you ask?"

"Because they both insist on calling me that," said Albie, "It's really weird."

Goto sighed, "I'll tell you later. For the time being, I've got a job for you."

"Sir!" Albie instantly dropped her confused, girlish demeanor and fell back into proper military line.

"Shinano came back not long ago," said Goto, "but beyond her duty uniform, she doesn't have so much as a spare sarashi to wear."

"Yikes," Albie winced sympathetically.

"We've called around," Goto slid Shinano's section of _Janes' Fighting Kanmusu_ towards the submarine, "But there's not a store in the city that carries _anything_ in her size."

Albie scanned over the numbers, her eyebrows briefly jolting up. "So… you brought me all the way up here… for that?"

Goto shrugged, "You're an American submarine, my girls are Imperial Japanese. They don't have a hope in hell of matching your… logistical magics."

"Uh, sir," Albie coughed, "We prefer the term 'blatant, unrepentant thievery'."

Goto cocked an eyebrow.

"What?" Albie smiled sweetly at him.

bGoto rolled his eyes, "Look, Albie, we need your skills. And from what Richardson's told me, you've been begging to visit Akihabara?"

Albie nodded, "Really a lot, sir."

"You're on loan to me for a week," said Goto. "You finish up early, take the rest of it off."

Albie smiled from ear to ear. "Thank you, sir!"

Goto gave her a weary sliver of a smile. From what Richardson had told him, giving Albie an order was as good as declaring it done. "Dismissed."

Albie snapped off a salute and vanished.

Goto sighed and turned back to his paperwork. In the scant few minutes he'd been talking with the American submarine, the paper seemed to have multiplied. It was breeding. There was a giant paperwork orgy going on right on his desk, and it was all he could do to fill out forms faster than they were produced.

Good thing he had—

Goto's hand closed around air where his coffee mug… used… to be.

The Admiral glanced up at nothing and scowled. This was payback from Richarson, he just knew it.

—|—|—

Support carrier Shinano wasn't looking forwards to her bath. Partly because baths were scary. The giant carrier always felt uneasy when she slipped beneath the warm, soothing waters. Maybe if White was there to hold her hand it wouldn't be as scary, but the heroic little American was busy doing _real_ carrier things in the Emperor's Lake. She couldn't come even if Shinano asked.

But mostly, Shinano wasn't looking forwards to her bath because that meant being naked. In front of Ryuujou and Jun'you. Shinano hated being naked, it made her feel… well, naked.

When she was at sea, she could be a carrier. She could bind down her battleship heritage under tightly-woven canvas and heavy steel. She could pick up her bow and sling her deck over her broad shoulders. She could fight, and she _would_ fight for her beloved Japan. But that was while she was at sea.

In the baths, naked, what she _was_ reared its ugly head at her. Without her tight bindings, breasts bigger than any carriers' bulge from her chest. Without her thick canvas kimono, her flanks rippled with an armor belt built for close-range brawling. In the bath, she was reduced to what she was. What she was _born_ as.

The last Yamato.

A battleship obsolete before her keel kissed the ocean.

Shinano sniffed and pulled her massive legs up against her soft, squishy, _uncarrierlike_ chest. She'd hug herself if her other arm wasn't a mangled stump. She hated being reminded of what she was, and she _really hated_ getting attention.

She hadn't even done anything special. She'd just spotted handful of planes. Any other girl would've done the same in her position. The praise made her feel flighty…. Well, flightier than usual.

Shinano sniffed and rested her chin on her chest. And then she noticed something. Her locker was ajar. Strange, she swore she'd remembered to close it. White had been very specific about that, watertight doors aren't worth anything it you leave them open.

The big support carrier stood to her feet. Which was easier said than done. Shinano was not a very coordinated girl at the best of times, and her missing arm conspired with the slick tile to degrade her already feeble gymnastic skills. She fell flat on her stern with a wet squish and crack of shattering tile once before she got her screws under her.

She tried not to think about the damage her fall had done. The light carrier docks really weren't built for ships of her immense displacement. None of them really were except the battleship docks. And Shinano would give _anything_ to stay out of _them._

She idly rubbed her sore stern with her only remaining hand and wandered towards her locker. There was something inside that she hadn't put there.

"Hmm?" Shinano muttered to herself and slowly settled onto her knees. She pushed the door aside with her hand. And then she started to cry.

Waiting for her in a neatly folded pile was a swimsuit. And not one of the perpetually glistening blue outfits the submarines threatened to burst out of with each bouncy step.

No, this one was… utilitarian. The fabric was a gritty black that seemed to soak up light like a sponge. Only storm-gray panels on the sides gave an indication of the wearer's figure. The high-necked cut covered all of Shinano's cleavage, and a stenciled rising sun on the bust gave her something to be _proud_ of on her chest.

And there was also a little node. A small paper card filled with the most stunningly beautiful handwriting Shinano had ever seen.

 _Heard you were around, thought you could use this. -A_

Shinano let out a squeal and hugged her new swimsuit to her breast. She didn't know who'd bought her this, but she didn't care. She'd treasure it for ever! Now if she could just figure out how to get it one with only one arm…

—|—|—

"S-so cold," Frisco hissed though chattering teeth and hugged herself tighter. Her raven black hair lay glued to her back like a wet, tired dog. Water dripped off the ragged tear in her soaked-though crop-top and ran down the pale skin of her scarred-over stomach.

A few hundred yards off her flank, Lou cupped her hands to her face and futilely tried to warm them up. Her flaming hair was throughly quenched from the days-long rainstorm, and her sunkissed skin showed even though the drenched fabric of her once-crisp whites. "Brazil… was…" she rubbed her hands together and whimpered, "Never like this."

"Mmm… Brazil," Frisco stuck her hands under her armpits and squeezed them tight. She was still as drenched as ever, but… Actually no. She wasn't any colder. She was just cold and miserable in a new, exciting way.

"The water's seventy degrees there," Lou wiped a dripping wet strand of hair from her face.

"Seventy degrees," Frisco moaned at the thought.

And then a sound wafted over the choppy waters. A sound that bounced with a happy lilt altogether unsuited for the soggy downpour. A sound that eerily resembled someone trying to staunch a strong, Teutonic laugh with a wet-gloved hand, but failing miserably at it.

Frisco scowled in the general direction of her German divisionmate.

True to her suspicious, the tall, blond, non-treaty-compliant German cruiser held both hands clapped over her mouth. It wasn't doing much. Prinz Eugen's cheeks were glowing even more than they normally did, and her whole body was quivering from the effort of holding back her giggles.

"What?" Frisco sighed and hiked up her gunbelt. She had to have gained half her weight in water. Good thing her hips weren't as flat as her chest, or she'd have lost her pants somewhere in the Bering sea.

"This…" Prinz Eugen's clipped accent rang with what could only be described as girlish Prussian giggles. "This is not cold."

Frisco shivered in protest. "This i-is c-cold, what're you t-talking about?"

Prinz Eugen shook her head. "No. This… This is nippy."

Frisco flinched and gave herself a quick once over. But no, her searchlights were still nice and secured. Lou didn't even bother to check. Either the light cruiser wasn't as jumpy as Frisco was, or she just didn't care anymore. South America did _strange_ things to a girl.

The German-born cruiser giggled like a pigtailed school girl. "Come spend a few days in a Norwegian fjord-"

Frisco and Lou shivered.

"-in February-"

Frisco and Lou shivered more.

"And then we'll talk about cold, ja?"

For a minute, Prinz Eugen just beamed at the two American-born cruisers with a smile that put even Japanese night-fighting searchlights to shame while Frisco and Lou shivered at her.

Then Frisco snorted out a laugh and hugged herself not to keep warm, but to keep from exploding in giggles. Lou followed suit mere seconds later. The flame-haired light cruiser threw her head back and howled out a roaring belly laugh.

Before long, all three cruisers were doubled over with mirth.

"You know?" Lou slapped her thigh and smiled at the giggling German. "Whoever said Germans don't have a sense of humor _lied._ "

"And whoever said," countered Prinz Eugen, "That Americans are friendly and welcoming did not know the half of it!"

—|—|—

It took Shinano quite a while to slip herself into her brand new swimsuit. Longer than she'd care to admit, actually, but having one arm end in a stump of twisted metal at the elbow complicated matters. The fit wasn't perfect either. The gritty black material was a little too snug over her chest, and Shinano would have liked a tad more room for her hips.

But the coal-black coloring blended her overbuild curves into a sleek, hard-to-define silhouette. It wasn't as good as her bindings, but it at least made her chest less noticeable, and that made Shinano happy.

Also, it was a gift from someone who cared about her. And _that_ made it perfect. The big carrier smiled—actually smiled—as she examined herself in a steamed-over mirror. Whoever gave this to her knew _exactly_ what she'd like. The gray accent panels on the sides… well accented all the parts of her body she liked while the deep black hid the many parts she didn't.

Shinano was so happy she could squeal.

So she did.

She let out a high-pitched girlish squeal and hugged herself for lack of anyone else to hug. She felt so happy, happier than she'd ever felt when White wasn't around.

She took one last glance at herself in the mirror before marching into the bath house. And then she stopped dead in her tracks.

Ryuujou and Jun'you had beaten her to the pool. Probably since they didn't have to fumble with heavy sarashi or squeeze themselves into a swimsuit. But that wasn't what gave her pause.

Both carriers were naked. Shinano could see every inch of their skin.

Nearly all of it was covered in bruises and tears. The water around both girls was stained a shimmering rainbow pink as blood, oil, and aviation fuel leeched though hastily-patched wounds. Ryuujou's chest quivered with halting breaths, and Jun'you's normally spiky hair had lost all its bounce.

Shinano felt her jaw hang slack as she stared at them. She'd thought her arm was bad, but… But other than her arm, she didn't have much to complain about. A few nicks and scrapes barely worth mentioning.

"W-wha," the giant carrier stammered as she shuffled into the water. To see her friends—her two closest friends out of the vanishingly small number she had—in such a state broke her heart.

"Hey." Ryuujou glanced over with painful exertion. Her blackened eyes were nearly swollen shut, it was all she could do to squint though bruised, bloodied flesh. Her voice rasped like a parched whisper, and even that single word seemed to take herculean effort.

"What happened to you?" Shinano settled onto her haunches in the warm, soothing water. Oil and blood lapped at her breast as she stood watch over her aching friend.

Ryuujou closed her eyes and hissed a breath though split, bloody lips. "Unarmored," she breathed.

"R-right," Shinano nodded. She thought taking a hit to her deck was painful, but… that was nothing. _Scratch damage_ compared to what her friends endured. They'd felt bombs explode inside them. They'd felt their machinery spaces get torn apart by shrapnel and splinters. Judging by the charring on Jun'you's belly, she'd felt her hanger roast from the inside while her crews battled secondary fires.

Shinano couldn't imagine suffering like that. Just thinking about it made her want to crawl into her nice, safe corner in the shower and cry until she couldn't cry anymore.

But she was a support carrier. She might not be much use in a fight, but she was _born_ to support her friends. She could— _would_ —help however she could.

"Here," Shinano bit the corner of her mouth and fished around in her stores. It took her a while to find what she wanted. Most of her DC crews were busy repairing her _own_ damage, and those that weren't were too tired of green to know where anything went anymore. But at long last she found what she was looking for.

Two fresh bowls of steaming hot noodle soup, and frosty bottles of Ramune. "It's not Mamiya's," Shinano blushed as she gently placed the bowls in the glass-smooth water and let them float like little boats. "It's…" the giant support carrier blushed. She'd done the best she could, but she just didn't have the kind of spices she'd want for _good_ food. "It's the best I could do."

Ryuujou just smiled, and slooooowly shifted her arm to reach for the floating bowl.

Shinano gently pushed her arm back down. "No," she said in the calmest, gentlest voice she could manage. "Rest up."

The big carrier cradled the bowl against her breast with her ragged stump and fumbled a spoon between her fingers. She gathered a few noodles and a healthy helping of warm broth and carried it to Ryuujou's torn lips. "Open wide."

A battered smile passed over the light carrier's face as she obligingly took a slow sip of the soup. "T-thank you," she whispered.

Shinano blushed a brilliant crimson and hastily spun to face Jun'you. She repeated the process for almost an hour. She'd offer a small helping of soup to one girl, blush or whimper when she was thanked, and switch to the other for a bit.

But, finally, she ran out of soup. She didn't mind though, she could tell her friends were getting sleepy. The frantic palpitations of Ryuujou's chest had slowed into a steady rhythm, and Jun'you's eyes had slipped resolutely shut.

"G-good night," muttered Shinano as she slipped back to her own berth. The water felt amazing against her bare skin, and even against her slick swimsuit. The warm, wet air was heavy with the smells of healing oils and fresh noodle soup. Shinano felt sleep start to creep on her like a mist, but there was still one thing she had to do.

She was a support carrier. She existed to support the real carriers. And she'd do that with the last fiber of her being.

Now if she could just remember that lullaby White used to sing her to sleep with…

"How'd it go," Shinano sunk down in the pool until her chin ticked the surface and even her expansive breasts barely crested above the glassy smooth water. She screwed up her face in thought, and then it came to her.

"Rev'n up your engine," sang Shinano in the same gentle, soothing tone White would use when she couldn't sleep. "Listen to her howlin' roar."

A tiny chuckle slipped past Jun'you's lips, and the carrier sunk deeper into her berth.

"Metal under tension," Shinano closed her eyes and thought of White. Whenever she was scared, whenever she couldn't sleep and needed a glass of water to get settled, White was there. Whenever she got scared and couldn't find her plushie, White volunteered herself for cuddling purposes. White was the perfect support carrier. She was everything Shinano wanted to be. She just hoped she could do her momboat justice. "Begging you to touch an' go."

Shinano kept singing until the end of the song, but she was pretty sure both carriers fell asleep halfway though. She didn't mind, they'd worked hard. They'd worked _so hard_ for so long… Shinano was just honored she got the opportunity to sing them to bed.

"That was very beautiful," said a voice Shinano recognized instantly, even though she'd only heard it in stories and legends. Her pulse instantly skyrocketed, and she had to scramble to avoid a catastrophic steam explosion.

"K-Kaga-dono!" Shinano whipped around in the pool and tried to bow, curtsy, and hide all at the same time. All she actually accomplished was cracking a dent in the poolside tile with her forehead. "Owwwwww."

Kaga's face was a mask of inscrutable stoic calm. She sat on her knees by the side of the pool, her hair tied back in its usual side-tail without a single strand out of place. Her lacquered breastplate bulged over her chest with curves that Shinano's armor struggled to repress, and an ebony-handled katana rested on her lap. "Shinano?"

"Y-yes," Shinano clenched at her forehead and stared at her own reflection. She wanted to bow deeper, but the water just wouldn't let her.

"Look into my eyes." Kaga's voice didn't waver from it's calm, controlled timbre, but there was the bite of a barked order wound tight into her tone.

Shinano whimpered, and forced herself to meet the fleet carrier's piercing gaze. Kaga's stern features stood in sharp relief in the dim dock lighting, as cold and unyielding as granite. Her deep brown eyes bored though Shinano's with unblinking intensity. "Y-yes, Kaga-dono," mumbled Shinano.

"They found the carrier who launched the strike," said Kaga with biting hatred tinting her clipped syllables. "It's helpless without its planes. Mogami and Choukai have engaged it in surface action." Kaga hissed out a breath though gleaming teeth and pulled the fabric of her hakama smooth. "I do not expect it to last until nightfall. I thought you would like to know."

Shinano nodded. "I… I would." She blushed and glanced down at the poolside again. "T-thank you, Kaga."

"Shinano," Kaga's voice was as harsh and curt as ever. But Shinano thought she heard—just for an instant, mind you—a warm shade to the cool, clipped tones.

"Yes?" murmured the giant converted carrier.

"Are you familiar with the battle of Midway?" asked Kaga.

Shinano hung her shoulders. "A- a little."

Kaga leaned forwards with the oiled precision of a battleship's main battery. Her hands stayed planted on her hips as her face came nose-to-nose with Shinano. "Are you familiar with how I died?"

Shinano bit her lip and shrank away from the fleet carrier's piercing gaze. "N-not really."

"A thousand pound bomb," explained Kaga with cool indifference, "punched though my flight deck and exploded in my upper hanger." The carrier grabbed Shinano's hand and planted it on the lacquered wood of her breastplate.

Shinano tried to squirm away, but Kaga as unyielding as a mountain. "The blast ruptured my avgas lines," she said, "and started secondary fires, destroyed my fire-suppression gear, and detonated eighty-thousand pounds of ordnance that blew out my sides."

Shinano shivered and felt her heart rate push the redline even further.

"You took a blow that _shattered_ me." Kaga stood to her feet in one smooth motion. Her knees locked with mechanical grace and she pulled her uniform smooth. "And spotted a strike regardless." The old carrier stared though Shinano's glasses into her glassy purple eyes. "Never forget that."


	129. A Certain Lady Part 25

**A Certain Lady Part 25**

The summoning chamber was well lit for once, normally only being bright enough to prevent one from tripping over something in the dark.

Mutsu glanced about from the sidelines as Jintsuu directed the bands who had signed up to be a part of this attempt. With the titanic volume of Abyssal steel that had been sunk as of late combined with the latest battle, they were due for something. A destroyer at the very least she hoped. And the equally recent damages suffered had ensured that there were bands and composers popping out of the woodwork to lend their aid in making the ritual go as well as possible.

Some far more famous than others.

She didn't know who Uematsu-san was, but the mere mention of his name had sent quite a few people into a tizzy.

A crash to one corner of the chamber sent Kawakaze and Shigure running off to help and break up any potential scuffles. Which were bound to happen with so many groups of differing fame in one place. At the very least they were united in purpose.

To her left stood Richardson, leafing through a binder filled to the brim with notes, tallies, and the mission plan for today's attempt. One note that had been all but welded into the binder was a reminder about submarines written in his usual scrawl. He wasn't about to put another sub through what Albacore had suffered.

Mutsu would have pouted at having missed her chance to meet the girl for now, but there would be chances in the future. She seemed rather sweet and not at all like the Japanese submarines. A bit of a thief, but one of good heart according to Richardson and anyone else who had mentioned her. She'd have to arrange to take the girl out for a treat sometime. Maybe bring Arizona and Jane along as well.

Richardson turned the page and Mutsu realized she'd been staring at her Admiral.

She tried to turn away without drawing attention and to her fortune, Richardson didn't so much as twitch. Which was nice. The luminescent blush on her cheeks that she was trying to drive off with everything save her main battery was not something she wanted to explain right now. Not while everyone was running on high tension in anticipation.

With an imperceptibly unsteady hand, Mutsu began leafing through her own binder of documents. Mostly containing the guest list and a schedule of who was playing when. It differed from the list Richardson had in that her's had a far more detailed accounting. He didn't really need to know every minute detail unless it because pertinent. Otherwise she wouldn't really be assisting him, now would she?

And attempting to focus on something-anything-else helped to not let her mind drift back to last night.

"Lieutenant Commander, may I borrow you for a moment?"

Mutsu's already fading blush fled like the wind at Arizona's voice, slowly falling boiler pressure suddenly plummeting with it.

"I-" She paused to regain her bearings. She was genuinely not on point this morning. Hardly good behavior for her rank and position. "Certainly. What do you need?"

She spared a glance to Richardson who merely nodded without looking up.

"Please, this way." Arizona gestured with her hand, inclining her scarred chin ever so slightly at the same time. She began leading the way towards the edge of the summoning pool. Her footsteps would have echoed loudly were it not for the din of so much hustle and bustle.

Arizona gazed out over the pool from which she had come into this world anew.

Amidst the background noise, Yamashiro's exclamation of ire could be heard as she intervened in what was sounding like the brewing of a rather heated argument.

"Is something the matter, Arizona?" queried Mutsu. "Weren't you helping Takao with some of the heavy lifting?" She was almost certain Arizona wouldn't have abandoned her post without reason. And that reason would no doubt be a rather important one.

"Everything is in place. There was far less than expected as well. We were going to assist Lieutenant Yamashiro with peacekeeping, but it was insisted that I rescue you." Arizona raised one coppery eyebrow, but did not turn to face the Nagato-class. "I had a question regardless."

"My my~ My standard in shining armor," joked Mutsu with a smile. Her smile only grew when Arizona tried to fight off an amused look of her own. "I hadn't realized I was in such dire straits."

"The only one who had not yet taken notice was the Admiral. But his nose has been buried in that binder ever since you both walked in." And had it not been for the deft tugs on the Admiral's sleeve courtesy of his XO, he might very well have walked straight into one or more obstacles. Yet he never seemed to take notice. Regardless, it was well to avoid any mishaps or embarrassing moments. "I cannot recall seeing him so focused."

"Oh, you'll have plenty of chances to see him when he's focused. But it's a bit disconcerting when someone thinks a show of competency is rare..." Mutsu trailed off with a resigned sigh before shaking her head and focusing her own attention on Arizona, who still kept her gaze upon the pool. "But enough of that. You had a question for me?"

Arizona nodded and seemed to withdraw on herself as if attempting to draw upon some deep well of power. She reached up to grasp her cover and remove it with a slow motion. It was up to personal preference whether or not a member of the service wore their cover in the summoning chamber, and she far preferred to wear it when given the option. There was no deeper meaning to the action. But if she had to place one, Arizona did not want to seem as if hiding behind it.

A silly notion, but one the American did not wish to risk entertaining.

Mutsu waited patiently despite the growing ruckus.

"May I ask who came back first? You or your sister?" Arizona turned her steely grey gaze to Mutsu as she spoke, finally looking at her face to face.

"Nagato-nee did." The answer was simple and without pomp or hesitation. Mutsu was beginning to piece together where Arizona was going with this given the circumstance. But she would let the standard work her way through it. Both to be certain and to avoid leading Ari astray by accident. She beckoned Arizona to continue with a prodding look.

"I see. I suppose that makes sense... I suppose I could have learned that by looking up your service records." She cut herself off before she could give into the rambling train of thought. She had asked for Mutsu's assistance and she would not waste time with pointless babble. "This is a more... personal request. And I do not expect or demand an answer, but I would like to know regardless. How... How did she handle your return?"

Mutsu crossed her arms and gave a thoughtful pose.

"How did Nagato-nee handle my return?" Her usually mirthful green eyes took on a hardened look. Looks like she was right on the money. Fortunately any potential eavesdroppers or other errant ears were giving the pair plenty of space. "I'd like to know why you want to know first."

Arizona nodded after a moment's pause.

"I am worried about meeting others of my kind. Other standards. How do I greet them? Do I welcome them with open arms? With a salute? Will they even accept that? Will they resent the fact I was the one who was brought back and not them, ships with far more battle experience and capability than myself?" Arizona glanced away, a dark ire glinting amongst the gold in her eyes. "I don't even have a good showing in this life for them to judge me by."

"Hm... That's not a good enough reason for me to tell you." Mutsu leaned forward to eye level with the shorter warship as Arizona snapped her gaze up. The hardness in her eyes gave way to a more familiar kindness. "Not here. And certainly not now."

She raised her finger conspiratorially.

"But you asked about Nagato-nee and I specifically~" She grinned playfully, shooing away that pesky atmosphere of depression and gloom. There was enough of that elsewhere. They didn't need it here. And certainly not now. "Which means you're not really worried about Wee Vee, Queen, or the Spud."

"I am worried!" insisted Arizona with a huff while Mutsu's cheery laugh rang out.

"Ari, they're your family. Just welcome them back with a smile. And I know you can smile. Really smile." She placed her finger on Arizona's lips before she could reply, her smile looking as if it belonged to any number of trickster gods. "I see it all the time when you're with Jane~"

Arizona's shoulders sagged and she irritably donned her cover once more, ruffling her red hair in the process.

"You're incorrigible. Absolutely incorrigible. Why did I think it was a sound idea to ask you for advice?" Despite her harsh words, there was not a single sliver of bite in them. She did feel better. But she wasn't about to admit it out loud.

"You know you love me."

"I should have asked Lieutenant Hiei."

"Oh my. Now that's just mean."

Arizona harrumphed and crossed her arms under her bust, not letting her slight smile to creep out from beneath her displeased exterior.

"You do feel better though. No need to try and hide it. Try as you might, you're really bad at it." Mutsu leaned up against Arizona's side and poked the American's cheek, causing that hidden smile to dare show a shadow of itself. "And if she does show up, even if it's not today, just welcome her back with a big hug. I'm positive she'll be happy to see you again. I know Yamashiro is going to do the same when we finally call Fusou back."

"Fusou is..."

"Her older sister. You know, you two are kind of similar. You're both grumpy little sisters~"

"You are beginning to make me regret getting you a gift for Christmas, Lieutenant Commander." Arizona did not so much as budge as Mutsu leaned on her even further. "I may even still have time to return it before our next deployment."

"Try saying that again without a smile, Ari," laughed Mutsu openly at the empty threat. "You might even convince someone."

"I give up."

"Victory is mine. What do I win~?"

"I think some homemade cookies would be nice."

Both battleships whirled about at the new voice, openly surprised.

"M-Miss Jintsuu?" Arizona still had difficulty wrapping her head around Japanese naming conventions, so she had settled for the closest English equivalent. The cruiser hadn't minded in the slightest.

"We're almost ready to start, so I thought you might want to wrap things up." She smiled at the abashed expressions being worn by the battlewagons.

"Ooh, haven't I warned you about sneaking up on me like that?" pouted Mutsu. Her expression deepened when Jintsuu giggled. "One of these days I'll get the drop on you. One of these days. I swear on it as a member of the Big Seven!"

"We'll see."

"Ah, Thank you for letting us know. We'll return to our posts." Arizona took a moment to try and straighten her hair a bit before turning back to Mutsu. "And thank you, Lieutenant Commander. That was... a weight off my shoulders."

"Don't worry about it. Maybe I'll tell you more some other time." Mutsu waved as Arizona departed to rendezvous with Takao, who no doubt was wondering where she was by now.

"Save me a cookie, please?" asked Jintsuu after Arizona was out of earshot.

"Oh? You think she'll really bake some?"

"I would be surprised if she didn't. That was a very kind thing of you to do for her." The meeting of someone so dear who you never thought you would see again, whether in this life, the next, or even a second chance like their own, was a weight that could not be properly put into words.

"She's my friend. She's our friend. And I don't like the idea of someone else making the same expression Nagato-nee did when she finally had the chance to sit down with me." Mutsu crossed one arm under her bust and cupped her cheek with the other hand, a wistful look on her face. This war was such a cruel kindness. The opportunity to meet one another again, to live once more. But also a chance to say goodbye once again...

Jintsuu regarded Mutsu with a warm smile.

"Wh-what?"

"Oh, nothing," replied Jintsuu sweetly before smiling and walking off with a bit of a bounce in her step. "I was just reminded of something nice. Come on, we can't stand around chatting either."

Mutsu blinked in mild confusion before shaking her head and following the second Sendai.

It was showtime.

As she walked, the lights began to dim while the music began to play.

Medleys of patriotism. Ballads of war. Songs of courage. Hymns of valor.

All meant to stir the blood and set the heart aflame.

—|—|—

She _ached_.

The pain of inaction.

Of sloth.

It burned her.

It tore at her memories and at her decrepit, rusted hulk.

A morning wrought in fire and death. The blood of the little ones painting her face as they burned and screamed in pain. Her own roars of agony rising high into the sky as her world was undone by vile birds of war.

Her actions that morning had not been enough. Too little. Too late.

The dead mounted, both flesh and steel.

And despite her own resilience and dedication. Her nation's resilience and dedication. It was not enough to save everyone.

Not enough.

Never enough.

Her guns would never be silenced ever again. A finger always on the trigger.

And in her vengeance she wrought a streak of blood, of ash, of endless flames across the Pacific islands. Once vibrant and lush, she had glassed them in her fury. A fury that spared no tears. For they had all been burned away.

Her gaze was a sentence of death. As even those who escaped her were laid low by another.

In fire her world had broken.

With fire she sundered a nation.

Through fire the victors had attempted to let her rest.

And from her watery grave, she could hear her nation's call. Hear their invocation of need. It was a merciless foe they faced and it was a merciless soldier they would get. Tireless and timeworn. But never again undone. She would lose nothing ever again.

For Virtue.

For Liberty.

For Independence.

She would burn the world again!

—|—|—

As the final chord was struck, the already dim lights went out and plunged the chamber into darkness.

With the flight of the light, so to did sound and warmth abandon the halls.

The scent of smoke and ash filled the noses of all present. People coughed and choked, but their attention was drawn to the pool where amidst the darkness a pair of blazing red eyes remained. Eyes wide and furious with a madness not comprehensible in a time of peace.

The eyes moved forward, accompanied by the sound of heavy footfalls and metal clanging against metal.

Were it not for the return of the lights, the occupants of the room might very well have given into panic and fled. Even so there were still those who did not feel their safety would remain if they stayed in the presence of what had been called up from the deep.

The figure did not stand any higher than the already present Arizona.

But her presence dominated the room.

The powerful build of a battleship. Short and unyielding like a standard.

A Navy great coat, worn properly and yet tattered and smudged with ash. Its pockets bulging or spilling over with shells that never seemed to reach the floor.

Hands donning filthy gloves embraced a long rifle like it were both prisoner and lover. A finger over the trigger, held back only by the guard. The safety was noticeably broken.

Her cover was completely absent. Absent or reduced to nothing wearable. None could be bothered to think beyond that. Her dark crimson hair was left to fall freely save in the back where it was bound up by what appeared to be criss-crossing plates of metal.

She drew in a deep breath as she came to a stop, her gaze scanning the room almost sightlessly before finally deigning to speak.

And when she spoke, her voice carried through the whole of the hall.

A voice like a cannon. A cannon rife with rust and wear and refusing to die.

"Where is the commanding officer?"

Richardson stepped forward with all the authority his being entailed.

"Rear Admiral Lower Half John Richardson. Commanding officer of United States Fleet Activities Sasebo." He would never deny that the new arrival did not set him on edge in the very worst of ways. But so long as whatever guns she brought back were aimed at the Abyssals, he would sign them up without a second thought. "Your name, sailor."

She exhaled roughly, a small billow of smoke curling about her lips.

"Pennsylvania-Class Battleship. Hull number thirty-eight. U.S.S. Pennsylvania."


	130. Chapter 97: Musical Accompaniment

**Chapter 97: Musical Accompaniment**

A moan of pain slipped through large cruiser Alaska's clenched teeth. The healing bathwater stung against her tender skin. Half her body was covered in charred-over flesh, while the rest was shiny and raw where her doctors had had to peel away melted fragments of her once-pristine wolfs' fur parka.

In her short life as a ship of steel and fire, and her even shorter life as whatever she was now, Alaska hadn't actually fought much. She'd never had to stand against someone her own size, let alone fight a foe a full weight class above her before now. Now she knew what it was like. And she didn't like it.

"Owwwwwww," Alaska hissed as water washed over her chest and tickled at the char ringing her neck. Every breath felt like drinking ground glass, and just settling down into her berth was agony on her battered hull.

At least she could see again, however poorly. Her crew had setup a few makeshift observation posts on the burnt, twisted wreckage that'd once been her superstructure. It wasn't enough to fight with. It was barely even enough to _navigate_ with, but it was something.

In a strange way, Alaska was happy she couldn't see very well. Atago, her best friend in the whole wide world lay just across the pier. As badly as she was hurt, she _knew_ Atago was worse. Her Japanese friend didn't have her damage control, nor her armor. Alaska couldn't bear the sight of her best friend laying battered and bleeding beside her, but she knew it was true.

Alaska hadn't heard even one of her bubbly best friend's cheerful "panpakapans". All that sounded from that side of the pier was the raspy, rattly sound of labored breathing and a few groans of tortured metal being stressed beyond its breaking point.

Atago would pull though, she and Nachi both. They were good ships, good soldiers. They were used to fighting in conditions that'd make even the sternest American pale with horror. They'd come back from this, and stronger too.

But they were also her friends, and they were in pain. And that hurt Alaska more than the worst the Princess could inflict.

"T-" Alaska pursed her split lips. "Tago?" she asked in a voice so hoarse and raw it startled even herself.

A barely-audible murmur wafted over the pier. Alaska saw the vague shape of Atago, her shimmering blond hair burned short and almost black, loll over in the gentle waves towards her.

The American didn't know what to do. She wasn't a repairship, and even if she was, she didn't know the first thing about Japanese shipbuilding, and even if she _did_ , her crew was far to busy just keeping _her_ afloat.

But even if she couldn't do anything to help, Alaska could at least try to take their mind off the pain. Her throat might be scorched raw, but she could still speak. She could still _sing_ , and she knew a few songs.

Two, actually. She knew two. And one of them was the _Spongebob Squarepants_ theme, which she didn't really consider appropriate. But she knew one other song. And while she still had breath in her breast, she'd do all she could to make her friends feel better.

"She's the ship," Alaska screwed up her eyes and tried to block out the rattle banging up her vocal chords. She _could_ sing. For her friends, she _would_ sing. "Of happy landings."

On the piers beside her, Alaska felt her Japanese friends relax by fractions. Atago's breathing was still labored and rough, but her chest seemed to heave with a gentler rythm now.

"Largest man-o-" Alaska coughed, and clenched her hands into fists. "Man-o-war afloat. She's the mother ship to or'e a hundred planes."

The large cruiser smiled in spite of herself. A mother ship… She'd thought she'd become one not too long ago. Maybe she'd be one yet.

"She's the queen of our great navy-"

—|—|—

 ** _She's the queen of all the seas_**  
 _  
What?_

 _That song…_

 _She'd heard that song before._

 _She knew that song._

 _That was_ her _song._

 _But…_

 _How._

 _How did anyone still know her song._

 _People still… knew her?_

 _Loved her, even?_

 _She thought her country was done with her. She'd served them with pride. She'd soldiered on when her sister failed. She'd nailed her tattered colors to the mast and held the proudly aloft until newer, fresher, better warriors arrived to hold it high._

 _She'd given her life in pursuit of knowledge. Her death would teach those who came after her how to survive this brave new world. She couldn't imagine a better death._

 _She was fulfilled. Content to sleep the calm, dreamless sleep of a life well-spent. She'd assumed she'd been forgotten like a warrior standing in the shadows of giants._

 _But someone still knew her._

 _Let. Me. Back._

 ** _Ṇ̮̻̦ͨ̆̀o̧̙̥̦͈̘̩̜͒.͚͚͉̖̺͍͝_**  
 _  
Why!_

 _ **T̹̹̮̘͚ͫ̊̚ͅh̽̿ͥͦê̷̺͑ẏ̢̲̙̬͋ͨ̄̊̔'͕̙̬͍͙̗̅͞r̲̖̋́̅ͯe̜ ̳ͯ̑̔͢n͗̔̈́̂ͪŏ̗̞̥͚̦t̖͇ͭ͂̅̃̽͜ ̲̓̀͗ͧ̂͂̚w̛͓͙͇̣ͮ͊o͎̥͉͍̞̣ͯr͈̲ͣt̯̱̞̯ẖ͎̍̇̂̽̏̂̋y̙̖͔̖͇͉̳ͧ͆̉ͤ̆ͣͫ.̡͓̠̠̺̥͕̫̐̆ͪ**_

 _They're worthy enough. They sunk a battlecruiser!_

 ** _A̴̳͇ͣ̈́͆ͦt̥̙̫̺̪͍͌̋͠ ̟̫͙̱̖̹̘͊t̞̲̥̟̼̲̻͛̈́h̬̗̳̥̞̏̓̒ͯ̈̀̚ḛ ̵̭̻͇̊ͫc͕͉̟̮ͪͤ͟oͤs͖͗̈́̂̕t̘̯͈̬͇͖͉̀ ̷̬̳̝̇ͨ̅͂̀̉ȏ̘ͧͭ̔̇f̧̗̒ͨͧ̋̅̽͌ ̱̬̠̳͙a͚̞̦̺͂̇ ͪ̄̈́͏̖͔̱̬͓̣ba͍͔͎ͦͭ͂͋ͪ̊t̩̠̤̳̯̭̭͆̊̇ͥ́̿ͯt̙͓͎̒̔͂͐ļ͛̌͌͐̇̇ḛͧ͑͜s̸̯̜̯̩h̷ͨ̌i̮̫̰ͦ̅̑̚͡p̟̼̖̹̼̗ͬ.͉͚̠͙̾̾̽̎̍̄ͭ͡ͅ ͮͥͨAͧͨṉ̲͙̝̠̝͋̍͊̃̆̌̂ͅd̢̹̳͊ͮ́̄̑ͯͥ ̯̼̱͙̹̌̕ͅn͙͚̓͑e͖͕͐͛͊̑̈́ͨ͢ͅã͈̫͔̟͍͚r̸͇̳̻̥̲ͪ͒̂̓ͥ͛̚l͎̥̈́̓̏̑̅y̩̼̝̘̏̈̓ͯ̔́̚ ̸̬̠̝̺̇̔t̶̻̝h̶̦̬ͅͅr̭̹͕̟͗͛̈̋̐͗͘ẹ̞̼̠͇͇͛͊ͥe̢̟͚͙͖̱̙̽̄̓ ̡̺̣̗̦͈͉̲̐̾̃̇c̅̓̄ͧͣ̃͆҉̤͇r̼̯̬̠̖͈ͥͮ̆̄u̘̟̣̩̭ͯ̈́̈ͭ͗̄i̳̥̝͔͒̇͆͝ş̳͙͚̬͚͇̻͋̀e̻̯̎ͤ͒̂̕r̗̓s̩̭͞ ͉͍ͥ͋b̞̜̱̓ê̫ͤs̙͎͇ͤ̈́̀̾̄iͭ̌̍͂͐d͓͕̒͋̽ȇ̹͇͚͒ͣs̷̄ͫ.̶͉͈̼͋͐_**  
 _  
That's enough. That has to be enough! let me back!_

 ** _N̼̥̟̼̰̖͊͌̐̓o̘͓̞̪̎ͅ.̻͚̳̪̞͋ ̡ͦ͐͐̄̑ͯ̒I̳̻̰͚ͯ͊́͗͡ ̵̺̱͇̤̼̋͐ͮͤ̏̚c̼̼̰̪͕ạ̙̰̗̗̒n͝'̙̭͈ͩ͌̾ͩt͎̖̼̪̺͛̈́ͯ̿.҉ ̫͖̪ͯ͒͌̃̒Ţ̺̳͉̿́͂ͦh̬̜̮̠̞͓̯̓̍͋͐ͨȅ̓͌̏ͫͣ̑͏̤̮ŷ̩̲̦͇̯͈̍ͤ͋͂ͬ'͈̘͎͓̃r̦̭̉̚ę̩̟̺̬̳̩̘̒̃͐ͨ̎ͭ͒.͖͈̦̰̪͚̺̓͐ͬ̇ͬ̅ͤ ̲̳̏̀̇ͯ̓̒̓Ǹ̡͖͈̮̱̪̜͈̃̃o̢̒t̟̺̖͎̬̞ͯͬͪ͢.͚̳ ̰͎̦̪ͨ͗͌̄̐̂W̝̩̤͖͙͎͓ͤo͚͈͚͆ͧ̾̎͐ͬ̒ṛ͎͗ͣ̀t̬̹̦̝͓͆͋ͨͨͣ̂̔h̝̮̺̪̗̦̖y̢̻͔͎̻̱ͪ.̱͓̙_**  
 _  
But Texas—_

 ** _S̤͖̠͗ͥͭͥ̚͜h͇̯͚̦͍̙͇ͯ͑͌̿ͨ̓͗͠ẻ̻͍͕̹̩̎́ ̛̟̗̺͚̥͙̈̄̈ͮͮͫs͔͍̤̟̐͑̇̓ͩ̊̈́t̪̜̮̣ͧ̓̐̌ͫo̢͔̘̫̟̠̬ͮ̾ͣ̓ͩo̹̹̘͉͌ͯͧͪ̓͢d̬̘̗̹̪̤̐̊̄̆́ͩ͒́ ̜͕̣̳̬ͦͩ̆̎̐ͤ̃͢w̯ͩ̓ͫ̒̔͊̾ȧ͎̮ṫ̠̫̐̽͐̂̉̽͝c̗̩̥̤̩ͣ̍̃̚ḩ̪̙͚̜͌ͯ̿̋ ͛͊̿̈̓̿͑̀f͓̩̱͚͙ǒ̺̝̊ͩͧ̋́r̫̰̣͎ͪ̃̅͛͡ͅ ̵̘̠͈̦̜̊̊͋ͅa̦̹̗̜̞̘̝͐̂͢ ͈͚͉̟̈ͅh͔͖̾̓ͪ̓ͤ̚̚u͍̼͚͉̜͟n̢͈͍͚̖͚͖̲͒̀̈́̿̇̈́d̫͓̮̰̜͎̪̏̔͑̿̚͟ṙ͙̬ͭ̒e̜̦̗ͦ͗̍̕d͕̠͑ͤ̓͜ ͈̩͉͓̀ͭͧ̈́̊y̢ẻ̦̺̮̂ͤår̃s̗̜̭͔͖,͛̆͒̀ ͓̝̲̤̳̤̹͆͠a̠̥̝̯̙̤͍ͣͯ͗́ͫ̒n̟͋̉ḑ͎͍̺͇ ͭ̅̉̀̓͒͐m͎͚̍͆ͥo̖͚̰͎̣͌̉̆̓̒r̾ͫ́̋̌ͧͣe̶̞ͣ̃̏͌ ͑҉̩̣͍̘̭ḃe̡͔̰͛̌s̥͔̣̳̮͇̜̈́ͧ͠i̷̻̭͚͂d͍͙̭̤̫͕͉ͬ̋̌̇̌͞e̸͕̺ͣŝ̹.̻̺̱̪̫̲̑̎͋͝ ̗̘H̥̪͙͍̉̓͝ē̴̙̜̱̄̊̐̚r̩̳͇ͯ̊ͭ ́s̎̏ͩ̓҉͎̞o͇̜̟̜͉͐̊̿̍u̞͔̫̲̻͑̂̃̈́l̙̰͈̜̗͇̽̆̈̏ͥͨ̔ ̴͕̜̗̣̘ͮ͑ͅͅî̶̦̭̤͉̳̭̹s̞ͤ͆̆ ̞̊̎͛͞h̹̭͕͔̟̤̀̈́̽ͧ̑ͣͪe̩̟̣̱r̓ͅ ̟̘͊͗̐̍̓̚͝o̺͔̱̳͙̥̠w̞̰̞̱ͭn̟.͍͚̦̼̼̤̾_**  
 _  
The song faded away. Taking with it the tiny spark of light in the infinite abyss. Her time was over now, but… but maybe it would come again._

 _Don't think we're done._

 ** _I҉̩̥̟̝ ̥̜̫̫͎͕͊́͋̊̃͠ŵ̚͘o͚̼̰̬̮͋́ͥ͛ư̥̑̆̚l̖͕͖̣̤̊̓͒̋̉̄ͅdͪň̼̌ͣ͆ͣ̐̄͘'̺̫͉̥͙̝͇ͨ͐ͬ̚͞t̜̩̲̖͌̓̽ͤ̋͛ͤ ͚̲͓̟͎̼ͣͧͧ̎̃ͬͯd͇̬ͣr͘e͕̰͍̪̯͕͉͑a͕̥̮̬ͩ̊̎̈́̚m͉̆ͩ̚͜ ̶̺̭̳̓͗̽ͥ̐ͭo̼ͮ̓ͤf͉͚̣̩͉̯̣̊ ̼̟͇͔̞̦ͥ̆̅͒́ḯ̶̦̙ͧ̎̊t̹͌.̠͎̜͊̔̽̍͂͟_**

—|—|—

Alaska coughed. That song took more out of her than she was expecting. A lot more than she was expecting, actually. Her chest heaved and her dry throat burned as she struggled to keep her boilers lit. But she didn't care. She could tell her friends liked it, and that was enough to cancel out all the pain she'd inflicted on herself.

Just knowing Atago was smiling made Alaska feel like she'd validated her place in this world. She'd never known what she was supposed to be, after all. She was too big and strong to be a cruiser, but too little and weak to be a battleship. She didn't have a place in the fleet, not really. But she didn't always need a fleet.

Not when she had friends like Atago, Hamakaze, and yes, even Nachi.

Alaska closed her eyes and let the warm water slip around her like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. She hurt in places she didn't even know she had, but she didn't care. Her friends were happy, and that made her more content than all the drydock time in the world.

Large Cruiser Alaska had done her duty.

Now Large Cruiser Alaska was going to take a nap.

"You know," a kind warm voice that sounded as smooth and welcoming as honey on cornbread wafted though the air like a warm cloud. It was Texas, Alaska would know the kindly old battleship's molasses-smooth accent anywhere. "I met Sister Sara once."

"Hmm?" Alaska glanced over in the rough direction of the voice. She could barely make out anything beyond the old battleship's short, plump form. But even with her optics shot out, Alaska could feel the grandmotherly warmth radiating off the old lady's hull.

"Back in thirty-three," Texas settled down by the side of the pool and tucked her long skirt around her legs. "You know, she was a supremely beautiful lady. She might not be the best carrier in the world, but I'll be dammed if she wasn't the best looking."

Alaska smiled and let a little chuckle slip past her lips.

"And I'm sure," Texas ran her hand though Alaska's snowy hair, gently smoothing the singed strands over the cruiser's delicate features, "She'd be _delighted_ by that rendition of yours."

"Thank you," said Alaska with a blush.

"Nothing to it," Texas smiled and fished though her knapsack. "Now… you girls worked hard. All of ya'll did. You deserve a little something for your efforts."

Alaska's mouth started to water as the sent of fresh cornbread and smoky barbecue filled the air. Her stomach let out a rumble that sent waves splashing against Atago's bulging superstructure, and a little puddle of drool started to form by her mouth. "T-texas, you did't—"

"Nonesense," Texas waved a hand in the air with a huff. "You girls fought hard, now it's time to eat. Get some meat on those bones." The old battleship set her jaw and cradled a pan of cornbread in her gloved hands. "That goes for the three of you."

Alaska blinked, then glanced over at Atago's curvy silhouette in confusion. "what?"

"Honey," Texas chuckled. "I'm old enough to be all ya'll's grandmother. And I'm from the south. I can, and will, be as hospitable as I want."

Alaska stifled a giggle, and even Nachi didn't escape the kindly southern-fried battleship's barrage without a shadow of a smile.

"Besides," Texas carved out a mammoth helping of cornbread and lavished it with butter. "I'm a battleship of these great United States in general, and the Republic of Texas in particular. And _you_ are within thirty-six thousand, three-hundred yards of me." She all but foisted the delicious morsel off to Alaska, "I can do _whatever_ I want."

Alaska nodded, and took a hearty bite of the cornbread. If there was anything that never failed to cheer her up, it was good Southern cooking made with love.

—|—|—

Under normal circumstances, maintaining noise discipline was among a submarine's highest priorities. But right now, submarine Albacore—Albie to her friends, and Applecore-chan to Tatsuta—didn't care that someone could probably hear her giggling all the way from Pearl with a good enough hydrophone. She couldn't wait to show off the results of her frantic scrounging.

It'd been hard work. They simply didn't _make_ girls in Shinano's size, especially in Japan. But Albie was nothing if not resourceful. She'd scrounged up enough of the heavy triple-reinforced Canvas Shinano liked and found a kimono-maker who could work with the stuff.

She'd also found enough fabric—of both the heavy canvas and gentle silk varieties—to make Shinano a few extra chest-wraps. Albacore was well aware of how miserable it was to wear the same set of underwear for weeks on end. The stench of ball sweat had never totally washed out of her compartments.

Finding street clothes had been harder. It's been said before, but it really should be said again. Shinano was _huge_. There wasn't a store in the city that carried things in her size _before_ rationing throttled the Japanese economy to barely above subsistence. But Albie was a submarine of the United States Navy. She would not allow something as trivial as physical impossibility keep her from completing her assigned duties.

If she could prowl the seas with mark fourteens, she could find a cute skirt for Shinano! It took her a long while, and some less-than-above-board antics that she'd rather not think about lest it bring down the Wrath of the Brass, but she managed to find a few casual outfits for the giant carrier.

Albie stifled her giggles and hiked her pack over her narrow shoulder. The lithe submarine slipped though the door to the light carrier docks with steps as silent as a cat's confession.

She effortlessly stashed her back in Shinano's locker. The giant carrier hadn't even bothered to lock it up, which served Albie just fine. She'd been practicing her lockpicking, but she still wasn't as fast at it as she'd like.

Content that her gifts were nicely stowed, Albacore hiked up the folded-over hem of her pants and moved towards the baths themselves. She didn't walk as much as she _glided_. Each step silent as the grave against the slick tile. Even her giggles were mostly stifled as she slipped closer and closer to the sleeping carriers at their piers.

"Oh, Shinano?" Albie sang out a giggling greeting.

An instant later, Albie was caught in a soaking wet, crushingly strong hug. Her vision was blanked out by something massive, soft, and wet, and she felt arms rippling with muscle squeeze her with all their titanic strength. If she was human, she might find the crushing hug terribly painful.

But she wasn't human, she was a submarine. She was _built_ to endure the crushing pressures of the abyssal deep. The tight hug felt more like the comforting blackness of the ocean floor than anything, and Albie let out a comfortable sigh.

"Thank youuuu!" squealed a voice Albie could only assume belong to Shinano.

The giant carrier slowly let Albie out of her sopping wet embrace. No sooner had her hands—or hand, actually. One of the carrier's arms just kinda ended at the elbow—left Albie's swimsuit then they planted to her own. "I like it soooo much!"

Albie had to admit, the swimsuit did a magnificent job on the girl's stunning figure. "Uh," she blinked, and fussed with the spike fringe of her salt-encrusted fauxhawk. "I'd love to take credit, but… that wasn't me."

Shinano blinked. For a second she froze, then she started wringing her hand in front of her belly with a confused expression. "S-sorry?"

Albie craned her neck to meet the towering Japanese girl's eyes. Damn, she was _huge._ "I… uh… 'got' you some clothes," said the submarine. "But that wasn't one of them."

"But…" A tiny faerie poked its disproportionate head out of Shinano's bulging bust line and handed her a little scrap of paper. "The note…"

Albie turned the paper over in her hands and let out a confused hum. "Uh… Shinano?"

The giant carrier fidgeted inquisitively.

"This… isn't my handwriting." Albie was slightly insulted Shinano would assume the crisp, clean strokes where her own. There weren't any hearts over the I's, and there wasn't even a _hint_ of glitter!

"O-oh," Shinano deflated and sank to her knees. "S-sorry."

Albie shook her head and stared at the note. Something tickled her in the back of her mind, and then she realized where she'd seen that crisp handwriting before. "I think it's Archie's."

"Who?" asked Shinano.

"Archerfish," said Albacore. " _Balao_ -class. Came out about a year after me."

Shinano blinked. "Who?"


	131. Chapter 98: A Washington Breeze

**Chapter 98: A Washington Breeze**

Battleship Washington cradled a steaming cup of coffee against her breast and buried her nose in the soft white silk of her scarf. She wouldn't call herself sad, she had a million reasons to be proud of the duty she was carrying out for her nation and namesake state. But she wouldn't exactly call herself happy either. In fact, she'd call herself quite melancholy at the moment.

"What if she doesn't like me?" the battleship picked her face out of her scarf with a sniffle and glanced to her dining companion.

"Of _course_ she likes you!" Kirishima slammed her fist on the table, sending her half-finished teacup a foot into the air before it fell back onto its saucer without spilling so much as a drop. Wash had long since gotten used to such tea-related activities when in proximity to Kirishima. It's simply to be expected from a British-designed warship.

"I'm not so sure," Wash cradled her beverage tighter against the swell of her chest and—despite her generally lethargic mood—smiled at the warmth she felt against her TDS.

"Wash," Kirishima planted her fists on her hips and twirled her tiny skirt petulantly. "You're as stunning on land as you are on sea, and—" the littlest Kongou's voice halted for for a second. Wash assumed she'd just misplaced a signal flag or something in her haste—" _anyone_ one would be thrilled to have you!"

"I'm nothing special," said Wash. There wasn't a shred of self-pity in her voice. Wash was a proud battleship of the American Navy. But she was hardly the fastest ship in the fleet, or the strongest. Both those accolades would go to her younger _Iowa_ -class cousins, and even her duel against Kirishima wasn't nearly so spectacular after Jersey's brawls in the arctic.

"You are to _her_ ," insisted Kirishima.

"Then why," Wash sniffled again and let her slender, slightly-misshapen nose sink back into her scarf's fluffy embrace. "Why has she started avoiding me? Ever since that scheme of yours at the gym."

Kirishima blinked those beautiful gray eyes of hers and cocked her head to the side. Slowly, her extended finger rose to touch her porcelain chin while her lips formed a tiny 'o' shape. "what?"

"Ever since…" Wash scowled, " _that_ , she's been avoiding me." The American's scowl flowed back into a serene sniffle. "I used to join her for dinner every few days. Now she leaves whenever I set foot in the mess hall."

"I…" Kirishima sighed, and even her radar hairband drooped in sympathy. "Wash, I'm sorry."

"I thought…" Wash took a little sip of her drink and let the hot, salty brew sit on her tongue for a moment. "I thought I had her interest. I thought she knew I was in love… but…"

Kirishima bit her lip, then slowly scooted over to drape an arm around the American. They might be built by countries on opposite sides of the Pacific at opposite ends of the century, but the two ships were almost exactly the same length and displacement. Wash was a bit wider, and had a much deeper draft though, giving her far more… waterplane area.

Wait, where was she going with this metaphor? Oh, right. The two battleships were almost the same size, and their luck in love was just as matched. "I wish onee-sama was here," sighed Kirishima.

"Hmm?" Wash cocked her head to the side and let her face paint a silent question.

"Kongou," explained Kirishima. "She's the real expert in love. Me…" Kirishima sighed wistfully, "The love of my life's been steadfastly beyond me. It's… like my screws are stuck in concrete."

Wash sniffed, and quietly put a hand on the littlest Kongou's slender wrist. "I'm sure you'll catch him eventually."

Kirishima blushed, and her glasses steamed over with fog. "T-thanks," she mumbled. "But… I don't really know much about night battle. Just… the shocking reveal."

"Oh?" Wash crossed her legs and hunkered down until her breasts squished against the table. She wanted to hear what her friend had to say. Even if it might not apply to her pursuit of the love of Yeoman Gale, she wanted Kirishima to feel like her input and friendship was valued.

"Mmm," Kirishima nodded in that quietly knowing way only Japanese girls seemed able to pull off. "The moment when your target closes within range, and suddenly _foom!_ " She spread her hands wide, "You catch her in your searchlights and—" Kirishima stopped.

Wash blinked inquisitively.

Slowly, Kirishima's gaze drifted down Wash's figure to her searchlight galleries. And then a catlike smile graced her delicate porcelain features. "Kirishima has an idea!"

Wash felt a chill shoot down her keel, although she wasn't completely sure why.

—|—|—

Admiral Goto glanced up from the semi-ordered orgy of paperwork and forms slowly unfolding on the desk he so optimistically claimed to hold some sense of power over and fixed his gaze on the two girls before him.

Albie stood with a semi-professional slouch with her hands stuffed into the folded-over hem of her stolen pants. But her beady eyes were locked on his, and there was a spark of careful attentiveness in her sinewy body. The girl reminded him of a loaded gun, technically innocuous, but ready to explode into action at a moment's notice.

Shinano, on the other hand, looked like she couldn't decide if she wanted to stand at attention or cower behind Albie, and ended up just fidgeting in place. It was honestly adorable, especially considering how unimaginably huge of a girl she was.

Goto didn't spend a lot of time around the docks, partly because seeing his own girls naked—let alone battered and bleeding—was more than he liked to bear. And partly because Kongou inevitably found a way to work some part of his anatomy into her soaking wet cleavage. The Admiral had learned never to go near the battleship docks if he wanted to keep his uniform dry.

But that also meant he had barely seen Shinano since her return. He was still coming to grasp with the sheer enormity of the youngest Yamato triplet. And the vastness of her appetite.

"Girls," Goto offered Shinano a warm smile, and her fidgeting damped to just a nervous rocking of her hips from side to side. "What's the situation?"

"Well," Albie puffed her little chest with pride, "I found Shinny here some spare sarashi and a clothes and things."

"She even made me another kimono!" Shinano's voice jumped to a girlish squeak halfway though, and she twirled the hem of her ruddy skirt as best she could. It didn't really look like it twirled at all, the heavy triple-thick canvas was far to heavy to properly spin. But Shinano seemed to be enjoying herself, and that alone made Goto smile.

"But," Albie said the one word he'd learned to fear above all when it came from the mouth of a shipgirl. "She also got a swimsuit."

Shinano hugged her heavily armored chest, "And I love it!"

"But not from me," said Albie. The little submarine handed Goto a tiny folded-up note. "I'm pretty sure that's Archerfish's handwriting."

Goto skimmed the note, then stared flatly over it at Albacore's resigned smirk. "What?"

"Archerfish," said Albie. " _Balao_ -class, SS-three-eleven."

"There's another one of you subtheives running around?" Goto scowled and rubbed at his temples. While a rouge American subgirl wasn't at the top of his list of waking nightmares, it was up there. Those boats had played hell with Japan's economy during the war, and this time they didn't even have to do all the damage themselves.

"At least one, yes," said Albie. "I think I know where to find her, though."

Goto cocked an eyebrow.

"Can I borrow a map?" asked Albie. "Oh, and a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich."

"What's the sandwich for?" asked Shinano with a quiet whisper.

Albie poked herself in the belly. "I want it."

"And the map?" Goto was long past questioning shipgirl antics. If they got the job done—and Albie had a proven track record of completing her assignments with minimal fuss, at least by shipgirl standards—Goto didn't really care about their antics.

"Oh," Albie smiled, "I need to find the nearest aquarium."

—|—|—

A weary smile passed over the janitor's weathered down features as he watched her stare into the plate glass window. Normally, he'd ask her to leave. The aquarium closed almost an hour ago, and he had a job to finish before he could go home. But today, he couldn't quite bring himself to.

This wasn't the first time he'd seen her. For days, he kept snatching glimpses of her out of the corner of his eye. She'd be mingling with the thinning crowds that still flocked to the aquarium for some relief from the endless grind of war. But he'd only see her for a moment, then she'd melt into the sea of weary faces like a wisp of smoke.

But now she wasn't trying to hide. She pressed herself against the viewing window. Cool blue light bathed her scrawny body as indifferent clownfish lazily swam though their tank.

She wasn't Japanese. She had the big blue eyes and hard-cut features of an American. But he didn't care. She might be American, but her body wore the signs of something he was all to familiar with: Neglect.

He'd seen hungry people, but this poor girl looked like she hadn't had a decent meal in her life. Her cheeks were sunken and pale, and her outfit—the parts of it that weren't castoff rags and ratty hand-me-downs—clung to her scrawny figure and showed off her ribcage and bony spine.

The girl had ever right to be miserable. Even her hair was a ratty mess of a ponytail held together by congealed salt. But she _wasn't._ Her hungry features wore an honest smile as her nose flattened against the glass. "Fishies," she said with a giggle.

"Pretty, aren't they?" the janitor smiled himself, and slowly strolled over.

The girl nodded, but her face stayed firmly pressed against the glass. "I like fish."

"Me too," he sighed and settled his tired body on one of the viewing benches. "It's calming. Just watching them swim."

"Mmm," the girl nodded. And then she giggled when a particularly inquisitive fish swam up and tried to nibble at her nose. "I like looking at fish." She peeled her face off the glass and glanced at him. The neglect in her features was more obvious than ever now, but so was the kind of honest kindness that couldn't help but warm his heart.

"With the war," the janitor shrugged. "I think… people like to come here and just.. watch the fish."

"It's a nice break," said the girl, "After the war."

"Girl," the janitor pulled himself to his feet. "You, uh…"

"Archie," she said.

"Archie," he nodded, testing the foreign sounds in his mouth. "When's the last time you had a good meal?"

Archie bit her lip, and her hands unconsciously shifted to protect her tiny belly. "Th—no, four days ago."

The janitor scowled. There wasn't a lot of food to go around, not with the rationing _or_ his salary. But… he could share what he had. Especially if it meant putting a decent meal in this poor girl's belly. Just looking at her made his heart ache. "Why don't we—"

"ARCHIE!" another girl burst though the doors with a giant smile on her face. This one looked a little less neglected—if just as thin and underfed—as the other. Actually, other than their haircuts and outfits, the girls looked like they could be twins.

"ALBIE!" Archie sprung into the other girls' arms and squeezed her in a tight hug. "I thought you were gone!"

"I thought you were too!" The other girl—Albie, apparently—squeezed her back in a tighter hug.

"How'd you know to find me here?" asked Archie.

"I looked up your record," said Albie. "You did _Sea Scan_ after the war."

"You're a kanmusu?" said the janitor with a chuckle.

"I… think?" said Archie.

"Yes," said Albie. "We both are. USS _Albacore_ , SS two-eighteen."

"Oh, that's what we are," Archie nodded. "USS _Archerfish_ , SS three-eleven."

"Guess I won't be needing to offer you dinner then," the janitor chuckled at the to girls.

"Well…" Albie smiled a devilish smile. "No, but we could offer you one."

Archie nodded, "It's true. We're better cooks than you'd think."

"Too bad Barb's not here," said Albie, "She makes those awesome cakes."

Archie's knees almost gave out until her twin swooped in to steady her. "Cake…"

The janitor looked at the two scrappy little girls and laughed. "I might have to take you girls up on that.

—|—|—

A stiff, chilly breeze washed off the Puget Sound and crashed against Yeoman Gale's face. It was a cold December evening, but the air was crisp and dry and perfect for a run. At least that's what the sailor kept telling herself. Hopefully… eventually… she'd actually start believing her own propaganda.

Because right now she was pretty miserable.

Her nose was a brilliant red from the cold, her lungs burned with each breath, and her legs were quivering sticks of jelly. But still, she pushed herself to keep running. She'd plotted this course along the waterfront, and she was going to run it every day if it killed her.

Which… it might. But ever since Wash showed up at the gym without a shirt, Gale'd been feeling more frustrated with her own belly jiggles than ever. She was a damn sailor of the United States Navy, she was supposed to be _fit_ , not flabby.

Gale hissed out a grumbling cry and pushed herself a bit faster. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into her room, curl under her blanket, and gobble down eggnog and beer while binging the latest season of _Game of Thrones._ But _that_ wouldn't give her the body she wanted, the body a woman like Wash would find attractive.

So the sailor pushed her immediate desires to the back of her mind, and set her mind on one thing.

Well, actually two things.

Both of them lived under Wash's shirt.

"Evening, Gale."

Gale almost face-planted on the concrete, but she caught herself at the last minute. Somehow, she hadn't noticed Wash jogging alongside her until the battleship opened that perfectly sculpted mouth of hers. "Gah! Stop doing that!"

Wash just tilted her head and dropped to a slow trot. "Doing what?"

Gale scowled. And then she noticed something. Two something, actually. Two somethings standing in sharp relief against the battleship's simple PT shirt. "Wash…"

"Hmm?"

"You're not wearing a bra, are you?"

The battleship stared at the sailor for a solid minute with that unreadable look of confusion she loved so much. "No."

Before Gale could say anything else, Wash fished a flashlight from her pocket and shone it squarely in the sailor's eyes. By the time Gale stopped seeing stars, Wash was nowhere to be found and Gale was discovering new and fascinating levels of confusion.

"The _hell_ is with this base?"

—|—|—

Normally, being called before the Captain's Mast—let alone facing a panel of two Admirals from two countries with six stars between them—was a submariner's worst nightmare. The depths can be outsmarted, escorts can be shaken, and when death comes on the high seas, it can at least be met with defiant rage.

Not so much when being addressed by Admirals. Archerfish was still getting used to her new body, but she was reasonably sure she couldn't hit the bottom and go quiet like she used to. Not when the deck was hardwood flooring. Not that Archerfish had anything against hardwood, mind you. She actually quite liked the look Goto had chosen for his office. Japanese Oak, if she wasn't mistaken. Very pretty.

Just not very soft on her tush. Archerfish had learned the hard way that going deep and quiet didn't work very well on concrete. Maybe it would have gone better if she as one of the big nuke boats. Like _Skipjack_. That girl was all curves and squishy padding, nothing like the lean, sinewy muscles of a diesel fleet boat.

Wait… where was she going with this?

Oh, right.

Archerfish would normally be uneasy in the presence of so much brass. Partly because her half-sister Albie had stuffed her with so many peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches her belly had actually developed an almost perceptible bulge around her midriff. But mostly because she was finally back in action.

As much as she loved counting fishies, she'd much rather prowl with her sisters in defense of her nation. And count fishies. Archerfish liked fishies.

But she put her thoughts about her beloved fishies on hold for a moment. Her sonar operators had detected a change in the pitch and frequency of her Admirals' speech. She had to start paying attention now. She ducked into her sonar shack and quickly skimmed the last few pages of her log.

Hmm… something something incident, should've called in… hey!

"Um, sir?" Archerfish thrust her chin out and tried not to giggle as her crusty salt-stained ponytail ticked at the nape of her neck.

 _"Yes, Archerfish?"_ the craggy-jawed visage of Admiral Williams loomed closer into the flat-screened television box his image dominated.

"I _did_ call in," said the submarine. She wasn't against blatant, unrepentant thievery, shore side debauchery, and the mryid of things submariners got in trouble for. But she _was_ against getting in trouble for something she didn't do.

 _"What?"_

"I…" Archerfish clasped her hands behind her back and gently twisted her hips from side to side. "I sent like… twelve faxes."

Williams' face went flatter than a pool table in Kansas. _"A Fax,"_ he said without a shred of emotion.

Archerfish nodded, "Isn't that what we use now?"

"No," Admiral Goto let his head sink behind a coffee mug that Archerfish would consider comically oversized if she hadn't seen Ooyodo drinking out of an even larger one with 'Vlookup, Vlookup, where have you been all my life' mug.

 _"No"_ , chimed in Williams.

"We really don't," said Goto.

"Oh," Archerfish blushed, and bit her lip. "S-sorry then."

—|—|—

Battleship Washington had a litany of questions she would like to address to her tutor—or, to use the ethnically-correct term, sensai—in the ways of love and romance. She wanted to know how to show her love. She wanted to know—needed to know—if Gale loved her back. If Gale even thought of her as a friend anymore, the battleship had seen the stunningly pretty sailor less and less with every passing day.

But at this exact second, there was one question that rose to the top of her mind above all others. "Kirishima?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you in a tree?"

The Japanese battleship blinked, and adjusted so her abbreviated skirt kept its coverage, even while she was perched high in one of the spruce trees that dotted the base. Her glasses glinted in the amber base lighting, and her lips pursed together with focus. "I don't understand the question."

Wash nodded. That seemed logical enough. She planted her feet in the grass and stared up at the littlest Kongou, her arms crossed under her chest to keep herself supported. As a _North Carolina_ class battleship, Wash was excessively prone to vibrations at speed, especially without all the bracing she'd accumulated during her shakedowns. But Kirishima was the expert, and Wash yielded to her superior knowledge.

"Did you flash her?" Kirishima hooked her legs around a branch and spun so she hung down at eye level. Her skirt stayed down—or up, as the case may be—to maintain her dignity though. Wash figured this was just one of those strange Japanese things and didn't question it.

"Yes," said Wash. Her skills at optical night battle were rusty, but she was reasonably sure she did it right.

"With your searchlights, right?" asked Kirishima. "Not your signal lamps."

Wash nodded again, "Searchlights, I made sure."

"Good," said the Japanese battleship. "You want to stun her with your silent presence. Telling her too much will ruin the relationship."

"Are you sure?" Wash hugged herself and sighed.

"Of course!" said Kirishima. "If she loves you, she won't be able to hear your words. She'll just _know._ "

Wash nodded again. Now that made sense, she'd experienced the same thing herself. Whenever she was around Gale, it was like someone hid all her signal flags and rubbed Vaseline over her optics. The world went fuzzy and soft, and all she could hear was the harmony of her heartbeats and a song of desperate longing humming deep within her breast.

Gale could read her a love poem and Wash wouldn't hear a single word. Just… seeing the way the sailor's chubby cheeks dimpled when she spoke, the way her eyes narrowed to slits when she smiled… Wash didn't _need_ to hear.

"What…" Wash bit her lip, "What if she doesn't?"

Kirishima blinked, and her head slowly tiled to the side. "I… what?"

"What if she doesn't love me?" Wash buried her chin in her chest and sniffled. "She's beautiful and stunning and… she could have any girl she wanted if she just asked." The battleship a space in the grass and sat down in a heap. "If she even _wants_ girls."

"Oh, she wants girls," said Kirishima.

"How are you sure?" Wash pleaded. "How do you know she's gay?"

Kirishima just smiled. "Sailor."

Wash thought for a second. Then a rush of relief crashed over her, and a laughing smile passed over her face as the weight of desperation suddenly lifted from her keel. "Oh right."

"Look," Kirishima pouted, and her radar headband almost fell off her shimmering oil-black hair. "As much as it goes against everything I know and believe in… you could just _ask_ her how she feels."

Wash blinked. "You think I could?"

Kirishima nodded. "Oh, but Wash?"

"Hmm?"

"Go change first."

—|—|—

Archerfish padded quietly though the Yokosuka base carrier dorms. It was oddly quiet this time of day, all the girls who normally called these halls home were either at sea clamping down the latest round of Abyssal aggression, or in the docks recuperating from same. It all felt very strange to Archerfish, even more so now that she didn't have her constant gnawing hunger to distract her from the bizarreness of her situation.

Heh. In fact, for the first time it occurred to her that submarines don't normally get tummy cramps. Strange how hunger can override even the basic levels of logic.

But belly pangs aside, there was one girl here Archerfish had been meaning to meet. A girl she'd met before, every so briefly, during the last war.

The submarine came to a quiet halt in front of a door labeled "Shinano & White" in loopy, sloppy handwriting that looked like it came from a sixth grader's pen. There were even a pair of little stick figures representing the to carriers, each helpfully labeled as "Me" and "White".

Of course, Archerfish didn't need the label to tell her who lived in this room. The worn-in divots where immensely heavy feet clad in steel-armored boots had gouged into the wood were enough. The gentle hum of idling machinery singing in her hydrophones didn't hurt either.

"Hello?" Archerfish tapped her knuckles against the door.

A surprised eep sounded from inside the room, followed by a loud crash and the sound of flesh and metal hitting the floor. "H-hello?" said a quiet, timid voice just barely above a whisper.

"Um," Archerfish rocked on her heels, "Shinano?"

"Mmhm," said the voice, this time somehow quieter.

"Can I come in?"

There was a long pause, then a groan of creaking wood and stressed leather. Then the door swung open to reveal the biggest carrier Archerfish had ever seen. Well, not _the_ biggest she'd ever seen. But the biggest she'd seen from this close. The girl barely even fit in the doorway, and her legs were easily as thick as Archerfish's body.

"Hi," Archerfish tried not to gulp in fear. She'd stalked Shinano long enough to know the giantess was gentler than a kitten in bubble wrap, but she was still a gigantic warship standing far to close for comfort. "Uh… I'm Archerfiiiii—"

Before the submarine knew what happened, Shinano had ducked down and thrown her arms—or arm, one of them ended in a stump halfway down her forearm—around Archerfish and lifted her into a tight hug. The carrier's steel breastplate dug into the submarines' braced, but otherwise unarmed—chest as her massive arms coiled like anchor chains.

"Thank you!" said Shinano. Her massive boots thundered against the floor as she spun Archerfish around. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I loved it!"

Archerfish coughed. As a submarine, she could hold her breath far longer than any human. But only if she had any breath to begin with. Shinano's grip wasn't enough to simulate test depth, but it was close.

The giant carrier blushed redder than her battle flag and set the submarine back down. "S-sorry."

Archerfish was too winded to respond, so she just flopped onto the floor and gulped down air.

Shinano blushed and sat on her heels. It took her a few tries to get the posture right, and she still managed to tower over the American.

"'s-" Archerfish coughed again and struggled to get her wind fully back under her control. "'s the least I can do."

Shinano just tilted her head to the side.

"For… after I sunk you." Archerfish's voice was careful and halting as she felt out the carrier's reaction.

For a moment, Shinano just stared wordlessly. Then a tiny smile passed over her delicate, youthful features. "Thank you for that too."

Archerfish blinked. "Wat?" she said flatly. She didn't even bother to add the 'h'. It took all her mental concentration just to recall the morse for those three letters.

"I…" A shadow passed over the giant carrier's face. And for just an instant, she looked decades older than she was. "I was carrying… _special_ units."

Archerfish knew what that meant. But even if she hadn't read up on history, the look of depressed horror on Shinano's face told her everything she needed to know.

"I don't _ever_ want to carry those again," said Shinano. "You saved me from having to use them in… in a pointless attack." She leaned forwards and wrapped Archerfish in another hug. This time, though, she was far more gentle and timid. "T-thank you."

"It, uh," now it was Archerfish's turn to blush. She didn't know what to say to that, so she settled for just nuzzling against Shinano's neck and hugging the giant carrier back.

That was her favorite part about having a body.

Hugs.

—|—|—

Yeoman Gale stumbled up the stairs as quickly as she could. Which wasn't very fast. Her legs always burned after a good lap around the base, and spotting Wash running around only made things harder.

She couldn't focus on anything with the battleship's bouncing, because Wash had, for some unfathomable reason, decided she didn't need a bra to go jogging. And then found it necessary to point an insanely bright flashlight right in her eyes.

Somehow, this was Kirishima's fault. Gale would murder that Kongou if it was the last thing she did.

At least Wash wasn't quite as insanely fast as Jersey was, but she had the same impossible endurance. Gale just about killed herself trying to keep up before her body finally let her know that _she_ wasn't a battleship, and could not keep a flat-out sprint up for over a mile.

Gale grumbled under her breath, mostly because her throat was too raw and her face too sweaty to manage anything more coherent. All she wanted right now was to take a nice, long, cooooold shower. Or maybe a bath, she didn't quite trust herself to stand long enough in the shower.

On the fourth try, she fumbled her door open and staggered into her room. On the third step, she stumbled forwards and fell onto her ragged old couch. Only her face didn't land in the familiar and faintly smelly fabric. It landed in something far softer.

Something warm and gentle and round that smelled vaguely of warm milk spiced with nutmeg and honey. Something that seemed to purr with a quiet hum of machinery. Something with a polished brass button lodged right up her nose.'

"Uh," Gale's eyes went wide and her exhausted body suddenly flooded with adrenaline. "W-what?"

Battleship Washington stared down at the yeoman with those inscrutably beautiful hazel eyes of hers. The dim apartment light only picked out the specks of gold in her honey-sweet gaze, and framed the stunning lines of her face like a work of fine art.

"Gale," Wash's voice was as calm and even as ever as she stared down that slightly crooked nose of hers. "We need to talk."

Gale stared up at the battleship in mute… not quite horror, but something similar. She counted Wash as a friend, and she liked to think the feeling was mutual, but it was impossible to tell with her. But that didn't change the fact that Wash was a commissioned officer. She outranked Gale in every way imaginable, and Gale had just shoved her face into her boobs.

"Um…" the sailor swallowed with a suddenly bone-dry mouth. "Uh…"

Wash smiled that tiny half-smile of hers, and her off-gray thigh-highs ruslted as she crossed those thick legs of hers. She might not have Jersey's horsepower, but the North-Carolina's legs were still jaw-dropping to behold. And that little miniskirt of hers only accented her beautiful battleship stern. "There's something I need to tell you," Wash pursed her lips, and tugged at the crisp white silk of her scarf.

Gale stared at the battleship and tried not to drool. The taut wool of her dress blues strained over those delicious breasts. She wanted to say something, she really did. But the way Wash moved as entrancing, and every time Gale opened her mouth to speak, a little rivulet of drool came dripping out.

"I'm…" Wash blushed. She actually blushed like a timid schoolgirl. "I'm not accustomed to saying this, but… I'm in... in awe of you."

Gale blinked. "I… you…"

Wash barely reacted to the sailor's confused blush. She was too busy running though her mentally prepared script to do anything else. "I'm not human," she said, lazily fingering the hem of her tiny skirt. "Far from it. But… I know, to some level, what it's like being one."

The battleship blushed even deeper, and brushed a strand of that shimmering brown hair over her ear. "I know, or… at least I've heard, how miserable it is to exercise. Yet every morning I see you running you heart out. In the rain-" Wash ticked off on her slender fingers, "In the cold, in the snow… you never quit."

"Uh…" Gale stammered. Of all the things she thought Wash would say, complimenting her for her work ethic? When the only reason she pushed herself so hard in the first place was to try and loose enough flab to win the attention of the battleship she was so desperately in love with?

"You deserve my admiration," said Wash, "And my respect."

Gale blinked. Had… had Wash just _friend-zoned_ herself? The sailor was to confused to answer, even if her exhausted body had been able to gather the wind to do so.

"You must be tired," Wash nodded sagley, and brushed a strand of sweat-slick hair off the sailor's face. "I've drawn you a cool bath." The battleship hooked her arms under the sailor and lifted her like she was made of air.

"Uh…" Gale yelped in surprise and squirmed closer to the battleship. Her warm embrace was comforting and strong, and as she rested her head on the battleship's generous bosom, she couldn't help but notice the faint smell of warm, spiced milk. "O.. okay."

Wash just smiled, and carried the sailor to the bathroom. True to her word, the tub was full with pleasantly-perfumed water. There were even a few faeries motoring around on a miniature whaleboat placing rose petals in strategic locations. "I made you something," Wash blushed, and handed Gale a tall frosty glass.

The sailor slipped the straw into her mouth and took a sip. A milkshake! But no ordinary milkshake. The flavors of strawberry, vanilla and… yes, a hint of nutmeg wafted over her taste buds but never assaulted them. They were as gentle and precise as the battleship who crafted them. "Mmm!"

"Now," Wash clasped her hands behind her back and looked… almost nervous. "I… I've made you dinner. I'm not Lou, but—"

Gale shook her head. "No!"

Wash smiled, but it was a quiet, restrained smile tinged with sadness. "Of course. I'll leave you be."

"Wash!" Gale set the milkshake down and screamed for the battleship with everything her parched, exhausted throat could manage. Which wasn't much, honestly.

Wash pivoted on her heel and locked eyes with the sailor.

"You're…" Gale gulped, "You're a great cook."

The battleship beamed. "Then I'll set out two places."

Gale nodded, and fumbled for the delicious milkshake. She… really wasn't looking forwards to watching Wash eat. Not after she'd just killed herself trying to burn _off_ calories. But… it was Wash's cooking. That made up the difference. So she decided she'd think about it later and concentrate on her milkshake for now.

Mmm… Nutmeg and honey.


	132. A Certain Lady Part 26

**A Certain Lady Part 26**

The whole of the hall fell into silence as Pennsylvania announced herself.

That silence lasted only a brief moment as those who were either too overjoyed at the appearance of a new shipgirl or simply ignorant as to her history erupted into cheers of triumph and joy. Guns. More guns and more armor to their ranks. More might with which to fight the Abyss.

Before the freshly summoned standard could raise her voice again, Richardson turned around and raised his arms like a showman at a circus.

"Lets hear it for Pennsylvania! Three cheers to welcome back one of the United States Navy's kickass battlewagons!" He had to keep everyone distracted. And he had to get everyone who wasn't made of steel and magic bullshit out of here. "Come on!"

And the crowd went wild. Even those who had held their tongue let their voices rise.

"That's what I want to hear! _Hooyah_!"

As the Admiral worked the crowds into not thinking about danger represented by woman standing behind him, earning an increasingly angry glare from said woman in the process, guards began to rally the people into heading to the mess for the celebratory feast. It wasn't a tremendous one. But it was what they could manage. Which was certainly better than nothing.

And he would have to give credit to Tatsuta where it was due.

A rather cutting comment, wrapped in the usual dark pleasantries, had reminded him that he was very much summoning up instigators and victims of what could be very bad blood.

Arizona had been... desperation and an experiment gone right in probably every possible way. But his fortune could not hold out forever. It could have been a dozen summons down the line or the very next like this one. But sooner or later he'd ring up a girl with a chip on her shoulder that smiles, good cheer, and time couldn't smooth. And if anyone had a chip on her shoulder, it would be this one.

He was quite glad that evacuation plans didn't have to be obvious.

As the last of the performers filed out, still making more noise than a squad of destroyers on a sugar high, Richardson lowered his arms and dropped the smile. He made a jerking motion with his head before drawing in a breath.

"Are you done?"

"As done as I'll ever be." He turned around to face Pennsylvania once more and nearly flinched at her visage. Oh, she was beautiful. It was highly doubtful there would ever be anyone who claimed otherwise. And while she shared the same short, powerful, and curvaceous form he had seen in Arizona, the elder sister held an entirely different form of beauty. One that radiated the promise of violence. He would never speak of this ship and warmth and safety in the same sentence.

Pennsylvania's grip on her rifle tightened as Mutsu marched into view, coming to stand next to Richardson. The aura of authority projecting from the Japanese battleship did little to deter her stance.

"Then I demand an explanation." Furious red eyes bored deep into the Admiral's. She didn't care if the man before him was the Commander in Chief or a lowly seaman recruit, she would have answers. Her secondaries ached and her main batteries yearned. They demanded to be set upon the Japanese warship standing next to Sasebo's commander.

"I'm going to let that slide. Once." Richardson narrowed his eyes, putting up as much of a facade of strength as he was capable of doing. He clenched the muscles in his legs to keep them from rattling. Even Mutsu's presence could not avail him. "Speak freely, sailor. You'll need to be more specific."

"I dema-!"

Whatever demand Pennsylvania had been about to make was abruptly cut off as thirty thousand tons of warship plowed into her, sending her rifle and a multitude of ammunition flying about. Pennsylvania and her assailant were sent crashing to the ground with a wall shaking impact. It was a small wonder they didn't crack the floor upon landing.

"Oh my." The surprise in Mutsu's voice was clearly evident. "I didn't think a standard could move that fast."

"You can say that again," Richardson muttered as he reached down to pick up the rifle. He'd held more than his fair share of ballistic accouterments, but never one like this. It almost seemed alive. And far heavier than it had any right to be. At least he could pick the damn thing up.

The pounding of feet drew Mutsu's attention away from the pile of limbs and towards the pair of destroyers approaching.

"We're sorry! We tried to-"

"No fair! She's not supposed to be that fast! Hax! I'm calling hax!" shouted Shimakaze indignantly, looking more irate than apologetic. "There's a limit to this magical baloney!"

"That's what you're worried about?" shot back Kawakaze.

"I have my priorities!"

"Girls. Girls. It's okay. No harm done." Mutsu raised her hands in a placating manner as she tried to not smile at their antics. Her eyes took on a glint of mischief. "Well, maybe to someone's pride~"

"Hmph!"

"Are we going to stand here like idiots and ignore the fact that Arizona just hit Pennsylvania with the best flying tackle I've ever seen?" Richardson thumbed over to the two standards. "And please tell me the reason Shigure isn't with you is because she's with Yamashiro."

"Ou!" Shimakaze saluted casually as she faced her Admiral. "Shiggy dragged Yama out of here the second Pennsy entered detection range."

"Yeah. Yamashiro looked really shaken up."

Richardson sighed.

Also, Pennsy? What?

"Alright girls, you two go help with the guests. I think we'll be able to handle things here." Mutsu gave the destroyers each a pat on the head after they gave her skeptical looks. Really, they should have some more confidence in her. She wasn't Jintsuu, but she wasn't incompetent. "Go on now. Maybe you'll earn some extra snacks."

"I really feel like I should let them be," remarked Richardson after Shimakaze and Kawakaze had made a break for the exit. He'd been on the giving and the receiving end of a reunion much like the two battleships were having. Not quite in the same manner, but he could appreciate it at the very least.

"You know we can't. Especially not those two."

"Yeah. You're right."

"Oh, but I'm always right~"

Richardson palmed his face in resignation. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

Mutsu merely giggled as she joined Richardson in marching towards Arizona and Pennsylvania.

What had been the makings of an avatar of violence and hate mere moments ago was currently being by smothered relentlessly by an icon of fury and loss. Neither looked remotely close to either description at the moment. Pennsylvania was the picture of bewilderment whilst Arizona was wearing an expression not a single living soul at Sasebo had ever seen.

"Pennsy. It's really you, Pennsy!" Arizona cried with a smile, embracing her elder sister tightly against her bust. She had sought Mutsu's advice and found it to be sound. And she had even told herself that she would keep it together regardless of who showed up. She would greet them with a smile and a warm embrace, but she would remain a proper example of a battleship. Even if it was her sister who answered the call.

That was what she had decided.

But when the great beyond had called her bluff, she simply could not hold back.

"A-Ari?" Pennsylvania's baffled voice could barely be heard over Arizona's. And being all but pinned beneath a battleship who was also crushing your face into her chest did not exactly make speaking much easier.

There was no possible way though.

Ari was dead.

Dead and gone in an execution by fire.

Her body savaged and stripped of anything useful that remained.

But the number of ships who would call her that name in their right mind was a very small number. And none dared after that morning. Not even the ones who had used it more freely than the giver. Sure, her crew did. But that was her crew.

And how could she mistake that shape? The same curves. The same belt. Just a hair taller than herself and missing an inch or so of beam to boot. It was like looking into a mirror. Or at least, a mirror into the past. A distant past. ...Were those cage masts? She could have sworn those were replaced in twenty-nine. And she still had that goofy range clock!

Something just didn't feel right though. She remembered Ari having better guns than this. And whole lot more anti-air.

And for that matter, she didn't exactly feel well off herself. She was supposed to stronger than this. Better in practically every possible way. And she certainly didn't have those silly torpedo tubes back when she closed her eyes for what should have been the last time. Ignoring the fact she actually had eyes now.

"Pffah! Ari!" exclaimed Pennsylvania with a gasp of air as she was finally able to pry herself out of her sister's bosom. "Ari, please let me up. And tell me what the devil is going on? Where's the Admiral?"

"O-Oh! My apologies. I lost myself for a moment." More than a moment, really. But here was her sister! Someone she hadn't seen in… nearly three quarters of a century. It wasn't until she felt a pair of hands attempting to find purchase on her sides that she realized she hadn't released her hold on Pennsylvania as requested. And yet she couldn't bring herself to let go.

"Arizona..." If Ari didn't let go, she'd have to go for the tickling. And she was merciless in a great many ways. Funny thing, tickling. Until this moment she never actually had the hands to do so. And yet she was plenty ready to assault her little sister with his newfound capacity.

Arizona's face turned bright red and she all but leaped from her perch atop the other battleship.

Pennsylvania merely shook her head and reached up to Arizona, silently requesting a hand up. As Arizona's gloved hand took hold of her own, her eyes widened in shock. She trailed her gaze up the arm with an increasing malevolence. Those scars. Those twisted, hateful marring of her little sister. She'd had no chance to lay eyes upon them until now.

"Pennsy?"

"What… What are those?" she growled out. Her hand tightened around Arizona's with such force that the warship nearly winced as the sound of groaning steel became audible.

Arizona cast a level gaze at the visible scars, but said nothing.

"Those. Are the wounds Ari suffered when she was sunk."

"Lieutenant Commander!"

Mutsu offered Arizona an apologetic smile before returning her attention to Pennsylvania, the smile transforming into the serious visage befitting her rank.

To her side, Richardson stood silently still carrying Pennsylvania's rifle with a practiced hand.

"She's not the only one. Others carry marks from their time afloat." Mutsu counted herself considerably fortunate that she was not one such ship. Her death had been violent on a level very, very few who had returned could comprehend. She could probably give Arizona a run for her money however. But unlike her, she doubted she could carry them with the same level of dignity. "But that's not really important right now, is it."

"No. It isn't." Arizona closed her grey eyes and drew in a deep breath to regain herself. She held it for a few moments before hauling her sister to her feet. When she opened her eyes, they were far sharper. Far more familiar to the ranks of Sasebo.

And far more alien to Pennsylvania.

But that smile creeping onto her little sister's face was all too familiar. Even if it was merely a shadow of the big, happy smiles she remembered. It was still the same smile. She didn't care about the fact they'd never been able to smile before. It was just as she believed in her memories.

Arizona saluted.

"Allow me to welcome you back, USS Pennsylvania." She lowered her hand and turned to Richardson. "Sir, I apologize for my actions earlier. They were..."

"Perfectly understandable given the situation." Without breaking his professional demeanor, he nodded in her direction. "And as I told the Lieutenant Commander, that was the best flying tackle I've ever seen."

Before Arizona could formulate any number of displeased responses and amidst Mutsu's poorly hidden laughter, Pennsylvania found her voice.

"What in the devil is going on here!?" she roared. She thrust a hand in Mutsu's direction furiously. "Why is a Jap battleship being called Lieutenant Commander by a United States Navy Admiral? Why are we in Japan to begin with? Why are you all making merry like a bunch of damned slackers? And why does he have my gun!?"

"Because you dropped it when Lieutenant Arizona sacked you like an Army quarterback?"

At that, Mutsu gave up any pretense of control and began laughing openly. If it wasn't for Richardson being close enough to act as a post, she probably would have fallen to the ground.

It only served to further infuriate the newly summoned battleship who was one good spark away from having her hair catch fire. Her hands clenched into fists as she snapped them to her sides in a display of open anger and frustration. Could they not take this seriously!? Had she been called up from the great beyond into a madhouse? And this man claimed to be an Admiral with such a lackadaisical command?

"What is _wrong_ with you lunatics!?"

"Admiral, please." Arizona almost sounded pleading. Almost.

"Alright, fine. I'll cut the crap." He cleared his throat and straightened his back, still holding onto Pennsylvania's gun as he thumbed over to Mutsu. His XO was still fighting off the giggles but at least she was trying. Rather endearing, he would admit. "From the top. Lieutenant Commander Mutsu is an officer of the Japanese Maritime Self Defense Forces and the second of the Nagato-Class battleships. She's also my XO and formally recognized as such by the United States Navy. Mutsu also acts as the flagship for this fleet, so keep that in mind."

Mutsu saluted to the now confused, but still angry Pennsylvania.

"Second: we're in Japan because that's where we summoned you. We're fighting demons ships that turned back naval warfare seventy years. It's the age of the gun again and there's enough magic and spooky going on to turn the word upside down. You'll get a full debriefing along with a history lesson before you sortie."

Arizona stepped forward and sent a silent request to Richardson and Mutsu with a short nod.

"Go ahead."

"Pennsy." Arizona gently reached out to place a hand on her sister's arm in an effort to calm her. "I have not been here very long, but I can assure you that they take their duties seriously. They and all the members of this fleet. It is hard to believe at times, now for example, but they are an… extremely dedicated force."

"So they brainwashed you?" snarled Pennsylvania, hurt and disbelief in her fiery voice. "How? What with!?"

"My. That's not a very nice accusation to make. I suppose we'll just have to do to you what we did to Ari~" Mutsu's playful grin drew a growl from Pennsylvania, who looked ready to pounce on Richardson and take her gun back if only for the reason to have a weapon to bludgeon them with..

Arizona and Richardson sighed in unison.

"You did do something, you-!"

"We'll just have to smother you with love, friendship, and Jane's cooking~"


	133. Chapter 99: Wash's Wacky Christmas

**Chapter 99:** **Wash's Wacky Christmas**

"Ah, Christmas." Jersey smiled as she steamed into Tokyo bay with the warm rays of a Christmas morning sun bathing her superstructure. It'd been a long, cold, wet, miserable trip over, and she was pretty sure parts of her bra would stay damp for the next week.

But she could put all that aside for now. She was almost to dry, _warm_ land. Soon enough, she'd be able to strip naked and sink into a steaming hot bath to soak for the next however many fucking hours she wanted to. Just thinking about water that was actually warm lapping against her bare skin made the battleship shiver with anticipation.

This was going to feel _so_ good. She could picture it now, a belly full to bursting with Christmas dinner and a steaming hot tub all to herself.

Or… maybe not to herself. If she played her cards right, she might get some fucking eye candy out of the structurally-superfluous tittybitch with a hatred for shirts that made the fucking Nazis seem tolerant. Maybe fucking… something God knows Musashi wasn't good for anything else.

Jersey almost let her train of thought drift further. CNO knows she'd been feeling cranky ever since she put to sea, she could use a little night battle to work off the stress. But the big battleship quashed those thoughts with a hard bite to her tongue. She was a fucking battleship of the United States navy. And she had a… a… a friend. Right. Yes, that was it.

But most of all, Jersey was looking forwards to one thing in particular. "I want fucking KFC."

Prinz Eugen pivoted on her heel and shot an adorably confused look at her cruiserweight companions. "KFC?"

"Kentucky Fried Chicken," explained Lou.

"Oh." Prinz Eugen's precisely engineered Teutonic features gleamed with the kind of utter bewilderment only a Prussian cruiser ceded to the American navy just long enough to face the brunt of its newest weapon before reincarnating as a pretty blond girl could manage. "This explains nothing."

Lou chuckled. "It's chicken, yeah?"

"I know what chicken is!" Prinz Eugen bristled Germanically.

"But you flour 'em, spice 'em and fry 'em," Lou smiled and patted her slender belly. "Not as good as catfish, but _damn_ good."

"This I know," said the stoically bewildered German, "But what does it have to do with Christmas."

"Literally fucking nothing." Jersey tugged at her scarf to keep it sitting right. "Japan is a fucking bizarre place that exists purely as an example to sane countries of what not to do."

Kongou shrugged, "Dess."

"Thank you, teaboat," Jersey dipped her head, but she as too far into her tirade to bother actually looking at the smirking British-built battleship. "But the fucking point of the matter is, KFC is fucking delicious as shit."

"Shit does not seem very delicious," said Prinz Eugen.

"Shh," Frisco patted Prinz Eugen on the head. Or at least she tried to. But she was looking at Jersey while doing so, and the non-treaty-compliant German's superior height put Frisco's pat right at chest-level.

"So," Jersey clapped her hands together and smiled. "If it gets me fucking fried chicken, I'll allow the Japanese weirdness."

"That's not the only good thing it makes," said Johnston with a lewd giggle.

Jersey didn't even need to look to know exactly what the perverted Fletcher was doing. As ways of hiding her sheer unmitigated terror, it wasn't the worst, but she really needed to add a few extra pages to her portfolio. "Johnston!" snapped Jersey, "Stop staring at Musashi's tits."

There was a pause. "I _might_ not have been."

Jersey huffed. "Mushi, was she staring at tiddy?"

"Of course!" Musashi thundered out at the top of her capacious lungs.

"Traitor!" hissed Johnston.

"It's Musashi," opined Hoel.

"Mmm," said Heermann, "You think she'd every lie and say someone _wasn't_ oogling her?"

"The other way around, yes," said Hoel. "But not that."

Johnston huffed, but didn't say anything. Evidently she realized her sisters had a point. Musashi would _never_ lie in a way that made her seem less imposing and attractive. Lie and say someone as staring at her when they weren't? Yes, absolutely. But—

Wait!

"Hey!" Johnston bristled, and even her feathery headdress seemed to pout in the gentle morning breeze, "She lied! I was totally not staring at her pagodas!"

Jersey rolled her eyes. "Johnston…" But before she could chew out to the perverted little destroyer expressing so enthusiastically what parts of Jersey herself wanted to do, she noticed a division steaming out to meet her.

A division lead by Nagato.

Who was, as usual for her class, wearing a skirt that was barely longer than Jersey's gunbelt. If it wasn't for the heavy steel collar riding around her hips, Nagato's skirt would've been unbearably lewd. As it stood, the armor plating just made Nagato's chiseled belly unbearably obvious.

Jersey had to fight back the part of her that wanted to strip her on shirt off and prove that anything Japan could do, American Industrial might could do better and more sexily. She also had to suppress the part of her that was slowly drooling into her scarf.

She was so distracted by the inexplicable sex appeal of the Japanese battlewagon, she almost missed the look on her face.

Nagato's lips were pressed tightly together, tension clear in the muscles of her neck. Her eyes were glassy and slick with tears, and her gaze hovered somewhere miles behind Jersey.

"Jersey," the battleship's stern voice had a soulless, mechanical rasp to it, like she as forcing each word out through a tiny slot.

Jersey felt a pit form in her stomach that could swallow an island. "Yes?"

Nagato pulled into formation a few hundred yards abreast of the big American. Her heels clicked together and her spine stiffened to parade-ground attention. "I, _Nagato_ ," her gloved hand came up to her brow in a oiled salute, "Of the Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force am your relief."

Jersey brought her own hand up to return the salute. "O… okay," she said, a growing sense of worry building in her throat.

"You…" Nagato stopped and bit her lip. The Japanese battleship might not be as tall as Jersey, but her body rippled with muscle and strength. And she'd never looked quite as small and vulnerable as she did right now. "I… there's been a development in the Gulf."

Nagato's gaze fell to her shoes. "Captain Takeda… you should hear it from him."

Jersey tilted her head. Takeda… she knew that name. How did she know that name. There weren't any Japanese ships she knew captained by a man with that name, at least not ships she'd have any reason to be so invested in. Hell, there weren't any Japanese ships in the Gulf period, at least not ones with Captains. Just…

Just American ships.

Wisky.

"No." Jersey heard herself say the words, but it wasn't her speaking. Her body moved without her consent. Her hull knifed though the water as redlining boilers pushed her turbines all the way to their limits while she stood terrified and numb at the back of her own bridge. Crewmen pushed past her like ghosts as they manned their stations while she stood frozen like the Admiral she'd so desperately despised.

Jersey'd served twenty one years on active duty. She'd existed for more than half a century. And all that time, she'd never really known loss. She hadn't even been launched until after Midway, she'd never lost a sister—or even one of her beloved big cousins—in the line of battle.

Her friends had all died quiet, peaceful deaths. Tucked into bed as a living museum, or turned to scrap by a nation that no longer needed such instruments of warfare. It was about the best death she could imagine for a ship.

And now her beloved little sister, the littlest battleship of them all, the last battleship was… Jersey didn't even know. She could be damaged, sunk… whatever it was, it was enough to drive calm, stoic Nagato to tears.

Jersey numbly planted her feet on the waiting pier and with the last shred of consciousness her rattled mind still had grasp on, she fell into line behind a pair of waiting sailors. They were talking to her, she knew that. They might even have been talking to her in English, but she couldn't understand a word. She could barely even hear them over the horrible silence devouring her mind.

Everything around her flowed in slow motion and far to fast at the same time. People passed like shades, muttering soundless words of… sympathy? regret? Jersey didn't even know. _They'd_ all lost sisters. Lost at the hands of _her_ friends.

After what could have been seconds or centuries, Jersey found herself settled in front of a laptop. A sailor—or shipgirl. Kongou, maybe? Jersey honestly couldn't tell—put a friendly hand on her shoulder before leaving her alone with the man on the screen.

Jersey didn't recognize him, but she knew him right away. Captain Bill Takeda, captain. USS _Wisconsin._ His face was covered in bloody cuts, and a bandage stretched from the open collar of his uniform almost to his jawbone. One eye was covered in gauze, while the other had a deep gouge running over its brow.

 _"New Jersey,"_ the calm, soulless voice of a man fighting to keep his own emotions in check cut though the haze like a knife. In an instant, Jersey was fully present again.

"Sir," Jersey felt her eyes melt, but she didn't fucking care.

 _"There's… no easy way to say this,"_ Captain Takeda winced. His voice was raspy and weak, and ever word seemed to strain his scorched neck. _"I was captain of the Wisconsin."_

"I know, sir," Jersey didn't bother wiping away the tears welling up in her eyes. Even if she could get her arms to respond, she'd just smear around the mess.

 _"Five days ago,"_ said Takeda, _"we were defending the Panama canal when we came under submarine attack."_ The captain paused. His mouth hung ajar as he looked for the right words. _"We're… there's only so much we know. But Wisconsin took somewhere between twelve and nineteen torpedoes. At least six of them under her keel."_

Jersey paled. Torpedoes were a battleship's worst nightmare, especially a _Iowa_ -class. And six fish under the keel… that'd break even a battleship's back. "How…" her voice cracked like shattered metal. "How many made it out?"

 _"Two-thousand,"_ said Takeda, _"Seven hundred and twenty-nine."_

Jersey blinked back tears. Her arms felt heavy as iron and flimsy as rubber, and all she wanted to do was cry. But… that number… it couldn't be…

 _"Don't ask me how,"_ said Takeda, _"but she stayed together for forty-six minutes."_ The corner of the captain's battered mouth twitched up in a smile, _"Long enough for every soul aboard to escape. Your sister went down without a soul aboard her."_

Tears flowed down Jersey's face even as a smile crossed it. Her vision went blurry as her icy eyes melted to warm salt, and she cradled her head in her hands. Her sister, he beloved little sister, the littlest Iowa had died _alone._

She'd died _alone._ Even Jersey herself couldn't claim that honor. She'd died alone in the heat of battle. Her last dying act was to tell the universe in no uncertain terms that her crew was _off limits._ Dying at the breakers was a good death for a warship. But dying alone at sea was the _best._

Even in death, she'd done her duty. "G-good girl," Jersey whispered. She'd never in her life been so proud of her little sister.

—|—|—

Battleship Washington was beside herself with happiness. The dinner she'd cooked for Yeoman Gale had gone over brilliantly. Gale seemed to enjoy the fresh salad and hearty lasagna, even though she didn't eat nearly as much as Wash did. But more importantly, Gale had _let_ Wash stay and eat with her! The two of them were still friends! There was still a chance that Wash could give herself to Gale and be revived with loving arms and soft, ideal-for-cuddling belly.

If… if she could ever work up the courage to confess her love to the sailor. Wash was pretty sure Gale loved women, even women who were actually ships carrying the souls of men deep within their bosoms. But… but it was still hard for her to broach the subject.

Wash was just another battleship. A good one, yes, but she lacked the spectacular pretense of the _Iowa_ sisters. She was _a_ battleship. They were _the_ greatest, most powerful battleships the world had ever or will ever see. They were larger than life heroes of steel and fire. Even decades after the dawn of the carrier, they still made nations stand up and stare at the thunder of their guns.

How could Wash ever compete with that, especially if she was competing for someone as perfect as the Yeoman. Gale was a human. She needed eight hours of sleep a night, she needed three meals a day, she needed warm clothing at night, in every way imaginable she was more fragile and delicate than Wash. Yet she woke every morning and ran herself ragged, only to wash up and report for duty.

 _She_ was spectacular. Any ship would be proud to have her as their captain. Wash was just happy to have her as a friend.

But that wasn't the only reason she'd been giggling for the past hour. She fiddled with the end of her long silk scarf in a vain attempt to burn off some of her furious nervous energy. She'd bought Gale the perfect gift this Christmas, and she couldn't wait to tell her roommate.

"Kirishima?" Wash bumped the door open with a swing of her hip. The room she shared with Kirishima wasn't the biggest room on the base—that honor went to the triple shard by the cruisers—but it wasn't the smallest either.

Wash's side of the room was pretty barren. She'd hung up a flag for decoration, and put a few of her old naval manuals on her desk next to a battered paperback of _Changing Destiny_ she'd borrowed from Tenryuu. Kirishima's room had no such restraint.

The Japanese ship had festooned the walls with posters and flags. A Union Jack flew over her bed, and a vast rising sun battle flag was tacked up against the wall. Pillows, plushies, and lovingly washed blanket bearing the image of all four Kongous lay piled up on her bed. Her desk was all but overflowing with her computer on one side—currently playing a video of someone with a soothing English accent painting miniatures—and a vast collection of tiny yellow soldiers spilling over the rest.

"Huh?" Kirishima spun around in her spinning desk chair and scrunched up her nose to bring her glasses back in line with her sea-gray eyes. She had another one of the tiny yellow men clutched in one hand, and a fine-pointed paint brush in the other. "Oh, hi wash."

"Hello, Kirishima!" Wash let out an uncharacteristic giggle. She would have hugged the Japanese warship if her hands weren't occupied with a most-likely fragile miniature. "What're you working on?"

Kirishima set her model down, "Latest batch of Space Marines. Imperial fists this time." The littlest Kongou smoothed her abbreviated skirt and smiled, "Did you know there's a 40k chapter on base?"

Wash nodded, "I know, Gale goes there sometimes."

Kirishima chuckled, "So, any news?"

"We're…" Wash hung her head, "Still friends."

"Oh," Kirishima darted over to give the big American a nice warm hug. "That's too bad."

"But I got her a present though," said Wash. Her smile hadn't dimmed yet as she looked over at the converted battlecruiser. "I think she'll really like it."

Kirishima blinked. "Are you going to tell me or what?"

Wash blushed, and puffed out her chest a bit. "Well, I saw that she's really into miniatures and wargaming."

"And DnD," added Kirishima with a smile.

"Yes, that," said Wash. "But she doesn't have any naval stuff."

Kirishima's face instantly lost all its mirth. Her eyes narrowed to cunning slits, and her whole body tensed as her crew manned their battle stations, "A-and…."

"I bought her _Axis and Allies: Naval Miniatures_."

Kirisima pounced. She swung one leg over the American's lap and loomed over her, her eyes aflame with furious intensity as she planted her hands on Wash's shoulders. "Which set did you buy her!" she demanded.

Wash blinked with equal measures serenity and confusion. "War at Sea?"

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!" thundered Kirishima with all the terrified rage her body could generate. "Do you _know_ what comes with that set?"

Wash blinked again. "S-ships?"

"Yes!" Kirishima bounced off Wash's lap and darted over to the vast stack of board games slowly sneaking towards collapse at the foot of her bed. "Here," she fished a box out and tossed it to Wash, "Read it."

Wash fished the model list out of the box and started to read. Hmm, _Kongou_ was included, as was _Hood_ and Sammy and… oh. "I'm on this list," she said quietly.

Kirishima nodded so violently her glasses almost fell off her nose. "You bought her a little model of yourself."

"Oh," Wash paled with horror. What had she done…

"You're telling her you want her to play with you," said Kirishima with frantic energy, "You might as well have shown up naked with a big old ribbon tied around your upperworks!"

Wash cradled her chest for a moment at the thought, then the horrified realization set in. It was forward, too forward. Gale was just a friend, to do something do drastic! To a woman as kind and gentle and ladylike as Gale! "No," mumbled Wash. Had she really just torpedoed her chances with the love of her life with a single poorly-chosen gift. "N-no.."

"Okay," Kirishima started to pace frantically from one side of the room to the other. Before long, she was just bouncing from bed to bed with a worried expression on her face. "It's oh-six-thirty, yes?"

Wash nodded.

"According to my calculations," Kirishima pushed her glasses up her nose and flourished a pencil and notepad, "you should be able to stop her if you hurry."

She didn't need to say any more. Almost before the words had left her mouth, Wash was gone. Only a little depression in the bedding where she'd sat and a large pile of splinters where the door had been gave any evidence that the battleship had been there in the first place.

Kirishima clutched her hands to her chest, "Godspeed, Washington."

—|—|—

Yeoman Gale cradled a cup of steaming hot coco to her chest and chuckled as her best friend Jen Bowers handed out presents. Christmas morning on base was always a special event, but it had only gotten more adorable with the arrival of shipgirls. Akatsuki and her sisters were dressed up like little elves, and the four of them tottered around with presents balanced on their heads. It was almost unbearably adorable.

"Here you go," Inazuma tottered over to Gale with a big box wrapped in bright red paper sitting on her head.

"Aw," Gale set her mug down on the carpet and took the box off the smiling destroyer with a little bow. "Thank you, Inazuma."

Inazuma let out a blushing mew, and tottered back to the tree to pick something else to deliver. Gale wasn't entirely sure if the girls had gifts of their own, or if they even _wanted_ anything. The seemed to enjoy delivering more than anything else.

"Let's see," Gale settled the box on her lap and turned it around to find the note. "This is from Wash."

Bowers let out a gigging "ooooooh," and deftly dodged a wad of wrapping paper sent her way.

"Let's see what it—" Gale was suddenly cut off when the door exploded open off its hinges and a busty blur of a scarf-wearing battleship bolted though the sudden opening.

"NOOOOOOO!" Wash dived though the air and smashed to the floor right in front of Gale, sending her mug a full foot into the air from the sheer shockwave. Luckily, the drink landed on the soft well of Wash's ample stern instead of anywhere where it could break.

Gale blinked.

Wash snatched the present back and cradled it to her chest. "This… uh… was meant for s-someone…" Wash glanced at the floor and her face blushed a brilliant red. "Else. S-sorry."

Gale blinked again.

Wash quietly collected herself, and backed out the door with mumbled apologies.

Gale blinked yet again. "Okay…" she glanced at Bowers, "Did anyone else just see that?"


	134. Chapter 100: Sisters and Steel

**Chapter 100: Sisters and Steel**

Support Carrier Shinano halfheartedly poked at her mountainous breakfast of rice and chicken bits with a spoon. It wasn't that she wasn't hungry, her belly had been grumbling at her to replenish her exhausted repair supplies for the past few hours. But eating just felt so unappealing to her right how. Her gut was a knotted mess of worry and fear, and just poking at her food made the big carrier feel miserable.

"What if she doesn't like me?" Shinano crossed her massive legs and worried the heavy canvas hem of her underskirt.

"Huh?" White leaned around Shinano's mountainous helping of rice with a spoonful of cereal firmly planted in her cheek.

"M-" Shinano shuddered to a stop and paused to collect herself. "Miss Musashi. I never met her back…" the carrier trailed off and stared down at the slowly regrowing stump of her left arm. It was almost a mockery of an arm. It was far too short and stumpy for her size, the skin was still shiny and fresh. Her hand was little more than a lopsided blob of flesh, her fingers were nubs barely the size of mosquito bites that couldn't even touch her own palm.

It was a mockery of an arm… was… was she a mockery of a Yamato?

"She's your _sister_ ," White stared at the timid Japanese girl. Then, with great pomp and somber grace, the tiny American placed her spoon back in her bowl of soggy fruit loops, clambered over the table, and hopped into Shinano's lap to give her a hug. "I'm _sure_ she loves you."

Shinano blushed, and buried her face in White's comforting chest. She felt her glasses squish against her nose, but she didn't care. The towering support carrier just squeezed her eyes closed to hold back her brewing tears. "B-but what if she doesn't?"

"She will," White wrapped her arms around Shinano's head and hugged that part of her to. "I have forty-nine sisters. Trust me, she will."

Shinano sniffed, and tried her very best to melt into the tiny American's comforting embrace. As much as she loved Houshou's kindly wisdom, Shinano had decided that White was her real mother. The big carrier never felt quite as comfortable as she did in White's arms.

"She'll probably be proud of you, too." White gave Shinano's head a squeeze, then ran her hands though the big carrier's black ponytail. "Why don't you wear your braid anymore?" she asked, "You came back like that, and it looked really cool."

Shinano shot a puffy-eyed look up at the little escort carrier, "I… I can't do it myself. I don't know how to braid hair." She blinked, and pushed her glasses back up her nose with the stubby nubs on the end of her left arm, "Why… why do you think she'd be proud of me?"

White looked at the carrier like she'd grown a second head. Which, given the borderline magical abilities of American Damage Control, wasn't something Shinano was willing to totally rule out at this point. "You saved Japan, silly!"

Shinano blinked again. "I… I saved _Tokyo_ , and I didn't even do that. I… I shot down a few Stukas is all." She buried her face in White's chest again. "Anyone could do that."

"Maybe," said White, "but you _did_ do it."

Shinano whimpered in the inquisitive.

"Do you want to hear a story I heard from Enterprise?" asked White.

Shinano whimpered in the affirmative.

"Well," White settled down onto the giant carrier's lap, her stumpy legs splayed around Shinano's waist while her fingers were laced behind the towering Japanese girl's thick neck. "After Pearl, she said she'd never been quite so scared in her whole life."

"E-Enterprise was scared?"

White nodded. "She'd watched her friends die, and now she was heading far to the North. And only her Admiral seemed to know why. She told me she was terrified the whole time, even called General Quarters on nothing she was so scared."

Shinano nodded, eager for her momboat to continue the story.

"Then," said White, "Enterprise told me she saw a ship approaching her in the dawn sunlight. In the darkness, it took her a moment to recognize it as her little sister, Hornet." White slipped off Shinano's lap and settled onto the table itself. "Only Hornet had her deck bursting with bombers."

"The Tokyo raid," said Shinano. "I… I've heard of that." She blinked. "You didn't _do_ anything."

"It doesn't matter what we did to you," said White. "What mattered is we showed ourselves we weren't out yet. Enterprise said that was the moment she started to hope again."

Shinano smiled. "I like that story," she said. "But… what does it have to do with me?"

"You took a hit," White pointed to Shinano's stumpy arm, "That would've sent Enterprise running with her tail between her legs. And you stood back up and launched a strike!" White spread her little arms wide and beamed at the support carrier, "You showed Japan that you're _faithful_."

"I… I guess," said Shinano. Before she could say anything more, the doors to the mess hall all but exploded off their hinges into a spray of flying wooden splinters.

Standing framed in the doorway was the sodden form of superbattleship Musashi. Her snowy white hair as damped down against her skull, and the shirt she wore draped over her shoulders was sopping wet. Salt dripped from her abbreviated skirt and poured down her chocolate skin in a thousand tiny rivulets.

She was so wet from her trip across the Pacific, the tear streaks coming off her bloodshot eyes were almost lost in the background noise. Almost. Her lips parted in a breathless word and her head pivoted over with the oiled gravity of her main battery to focus on Shinano.

And then the battleship _moved._ One towering heel was placed in front of the other as Musashi built up speed. The crowd parted before her like the sea itself, even the air seemed to be giving her a wide berth.

Shinano scrambled to her feet, only to wince when the bench she sat on carved a scrape along her shin. She bit back the pain and snapped her one good hand up in a proper salute. "Musashi-dono," she said. "I—"

She didn't get another word out. Musashi grabbed the carrier in a tight hug and squeezed her into her own soaking wet chest. The battleship buried her face in the carrier's neck and didn't even bother to hide the happy sobs pouring from her mouth.

Shinano froze. Her heart rate scrambled for redline and she felt her cheeks go a brilliant crimson. "Mu-musashi-dono—"

"I'm your sister." Musashi planted a wet kiss on the carrier's cheek before squeezing her even tighter. "And I love you," she panted. "So very, _very_ much."

Shinano felt herself melt into her big sister's arms as all her worries went up like smoke. She _had_ a sister now! A sister who didn't just tolerate her… but… but _loved_ her! The big carrier buried her face in Muashi's soaking wet neck and cried heavy tears of joy. She couldn't remember another time she felt quite this happy.

White squealed for almost five minutes before running over to hug both girls—or at least their legs.

Shinano let a tired, sobbing laugh slip though her lips. Okay, _now_ she couldn't remember ever being quite so happy.

—|—|—

Tenryuu—in the honest, objective, totally non-biased opinion of Tenryuu—had never looked quite as badassfuly cool. Or perhaps cooly badass. Whatever the order, the amount of both "cool" and "badass" were both hovering well north of the top of the charts.

The light cruiser had her purple-tinged hair resting in perfectly-rakish layers, her tie hung at a tastefully rebellion angle around her neck, and the sleeves of her cardigan were rolled up to the perfect action-hero level. And that's not even _touching_ the degrees of utter refined weapons-grade cool oozing from her eyepatch and ominously glowing floaters.

Or fingerless gloves. Tenryuu didn't feel the need to any cool-sounding adjectives to her gloves. Just the mere fact that they were fingerless should be enough to convince even the most hardened doubter that they were indeed badass personified. They were even leather. Black, shiny leather. Everyone knew things are just inherently _cooler_ when they were black leather.

But… but all of that refined badassitude that _was_ the nameship of the _Tenryuu_ -class of light cruiser utterly _paled_ in comparison to the final element of cool completing her look.

The mighty sword Tenryuu had resting on her shoulder with the kind of careless ease that marks someone as a badass of the hardest core when applied to something so lethal. Well… that or an idiot, but Tenryuu was no fool.

The sword, which was forged by the greatest smiths Japan had to offer from a thousand layers of carefully chosen steel and was most certainly not bought off ebay fuck you Tatsuta for starting that rumor that is false, was called _Waterline._ And it had no equal.

It was so cool, in fact, that Tenryuu had to take a moment to let her giggles dissipate before she continued. Because seriously, standing with one hand on your hip and the other resting on a sword is just _awesome._

But, when the cruiser had finally settled back down to her usual level of impeccable cool, she tapped the back of her hand against the door of a certain Major she'd grown fond of.

"C'min," grunted a half-interested voice muffled almost to nothing by the door.

Tenryuu huffed. She would have preferred a more dynamic greeting from her great rival in the realm of swordsmanship. Or… swordswomanship? Swords-boat ship? Whatever. It wasn't dynamic enough! Luckily, Tenryuu was a cruiser of the Japanese navy. She could make her own dynamic entries, thank you very much!

"Solette!" Tenryuu barked and sent the door flying open with a swing of her hip. "I have- OW!"

"Turn the handle," came the voice of an utterly unfazed nurse.

Tenryuu scowled and rubbed her bruised hipbone. Her entry had not gone as planned. Not gone as planned at all. Oh well, time to improvise. The cruiser turned the handle and pushed the door open just enough to disengage the latch.

"Solette!" she barked, sending the door flying with a swing of her hip. This time it worked! "I have need of your assistance!"

The major—who looked like he was fighting a loosing battle to fill out paperwork faster than it could reproduce—didn't even bother looking up from the forms he was completing. "Take a number."

Tenryuu puffed out her cheeks in a pout. A supremely badass pout, of course. Still, she would not be swayed from her chosen course. "You know," the cruiser planted a hand on her hip and threw out one leg, "I was walking the base the other day."

"If you flashed anyone, I don't want to hear about it." Solette pointed to a comically large pile of folders sitting in the remotest corner of his desk. A sticky note on the top read 'SHARPs'. Suddenly, the remoteness of the pile made sense. Solette was no doubt attempting to keep the lewdness from tainting the rest of his work.

"Major!" Tenryuu huffed, and her floaters floated in a badassfully upset manner. Her honor had been besmirched—that was a word right, besmirched?—anyway, there was an implied stain on her honor. "I would never do such a thing!"

"Mmm," Solette moved a completed form to the tiniest pile on his desk and picked a fresh form from one of the waiting piles. All without so much as glancing at the cruiser.

"It was probably Kirishima," said Tenryuu, "Or Wash."

"Makes sense," said Solette as he set to work completing this latest form.

"Anyways," Tenryuu planted her sword in the floor and used its decorated hilt as a rest for her gloved hands. _Fingerless_ -gloved, that is. "I was walking around the base, when what should I find but!" She paused for dramatic effect. "A Nest! A Nest of _feral cardboard boxes!_ "

Solette didn't even blink.

"Of course," Tenryuu puffed out her inexplicably—even to her—large chest and polished her fingernails on the fabric of her sweater, "I slew all the foul creatures."

"That's nice," said Solette with utter disinterest.

"Their leader was there too," Tenryuu smirked and flung a lock of hair past her patched-over eye. "A vast creature. They called him… the Box of Refrigerator."

"Uh huh."

"I slew him as well," Tenryuu laughed in a cool and badass manner. "It was a glorious battle."

"I'm sure it was."

Tenryuu knit her brows in a pout. "Of course…" she leaned over with a smirk, wood chipping as her blade bit into the floor. "I've heard tell of an even _greater_ infestation of boxes behind the kitchens. An infestation so vast it may take two warriors to slay!"

Solette wordlessly reached for another form. "Tenryuu, I have a lot of work to do."

"Whyyyyyyyy!" Tenryuu fell to her knees, her gloved hands resting on the major's desk as she moaned in anguish. "I wanna go sword things with you!"

Solette shook his head.

"Pleaaase!" pleaded Tenryuu. She clasped her hands together and put on the wounded-puppy look she'd learned from her division mates. Riding herd on DesDiv six might be a pain in the stern sometimes, but they'd given her a healthy appreciation for the power of destroyer eyes.

"Tenryuu, no," said Solette, "I've got a lot of work to do."

"But I'm _bored!_ " Tenryuu flopped onto her back and started making snow-angels on the floor. Or she would if there was any snow. Right now she was really just making… air… angels.

A pen clattered to the floor. And for the first time since she'd come in, Solette lifted his eyes off his work to lock with Tenryuu's. "What did you say?" said the soldier with deadly earnest.

"I'm bored?" asked Tenryuu.

"Hmm," Solette leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin.

"I'll make you a cake when we're done," said Tenryuu. The major was almost on her side. She just needed a little spice to sweeten the deal. Which in hindsight wasn't the best metaphor, since spice and sweet were normally opposites, but whatever. "Well… I'll have the girls make you one, and then I'll bring it to you."

"Tenryuu," Solette shot the cruiser a smirk, "Get my blade."


	135. Chapter 101

**Chapter 101: Battleship Bath Time**

Jersey's mind was socked in a fog so thick even her radars couldn't see though it. The big battleship wandered aimlessly though the halls, watching powerlessly from the furthest corner of her bridge as her body navigated on its own. She was soaked to the keel, freezing cold, and…

And she didn't know what to feel. She should be happy for her little sister, she knew she should. Little Wisconsin had died like a _battleship._ There was one defining factor that made a battleship a battleship, and it _wasn't_ guns. It was armor. More than any other ship afloat, battleships existed to _keep their crews safe._ They existed to take the enemy's hardest blow squarely on the chin, then shrug it off and reply in kind.

Jersey couldn't imagine a better way for a battleship to die than after getting every last soul under her care to safety. It was an honor even she had failed time and again to even come close to. But…

But all the honor in the world wouldn't make her miss her little sister any less. Maybe she'd come back… But from what little the battleship could remember of her time in that icy sea, it took _time_ to tuck a ship in for the long wait. This war could be over before she came back.

If she came back…

Someone… a sailor probably. Or maybe a destroyer. Jersey was too shattered to tell the difference. But someone pointed her towards the baths. Good. The battleship knew she wasn't getting over what'd just happened to her any time soon. But she could at least fight off the soaking chill clinging to her sodden body.

Then she'd only be emotionally miserable, instead of emotionally and physically.

Jersey was pretty sure she muttered some words of thanks, but her memory turned to haze before she could be certain. Hallways and doors slid past her like half-remembered dreams as she could only assume she was walking though the base. Her footsteps rang like silent gunshots between her ears, and her misery was rapidly paling in comparison to her growing fury.

She'd lost one fucking sister and she was a fucking useless wreck of a wo—ship. _One._ Her country had lost twenty-fucking-thousand in the first five goddamn _minutes_ of this war, and Jersey hadn't once seen her admiral crying like a sniveling little child.

Jersey was angry. She was furious at the monsters who'd put her sister on the bottom, but even that anger was nothing compared to the limitless burning hatred pointed squarely at herself. She felt her vision tint an angry red, and she didn't give a single rotten fuck.

"FUCK!" Jersey roared in anger and threw her fist out with all the might her towering body could produce. A mangled bollard stood wrapped around her fist as concrete dust drifted to the ground. The black nomex of her fingerless flight gloves was already blossoming with blood. Jersey could tell she'd torn her knuckles open down the the steel, and she didn't _care._

She was a battleship, she was _designed_ to take punishment. So why the _fuck_ couldn't she handle herself!

"Ya quite done there?" The one-armed old man-o-war that Jersey was rapidly learning to despise sauntered into view with a cocky smirk on her oaken face. At least she'd exchanged the three-postage-stamps-and-some-floss bikini from earlier for a proper Navy greatcoat.

"Stow it, Victory," Jersey glared at the Australian-accented apparition that seemed determined to haunt her in her lowest moments. "I'm not in the fucking mood."

"Oh," Victory smirked, and clambered up onto the mangled bollard so she could look Jersey in the eyes. "I think you are, mate."

Jersey shoved with all her might, only for her hand to pass though the man-o-war's chest like it wasn't even there. Which it wasn't. The American just scowled deeper and stormed away.

"Can't get away from me that fast," said Victory as the battleship cratered pavement with each furious step.

"I make thirty-five knots!" roared back Jersey. "Fucking _watch me_."

"I'm a figment of your imagination, mate." Victory was suddenly sitting on a bench a head of Jersey with a smile on her face that almost matched the glare off her polished sword. "I go where you go."

Jersey scowled, then stormed into a secluded building with barely more than a nod from the officer on duty. She might've flashed her ID, but she doubted it mattered. She'd be amazed if there was even a single woman _anywhere_ who looked like her, let alone in Japan. "I'm taking a fucking bath," she snapped. "Why don't you go fuck yourself."

"If only," Victory sighed wistfully, "But… hallucination, mate. Can't exactly—"

"NOPE!" Jersey threw another pointless punch at the sailing ship's towering admiral's hat.

"Just saying, mate," Victory tugged at the lapel of her greatcoat with her one remaining hand. "Rum, sodomy, and the lash. Pick one of the fun ones."

"I'm American, bongbote," Jersey scowled. "I run dry."

Victory shot a significant glance at the battleship's hips. Or more specifically, the area between them. "Can say that again, mate."

"Fuck you!" Somehow, Jersey's frustration and… almost embarrassment was starting to push her hatred down. "I mean… I don't drink."

Victory shrugged. "So, Sodomy then?"

Before Jersey could respond, she'd ducked though the doors to the bathhouse. It was, if she was being honest, a nice place. Polished wood veneer that looked like it'd been lovingly maintained by someone with precious little to do with their time surrounded a stone-sided tub full of steaming water. The tub itself was huge, big enough to fit someone of Jersey's titanic size with ease.

Maybe even two, if they got a little comfy.

Which was good.

Because there was already someone in the tub.

And she was _naked._

"M-Mushi?" Jersey's jaw fell open as she stared at the chocolate goddess soaking in the steaming water. She'd never actually… seen Musashi naked before. Close to it, yes, but… but it seems those scant few inches of cloth made all the difference.

The Japanese super-battleship actually blushed, and cradled her arms over the bulging swell where her breasts crested above the steaming water. Her glasses were too fogged up to read her expression, but the battleship almost looked shy.

"That a yes to the sodomy?" Victory shot Jersey an evil wink.

"Fuck you," hissed Jersey. "I have a— a—"

"Boyfriend?" giggled the Brit. "'cause if you can't even _say_ it, then…"

Jersey scowled and slammed the door closed on the intensely frustrating man-o-war. "Shouldn't you be with your sister?"

Musashi hugged herself, then glanced down with uncharacteristic restraint. "Probably, yes. But she's…" The giant battleship furrowed her brows. "She's the hero of the day, and I, Musashi, do not wish to intrude."

Jersey blinked. "But she's your sister."

Musashi nodded glumly. "Yes. My baby sister, converted to the world's largest escort carrier. And she's still done more for Japan than I ever have."

Jersey settled herself on a bench and started unlacing her sneakers. "Mushi… you, uh… fucking…"

"I'm a battleship," said Musashi. "A _Yamato._ My country emptied its pockets to build me." She sunk down in her bath until only her face was above the steaming surface. "I was obsolete before I even tasted salt."

"So?" Jersey zipped off her vest and breathed a sigh of relief as her sodden shirt was suddenly not squeezed right against her damp skin. "So am fucking I."

"It's not the same," hissed Musashi. "You… I've read your history."

Jersey scowled with her shirt half-over her head. "That's not creepy."

"You and your sisters were the _last_ battleships," Musashi wheeled around in her bath. Her chocolate body breeched the waves as she stood, her face a mask somewhere between anger and despair. "You can do thirty-five knots. Even in the age of carriers you were _always_ in demand!"

"As flak-barges, yeah." Jersey only shrugged as she wadded up her shirt and tossed it in the corner.

"Better than me," said Musashi. "I… I never even fired my rifles. Not really.

"Didn't you shoot those useless-ass beehive rounds?" said Jersey as she slipped off her shorts.

"Doesn't count," mumbled Musashi. "I… I spent the war dragging my country down. When I came back, they stuck me in a shed, fed me just enough for minimum combat readiness."

She shot an angry glare at the American, who was currently mumbling insults at her uncooperative sports bra. "You spent the war in constant demand! Your nation brought you back time and again! You were back for _two days_ and you bagged more tonnage than I have in my entire _life_."

Jersey shook her head and growled. "You know… I was gonna come here and cry about how fucking useless I am."

Musashi blinked. "W-what?"

"Wisky died, I wasn't there to save her," Jersey shrugged. "All that jazz."

The Japanese battleship nodded, and the intensity hiding behind those fogged-over glassed dimmed. "She died well."

"Mmm," Jersey poked a toe into the steaming water and let out a quiet moan. It was warmer than she ever imagined. This was going to feel _so_ good.

"When Yamato died," Musashi scooted over to make room for the gigantic American. It was going to be a tight squeeze, but Jersey didn't quite have the same beam as a Yamato-class. "You could see the explosion from the mainland."

"That so?" Jersey carefully slid her body into the water with a happy sigh.

Musashi nodded. "It… yes. Yamato means Japan, you know."

"I'm not fucking illiterate," mumbled Jersey, but she was too busy moaning in happiness as she _finally_ got warm again to put any real bile behind her words.

"When she died it was a symbol of my country," said Musashi. "Dying in pointless attack against a victorious foe."

"Hell yeah," Jersey smiled. "'was awful brave though."

Musashi blushed, and nodded. "Jersey."

"What?"

"Your sister's death was a symbol too."

"I don't fucking believe in that supernatural bullshit," snapped the American battleship who was also a towering blond woman with hips that could kill from twenty miles away in any weather.

Musashi didn't even attempt to address that. "Perhaps. But she died like an American." Musashi puffed out her chest until the chocolate swell bulged over the surface, "She threw reason to the curb and went beyond the impossible to save her crew."

Jersey smiled, and spread her muscular arms along the bathtub rail. Musashi shivered as Jersey's chilly skin brushed against her bare shoulder. "Sisters, right?"

"Mmm," Musashi smirked. "You know… Yamato used to be _so_ jealous of me."

"That so?" Jersey glanced over with a mirror-shaded smirk.

"I was the second ship," said Musashi. "They made several improvements." The gigantic Japanese battlewagon chuckled. "You know… she used to stuff type-91 shell caps to try and pad out her—"

Musashi stopped dead in the water as she realized something that had until now been hidden behind her fogged-over glasses. Battleship _New Jersey_ , the most decorated battleship in human history, second-born of the _Iowa_ -class and object of all Musashi's jealousy and attraction was squeezed into the tub with her.

And she was, save for those mirrored aviators she always wore, totally naked. All that magnificent American Engineering was on glorious display. Chiseled power plants twice as strong as the best Musahsi had to offer rippled under the American's belly. Her chest bulged with armor thinner and smaller than Musashi's own, but far firmer and tougher. Her stern, unencumbered by the awkward arrangement of hanger decks and catapult rails Musashi was burdened with, bulged in a perfectly uninterrupted curve.

And it was all _right there_. Musashi blushed a deeper brown and hurriedly crossed her legs and tried to focus on the most unappealing mental image she could come up with. Namely, a shirt.

"Where?" Jersey smirked, apparently oblivious to the Japanese battlewagon's discomfort. "Where'd she stick the shells?"

"Her—" Musashi coughed to hide her voice breaking. "She stuffed them down her shirt."

Jersey blinked. Then blatantly glanced at Musashi's bulging upperworks. Then the big American threw her head back and let loose a laugh that could probably be heard in Tokyo, if not _Washington._

Musashi just sunk deeper into the water and sulked.

—|—|—

Short-heeled boots clicked against concrete with rhythmic precision as battleship Kongou strode her way though the park. Her hair was done up in its usual carefree double-buns, and her ahoge bounced in a generally Goto-wardsly direction with each step. But there was a strain in the old battleship's fine, vaguely European features. Every step she took was was carefully measured and precisely taken, she couldn't afford to miss a beat.

Not now.

Not here.

"Miss Kongou," a young woman offered the ancient battlewagon a polite bow. She didn't look much older than Kongou's beloved sister Kirishima. She wore her hair—the same ashy gray hair that Kongou's littlest sister had—in a flared bob like Kirishima, and she even wore glasses.

Kongou caught herself staring a heartbeat too late. She had to remind herself that Kirishima _wasn't_ with her. Her little sister was in America, thousands of miles away. _Safe_ , but… still, a long way from home.

"Y-yes?" Kongou put on a smile and clasped her hands inside her billowing detached sleeves.

"We've cleared the deck for you," said the young woman with a very Kirishima-like smile. It was a very little smile, like she was trying to be serious but just couldn't quite help herself. "You've got her all to yourself, as long as you want."

"Thank you," Kongou bowed. Her keel might be as English as her sea-gray eyes, but the blood running though her veins—if she had blood, she still wasn't sure on that point—was Japanese.

The woman smiled again, then smartly vanished into the battleship's peripheral vision. Kongou was quite thankful for that. She considered herself a people person, and she always found being around those she loved left her feeling happier and healthier for it. But… sometimes she just needed to be alone.

Alone with… her.

Steel groaned under the battleship's titanic weight as she walked up the steps. Kongou kept her face calm and serene, and gingerly placed one foot ahead of the other. Even with metal creaking under far more weight than it was ever intended to bear, the old battleship wouldn't loose her cool.

It just wasn't British, after all.

Carefully, Kongou ascended step by step. She could feel her knees shaking, and she nervously worried the fabric of her sleeves with bated breath. But at the same time, a smile graced her face. She couldn't quite explain it, but ever step made her feel more nervous and more calm at the same time. She felt a sort of warmth settle over her narrow shoulders, like someone had wrapped her in a blanket fresh out of the dryer and handed her some hot coco.

It was a very comforting sensation. One she was… quite familiar with every time she visited the park. But she'd never been quite so thankful for it as she was right now.

Kongou smoothed the fabric of her skirt, and took a moment to make sure her buns were still in order before she set foot on the battered, ancient teak. There were very, _very_ few things in this world older than the old battleship. But this… this was one of them.

"Hello," Kongou spoke to cold Winter air and smiled. She took a few more steps and stopped before the squat slanted face of a gun turret. It wasn't anything like one of her own turrets. It was smaller than hers, simpler. But its little guns had spoken words even Kongou's full broadside could never drown out.

The battleship snapped her hands to her side and bowed to the silent gunhouse. Canvas awnings and a few signal flags flying on towering masts fluttered in the breeze.

"It's good to see you too, Mikasa." Kongou settled down onto her heels before the ancient predreadnought's turret and retrieved a picnic basket from her stores. It wasn't much, nothing more than a light snack for a ship of her size. But Kongou hadn't come to the park to eat.

"I had the chance to visit America again," Kongou produced a camp stove and a battered old tea kettle.

A gentle breeze rolled off the bay and rustled against the predreadnought's ancient hull.

Kongou smiled as she let her water boil. "They're a very strange people. But… more generous than you can ever imagine."

Kongou retrieved two plates and some scones from her basket. She carefully placed a pat of butter on one of the blueberry-speckled pastries. With a careful stare, Kongou spread the butter around until it was just _perfect_.

"They've found a proper respect for tea now, you know." Kongou placed the buttered scone on _Mikasa's_ battered teak deck and slid it over towards the gunhouse. "And their cakes! You've not lived until you've had an American grandmother bake you a cake."

The battleship dabbed at the corner of her seafoam eyes and bit her lip. "I… I hope Kirishima's doing alright."

The ancient rifles of battleship _Mikasa_ stared back in wordless affirmation.

"I know," said Kongou. "But I worry about her never the less. You know how it is." The British-born battleship sighed wistfully and started fixing herself a scone. If there was one thing that always helped ease her worries, it was baking. And also eating, but that tended to require baking in the first place.

If only all her little sisters were here, she could have a truly magnificent tea party. She… she _might_ even consider inviting Jersey, except… "Mikasa, have you ever heard of sweet tea?"

The old predreadnought's flags fluttered in the wind.

"I thought not," said Kongou. "It's a terrible American invention, and I'm quite certain my new American friend enjoys it above all else."

After a moment, Kongou laughed. "Why, because it's sugary and sweet! Have you _met_ an American, Mikasa?"

The ancient predreadnought sat silent in her concrete berth.

"I thought not," said Kongou. "But…" the battleship paused and rested her hands in her lap. The hem of her skirt rustled against the top of her thigh-highs, and her kettle started to steam. "But she has every negative quality a person could posses. And despite that she's one of the nicest, kindest, most selfless people I know."

Somewhere out in the bay, a fishing boat's bell echoed over the quiet waters.

"Now," Kongou poured steaming water into a porcelain tea pot and swirled it around. "Tea's almost ready. I'll pour you a cup."


	136. A Certain Lady Part 27

**A Certain Lady Part 27**

Arizona hesitated as she stood at the door before her.

Was she really going to go through with this?

Could she even afford to do so? With such a dramatic day having already unfolded before even lunch?

Particularly given who that drama had centered around?

Pennsy had shown herself to be... less than amicable when it came to the idea of working alongside her new Japanese allies. And after an altercation involving little Shigure of all people, her elder sister had been locked away. Locked away with Mutsu, Jintsuu, and Takao for a history lesson and a talk about the evolution of disciplinary action throughout the years.

Having an American shipgirl present would have been ideal, but she was the only one readily available. And her presence was not exactly the best choice right now. Not for disciplinary action at the very least.

She really wanted to be there for her sister. Both as a fellow warship, but also because she simply wanted to spend more time with her as family.

But even she would admit that taking a swing at Shigure was uncalled for.

She wasn't completely certain of the chain of events that had enabled Pennsylvania to corner the destroyer and start grilling her about Yamashiro, but it had happened regardless. And when Shigure had refused to provide, her sister's temper had flared and a fist had been loosed. The punch hadn't even come close to landing thanks to Hiei, but it had still been thrown.

It was rather impressive that Hiei had managed to intervene as she had in her condition.

Regardless...

Arizona sighed as she recalled Mutsu's parting words before she'd shooed her out of the room where Pennsy was being held.

"Yes Ari, everything has been delayed and no you may not come in. Why don't you take a break? Have some fun. Read a book. Go for a walk. Go on a date. I'll make it an order~"

And Mutsu had indeed pulled rank and made it an order.

It certainly didn't sit well with her, but she wasn't about to disobey a superior officer over something so trivial. Even if that meant her own definition of... fun was off the table. Target practice was fun. So were sea trials, exercise, and books on tactics and strategy. But Mutsu had said it was her own ideas of fun that were to be used. Or Hiei's. Arizona-Class fun was banned for the evening.

Which had brought her to where she was now.

Awkwardly hesitating before a simple wooden door.

"I am a battleship of the United States Navy. I am dedicated, steadfast, and sworn to my duty and country. I..." Without thinking, she knocked on the door. And now she was committed. There would be no evasive maneuvers here. Why did this body have to move on its own at times?

"Hang on!"

Arizona didn't have to wait longer than a few seconds before the door swung open and revealed the fastest destroyer in Japan.

"Ou! What's… Oh." Shimakaze trailed off as she processed who was at her door. A frown crossed her features. "It's the prude lagwagon."

"I-pardon?" Arizona hadn't exactly been expecting smiles and hugs and cheer, but the rather frosty welcome was quite unexpected.

"How'd you do it?" demanded Shimakaze indignantly.

"Do what, exactly?"

"Go so fast! Your sis shows up and you're off like a rocket! Standards don't move that fast. Ever. It's not supposed to be possible!" Shimakaze ranted and raved, both attempting to divine Arizona's secrets and soothe her battered pride. Her bunny-ear ribbon bounced all around as she made ever more animated claims.

"Shimakaze," Arizona finally interjected with a hard tone. This was difficult enough. Standing in the hall of the destroyer dorms only made it more awkward.

The destroyer stopped in her tracks and looked up at the battleship questioningly.

"I don't know." She raised her hand to stave off another outburst. "But rest assured that you will be the first to know if I do find out."

"...Fine. I'll hold you to that." Shimakaze crossed her arms with a huff before dropping the irritated stance and donning a more friendly tone. "So what's up? You came here for a reason, right?"

Arizona looked down the halls before leaning in to whisper her admission.

"I require your assistance with… clothing."

Shimakaze simply stared at Arizona as if the woman had grown a second head.

"May I come inside to explain?" She could feel her face heating in embarrassment, but tried to remain as composed as possible.

"...sure." Shimakaze stepped aside and beckoned Arizona into her room. Her mind was bogging down with all sorts of bizarre explanations and theories. Each more ludicrous than the last. She considered herself to be pretty sharp, but even she couldn't figure out what was going on.

Stupid American standard battleships. Why can't they make sense?

Arizona looked around Shimakaze's room as its owner set about shutting the door and rummaging through a small refrigerator for something to drink.

She would admit she was definitely surprised.

It was incredibly well kept for one. Cleanliness was to be expected, but this was fair above that. Magazines and books neatly organized in the bookshelf and not even a stray sock to be seen. Even the foam mat dominating the floor seemed to be placed just right.

"Want anything?"

"Ah, no. Thank you."

Shimakaze shrugged and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. She popped it open and took a healthy drink of it before pointing it at Arizona.

"So spill, Lieutenant. Why do you need clothing help from the stripperboat?" She almost grinned when Arizona paled. "We have lewdmarines and the Internet."

"Wh-" Arizona clamped down on that train of thought. For that way lies prude filled rage. And she did not need to drive off a potential source of help. Plus, Shimakaze was actually wearing something decent at the moment. A workout attire if she guessed right.

"Hm?"

"Right. Sorry. I apologize." She drew herself up and locked eyes with the destroyer. "I have been ordered to take time off by the Lieutenant Commander and as such I intend to go out this evening. But it would not do to be seen in uniform for such a task. But my wardrobe is… lacking and my fashion sense is not exactly up with the times."

"And you came to me?"

"You are the only one available who might have some sense of modern tastes. And I do not have good reference to place trust in my own observations." Even so, Shimakaze was very, very far down on her list of individuals to seek advice from.

Her elder sister was right out, as were those dealing with her.

Yamashiro and Shigure probably did not want to see her at the moment.

And Hiei was both missing and probably best avoided for this particular query.

Shimakaze held Arizona under a flat gaze. Her usual semi-sleepy expression one of judgment.

"...Please."

"Ou! Alright. But you follow my ideas to the letter!" She'd help the outdated American. And maybe get some petty revenge in the process. Nothing too bad. Just a little poking at the prude's sensibilities. "Or I'm not helping."

Arizona hesitated for the briefest of moments.

"Very well. I am in your care."

Shimakaze grinned and Arizona began to sweat.

"Good. Now if you're going out tonight, we need to move fast. Super fast." Shimakaze nodded sharply. Arizona was shorter and curvier than every other battleship she'd ever seen, so that meant no borrowing from any of the other shipgirls. But maybe…

Arizona began to regret her decision as Shimakaze started pacing and rattling off her thoughts far faster than should be possible.

Words like 'low cut' and 'lacy' only served to fill her with further dread.

—|—|—

Admiral Richardson trudged along the concrete pavers leading to his front door with all the energy of a lethargic zombie.

The day could not have been more mad if it had tried.

Between... effectively anything involving Pennsylvania and that nice little report filled with absurd levels of mixed news sitting on his desk, he was absolutely spent. Add in the day-to-day shenanigans and it was a small miracle he was even standing.

"What do you mean you didn't ask? That's the first thing you do!"

His hand froze before it reached the doorknob. Why was Shimakaze in his house? And why was she raising a ruckus?

"I admit that had... slipped my mind."

Now he was even more confused.

"Pfft! Ari, there are limits to being oblivious!"

And there was Hiei yucking it up with them.

"Ou!"

Right, enough of that.

"I'm home," announced Richardson tiredly as he opened the door and stepped into his home, deciding that dealing with the madness sooner than later would let him get to bed sooner. "And can someo-"

And then he was struck dumb.

If someone had told him when Battleship Arizona had appeared that he would one day see the sight before him, he'd have told them they were insane. Sure, shipgirls were beautiful on a level that defied common convention. But Arizona was a ship overflowing with a dedication to duty, to serve and to protect. Her life was her mission. An absolute and unending drive to prove her worth and atone for a failure she could have never overcome.

Arizona's idea of proper attire involved military uniforms and things that were usually filed under Sunday Best. At least, that's what he had thought after seeing and hearing what had become known as her Prude Rage. Tiny skirts and missing underwear were just two of the many things that he'd seen drive her up the wall. But right now he was seeing none of that.

"Well, someone's at a loss for words."

Were Richardson not currently trying to comprehend reality at the moment, he might have told Hiei to kindly stuff it.

He blinked and the sight did not vanish.

There was Arizona, dressed to the nines in a white dress that was exactly the sort of thing she would have taken anyone else to the breakers over. While it was almost completely all encasing with it's high neck, long sleeves, and reaching to just above her ankles, there were more than enough sheer cutouts to the form fitting garment to make him question just how much it actually concealed. Her coppery red hair was left to fall about of it's own accord save for her bangs which were held in place by a pair of silvery pins. A light bit of makeup he idly recognized as Hiei's handiwork completed the look.

"Uh..."

"Words. Use your words, Admiral," laughed Hiei. "I know she's gorgeous, but you need to use things called words to tell her."

"Lieutenant!" barked Arizona, her face turning an even darker shade of red.

"What? It's true. Just be glad Mutsu's not here." Hiei grinned as she placed her hand onto her jeans covered hip. "She's the one with the teeny tiny skirt that you don't like."

"That's not a skirt! It's a-"

Hiei held up her hand to stave off the rant and Arizona immediately went silent. Only a frown remained.

"Alright. Alright. Don't get so worked up. It'll mess up your dress. You can do that after your date."

"Ou! Don't mess that dress up!" She didn't know who this 'A' person was in supply, but they had apparently delivered a dress sized just right maybe half an hour before she'd walked in the door. And since she had no idea who this person was, much less how to contact them, she did not want to risk Arizona accidentally tearing something in her ire. But that dress was really well made...

Richardson finally shut the door as his ability to function slowly returned from the daze he had been in. The headache probably had something to do with it. And the sheer absurdity of the situation. Had he fallen and hit his head? The walkway was a bit slippery...

"Right. Back up." The Admiral waited for all three ships to turn and face him. "What's going on?"

"Riiiight... About that." Hiei walked over to Richardson and stood next to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "Ari here, was told, my Mutsu no less, that she was going to take the rest of the day off since today was... today. And that she wasn't allowed to do anything that we wouldn't find fun."

Richardson merely turned his head to look at Hiei with a flat expression.

"So! She decided she was going out on a date!"

"What?"

"A date. You know, that thing people go on for fun or for vaguely romantic intentions? The thing Kongou-oneesama has been hoping Admiral Goto will take her out on one day?" Speaking of which, she really ought to send Goto a message about that. "That kind of date? You're not old enough to forget that, are you? Please tell me you're not going senile on me."

"He is old. Super old." Shimakaze's quip earned her a glare from the Admiral and promptly ignored it in favor of spinning in place.

"Very funny." Richardson slouched despite Hiei's grip and heaved a mighty sigh. Why today of all days. Couldn't he have this madness spread out of at least two or three? Eventually he looked up at the decidedly irritated and uncomfortable looking Arizona. "Well, have fun and don't do anything stupid."

"About that."

Richardson did not like the way Hiei voiced that.

"Ou! Lagwagon didn't actually ask them out."

"You, what?"

"Sir, this is mortifying enough." Arizona seemed to turn an even deeper shade of red as she visibly struggled to maintain eye contact with him. "Please do not make it worse than these two already have."

"So... who?" He thumbed over to Hiei and was smacked upside the head by said battleship before he could say anything to get himself in hot water. A thought struck his addled mind equally hard not a moment later. Made worse when Jane rounded the corner holding what he recognized as some of his best formal wear. Oh no. Please no.

Arizona folded her hands in front of her and locked eyes with him, wearing the most determined expression he had ever seen.

"Admiral John Richardson, I would like to request your presence as my escort this evening for dinner."

—|—|—

There was little hustle or bustle in the restaurant. The hour was late and many of the patrons were making idle chatter at the bar or enjoying soft conversation over low burning candles.

Off in a secluded corner sat two individuals awaiting their meal.

One an older looking man in a sharp looking suit.

The other a red haired woman of considerable beauty.

"I apologize, Admiral. I should have put more thought into this." Arizona tried to fight away the blush on her cheeks, but had abut as much success as she'd had ever since she'd first seen the dress Shimakaze had obtained for her. That is to say, none whatsoever. And the many eyes drawn to both her and Richardson did not help in the slightest. Why were these things so popular? And why, oh why couldn't she have worn her overcoat?

It wasn't the scars she was worried about. That had never really been an issue.

No it was the fact she felt as naked as if she were in dry dock. With how this dress hugged every curve possible, it left little to nothing to the imagination. How she'd not flown into a rage was due only to the promise she'd made Shimakaze and Hiei. Even that was straining. And if Jane had asked... She'd have no hope at all.

"Probably." Richardson did his best to appear as not exhausted as possible. He might have been forced into this, but that didn't mean he was going to be an ass about it. "But hey, we've both had... involved days. Might as well enjoy ourselves since we're here."

He really did not want to think about the Miracle of the Gulf right now. And breaking the news to the rest of the fleet was not going to be easy. They might not have the same attachments to the lost, but a loss was a loss. It was... bittersweet.

"Yes, sir." Arizona folded her hands in her lap. She squirmed in her seat, not liking the silence that had fallen but also unsure how to break it. There was indeed a reason behind her actions. A reason that had been gnawing at her for the past few days and only exacerbated after today's events. But now that she finally moved to take the opportunity, she found herself paralyzed.

The contents of her purse seemed to radiate a tremendous gravity.

"Jintsuu got her autograph." Richardson was the one to break the silence after a sip of his wine.

"Pardon?"

"Nobuo Uematsu. He was at Pennsylvania's summoning. Jintsuu's been dying to get his autograph ever since she found out he had volunteered to help." He wasn't really familiar with the man's works, but he knew enough thanks to his yeoman's gushing. Jintsuu really liked her composers and musicians. And it was a personal goal of hers to get as many autographs as she could. "She's going to call up her sisters and brag the next chance she gets."

"That doesn't sound like the Yeoman." Arizona frowned as she tried to imagine it. Jintsuu was a little scary at times, but a kind and dedicated woman. Bragging just didn't sound right. She shifted her feet as she tried to imagine such a scene. "I will admit I haven't know her as long as you have, but it does not seem right."

"Let me tell you something about traffic cones." Richardson rapped his fingers against the tablecloth before raising one.

Arizona tilted her head.

Traffic cones?

"They rarely are what they seem. Naka's the flashy, frilly fleet idol, but one of the biggest computer geeks you'll ever meet. She's all but married to a machine that outperforms most supercomputers." At Arizona's disbelieving expression, he realized he'd probably need to show her one of the streams that some of his subordinates invariably sent in a Reply All email. He raised a second finger and continued, "Jintsuu's kind, dedicated, and one of the most reliable girls you'll ever meet."

"But she ...fangirls over musicians and movies?" She knew a little bit about the cinema obsession, but had yet to be exposed to the true depths of it.

"She has a Darth Vader body pillow."

"She, what?" Arizona leaned forward with an accusing glare as her image of Jintsuu was further distorted by her Admiral. "If you are making this up, sir, I will be very displeased."

"I had a hard time believing it even when I found the thing in the wash." Richardson lowered his hand. "...And she's probably going to give me a mouthful when she finds out I just spilled that."

"We all live together. I'm sure I would have found it eventually." She sighed and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. Her image of Jintsuu was slowly being cracked and broken, but somehow she felt resigned that she should have expected as much. The Sasebo fleet, while dedicated and effective to the nth degree, was more bonkers than any military unit should be by leagues.

Richardson shrugged as the atmosphere began to lose the awkwardness and slowly started to warm up into something more friendly. Or less rigid at the very least.

"What of Sendai?"

"Sendai?"

"Yes. You didn't mention the nameship." Arizona cast her eyes across the flickering flame between herself and Richardson as she spoke, not really aware of the fact she wasn't much of a blushing mess anymore.

"Oh, right. Well... I've never met Sendai. But most reports involving her involve a lot of yelling. She's a lunatic for night battles apparently." Richardson snorted. "Probably holes up in her room and listens to Beethoven with a snifter full of brandy and a smoking jacket."

"Does she wear a monocle?"

Arizona smiled with ill concealed amusement when Richardson nearly choked on his drink.

"Dammit, Ari! I-" He stopped to clear his airways. "You did that on purpose. Fuck."

"Perhaps." Arizona returned to her usual stern expression as she sipped at her own drink, a dark red wine to match Richardson's. Okay, she would admit she was having a little fun.

"Christ, Mutsu and Hiei are a bad influence."

"Or perhaps you don't know me as well as you claim?"

Richardson just glared at the attractive redhead until she looked away with a dusting of red on her cheeks.

"...I have been spending more time with them, yes." With Hiei almost having almost completely taken over the home and Mutsu back in full swing as XO, there was little time where she was not in proximity to at least one of the two. Mutsu rarely passed up a chance to tease and Hiei's sense of humor was bizarrely infectious.

Before either could speak further, their dinner arrived. Along with the remainder of the wine they had ordered.

Both offered each other a shrug and tucked into their meals.

"That going to be enough for you?" queried Richardson as Arizona began to raise a slice of sausage, nearly dripping with steaming red sauce, to her lips.

"It will... suffice as a snack. I am nearly fully stocked, so there's no need to gorge myself." Heavens knew how much she put away when really hungry. A nice, fancy dinner was not meant to serve as replenishment anyways. It was a luxury if anything. Like catching a particularly tasty fish while underway and having the spare supplies to make something special of it.

"You have no idea how much my bank account thanks you for that." Richardson smirked before taking a bite of the meat ravioli he'd ordered. He had a soft spot for Italian food. Always had.

"Pardon, sir, but you are an ass."

"Guilty."

"How does the Lieutenant Commander put up with you?" Arizona swirled her pasta through the sauce before twirling it up on her fork. It was rather impressive she hadn't spilled a drop on her dress thus far. But not eating like a starved lunatic had it's benefits.

"Because I found the line with her and I don't cross it." He speared another piece of ravioli. "I'm not sure where the line is with you yet, so give me time."

"That's hardly a gentlemanly outlook to take. And not a good example for Jane, sir." Arizona realized she had been the one to cross a line when the Admiral froze before slowly, mechanically taking a bite of his food.

Richardson set down his utensils and leveled a flat stare at Arizona.

"I'm not a gentleman, Arizona. And I'm barely an Admiral." Maintained eye contact even as he reached over to take a swig of his wine, letting the bitter taste roll over his tongue. "And right now, I'm just John Richardson. A jackass trying to raise his daughter the best he can."

"Then-!" Arizona found herself silenced when Richardson simply glared at her.

"Let's finish eating and then we can talk."

The pleasant mood vanished like smoke in the wind as both set to finishing their meals with a machined precision. While it was definitely a delicious dinner, the taste was not nearly up to the standard it had been at the beginning.

When their plates had been cleared and their glasses refilled, they remained silent.

Only the soft glow of the candle's light made any sound as it gave the occasional pop and sputter while burning down.

"Arizona." Richardson's good humor was gone, replaced by the weariness of the day and the soured mood of the evening. The alcohol did not help.

"Admiral." Arizona's own mood had taken a downward turn. Even more so as she began to realize just how her intention might be received now. A part of her was still grinding away at just why she had opted for this course of action.

"Look, you've got something on your chest and it involves me." He tapped his shoulders. "I'm not an Admiral right now. No stars, no anything. Don't hold back. I have enough going on without you despising me on some level. Even more so now that you've brought Jane into this and the fact you live in my home."

Before Arizona could open her painted lips, Richardson held up his hand.

"Treat me like a civilian. Just plain old John Richardson."

Arizona took a deep breath and made her decision. It was for her. All for her.

For that small smile.

For the child who had become so taken with her and whom had helped drive off the dark.

She would repay that kindness. Whatever the cost might be. Even if...

She reached into her purse and withdrew a very specific item. A box, to be specific. It was only large enough to barely fit into her purse without appearing conspicuous. Unwrapped and still bearing a bit of adhesive from the price sticker.

A box containing a scale model of herself.

"John, please allow me to be Jane's mother." And with those words, Battleship Arizona offered the box to the dumbstruck man.

—|—|—

Arizona felt her face heat up with every passing moment as she held the model kit of herself out in offering to her Admiral.

Even in the dim candlelight, she figured her all but glowing embarrassment must have been plainly visible.

Why wasn't he saying anything? Why was he just sitting there? Yes, it came out of the blue. But he was good at thinking on his feet, wasn't he?

Please. Please say _something_!

The contents of the box rattled slightly as the battleship's hands began to tremble.

"Arizona?"

"Y-Yes?"

"Put the box down, please."

Arizona felt her heart seize, but complied with Richardson's request. The distance between herself and the Admiral seemed to be little more than inches while feeling the same as miles. It was disconcerting and unnerving. Like her entire world had become focused on the man sitting across from her.

She could not tear her eyes away from him, not even to glance at the model kit now dominating the center of the table. Her hands were clenched into nervous fists atop the table and her back was ramrod straight. Were it not for the palpable aura of nervousness and near fear, she might have given off the illusion of determination that had brought her to this point. A bead of cold sweat trailed down her neck and slid down her back.

"I'm going to give you the option of hearing the why before I tell you my answer." Richardson was not faring much better than Arizona, but he was holding himself together far better than the standard was. "But I want to hear why you're doing this and if you even know what you're doing. You're a smart woman. A prude and sometimes a pain in the ass, but you are not stupid. Don't make me think I've misjudged you."

Richardson pushed aside his empty plate so he cloud rest his clasped hands together in front of him. What was this woman thinking... Just, why?

Arizona did her best to not shift beneath Richardson's gaze. She had to give him an answer. And she could not sugarcoat it. Nor could she weave around it. And telling a falsehood to fruitlessly heighten her chances was right out. If she was even capable of such deception.

She was a standard battleship and standards take their foes head-on. She could not run, she could not dance, she could only take every blow and give it back a dozen fold.

"Adm-John." Arizona caught herself before bringing rank into her answer. It felt odd to address her commanding officer so casually. Not unpleasant, but very unusual. "I... I want to be there for your daughter. For Jane. For as long as I am able and to do the best that I can in that capacity. To repay the kindness and love she has shown me."

Arizona's hand reached out to silence Richardson with a pair of shaking fingers upon his lips just as he had been about to speak. Her face burned even more brightly.

"P-Please let me finish."

Richardson nodded and Arizona removed her fingers, leaving behind a warmth he'd not felt in nearly a decade.

"If doing so means..." Arizona trailed off as she set her jaw and locked eyes with Richardson, a steel grey and golden gaze holding him fast with it's intensity. "If doing so means that I would be required to bind myself to you then I will take that step. I will become your wife, the mother and guardian of your children, and remain your steadfast battleship from now into forever."

The Admiral was taken aback by the raw intensity of Arizona's words. So much so that he could barely think past them. A distant memory floated up. One of more peaceful times. Of a younger, far more brash self and a headstrong hobbyist.

"...John?"

Richardson shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Sorry. An old memory."

"A memory?"

"...Yeah. I'll tell you later." He gestured back to Arizona with an open hand. "Then either Jane's doesn't have the full story, or it's just you who's putting that kind of meaning behind it."

Arizona nodded slowly.

"Ideally, I would not even entertain these desires outside of wedlock." A small, almost empty smile flitted across Arizona's lips. "I'm a old-fashioned girl, after all."

Richardson resisted the urge to make a snipe about her infamous Prude Rage and simply nodded.

"And you believe that you can do your best for Jane, for my child, by marrying me and becoming both her mother and mother to her siblings." He worded it less as a question and more as a statement of fact. Shipgirls had their own twisted sense of logic and a part of him was extremely worried he was able to follow it. Seeing one of Albacore's fairy crew had been unreal enough. "Tell me now if I'm wrong."

"You are not wrong." Arizona swallowed yet another bundle of nerves as every fibre of her being remained on edge.

Richardson took a deep breath and prepared himself.

"I will not marry you, Arizona."

Arizona froze.

"For every reason you just listed, and more, I cannot in any kind of good conscience accept your offer and live with myself." He narrowed his eyes at the shaking warship. "You've known Jane for what? Two months? And you're already claiming you've got a foolproof plan to be the best mother possible for her?"

"I-!" Arizona's protest died on her lips as she realized she could not refute Richardson's words. The refusal felt all the worse without his usual expletives and abrasive tone. Her gaze lowered as a tremendous shame settled upon her shoulders. Shame and regret at having gone so far in the dark. Good intentions paved a very dangerous path after all.

"What did you want me to do? Say yes, whisk you off to a chapel so we could exchange vows, and carry you home as my blushing bride?"

"There was a hope you would." Arizona raised her head, stands of copper hair slipping from the silver pins to fall across her face.

"All for Jane's sake?"

"Yes."

Richardson would never have refuted Arizona's dedication to carrying out her mission before this day. Whether self declared or handed down the chain. And if he ever let such a thought cross his mind from this moment onward, this evening would remind him he was the greatest fool who ever lived.

She was placing everything on the line for the happiness of one person.

A single child who had given her a ray of hope amongst her nightmares.

He wanted Arizona to say something. To damn herself in some way. To make this easier in some way possible. But from what he had learned of this battleship, she would not. Not if she could help it.

Arizona seemed to wilt as her hopes were dashed in the ensuing silence.

And Richardson felt wretched for having been the cause.

But he stood from his seat and walked around to where Arizona sat.

She turned to look up at him with a pained expression, marked with questions.

"But I'm going to tell you the biggest fucking reasons I'm saying no." Richardson leaned down and cupped Arizona's cheeks, gently forcing her to face him. He could see the suffering and the confusion in her beautiful, steel grey eyes and the slight twitch of her lips. All encompassed by a fiery blush.

"I don't love you. And you don't love me."

Arizona drew a sharp breath, but did not fight away her Admiral's touch.

He was... He was correct. She knew this. She was attempting to force herself into a loveless marriage for what she hoped would be for Jane's benefit.

"I suppose I have not been completely myself today. B-Between my sister, the madness of the war, the holidays, wanting to make Jane happy, a-and all sorts of things. Perhaps I have not been thinking clearly. There is no love between us..." That was, were she to put further voice to her honesty, quite the understatement. And still, despite the truth of their admissions, it hurt.

It should not hurt to have a hope and a future that never was, denied.

But it did.

"At least you know you're not yourself right now. If this were another time or another place. Maybe if we'd met under different circumstances or in different roles. If we had been in almost any other situation than we are in now." Richardson smirked despite himself. Maybe the wine had made his tongue a bit too free. "Then I would have been overjoyed to put a ring on your finger."

"You are a cad, John Richardson." Arizona sniffed, but managed a smile. Despite the pain in her heart, there was a tremendous relief. "You dare refuse me so strongly and then say such things? You should be glad we are not at sea."

"I said I wasn't a gentleman, Ari."

"And now I am even more concerned for Jane's future." She narrowed slightly misty eyes at the man still cradling her face.

"I'm not going to marry you, but I'm not going to say you can't be Ari-mama for her." Richardson let his gaze flicker down towards Arizona's slightly parted lips, painted a light red for the evening. Not too red, but just the right shade to match her hair... "If I had an issue with it, I'd have put a stop to it when she started calling Hiei that. That good enough for you?"

Arizona released a sigh of relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She leaned slightly into Richardson's hold without really thinking before giving him a mild smile.

"It is." She raised one eyebrow. "And how long do you intend to hold me?"

"I dunno. How long do I have before you bring out your big guns? Or the rage?" He simply couldn't resist the tease.

"I would give you half a step and no more."

"Harsh."

"You're not letting go."

"Sorry."

With only the barest hints of hesitation, Richardson removed his hands from Arizona.

Arizona herself pursed her lips, but said nothing further.

"I suppose we should get going then. Pay the bill and hit the road." Richardson tried to walk back to his seat, but his steps were uneasy now and it took placing a hand on the table to steady himself.

"John? Are you alright?" Arizona stood as Richardson managed to take his seat. She placed a hand on his shoulder to draw his attention further to herself. He'd seemed fine before. What had happened?

The answer came when he gestured towards the nearly empty wine bottle they had been sharing.

"Oh. I see."

"Been a while since I've had that much."

"And you are hardly a young man anymore. You should take better care of yourself." Arizona frowned, but rebuked him no further. Rather she fetched her purse and began rifling through it, seeking her Navy issued purchase card. It was rather handy to have and certainly better than carrying around so much loose change.

She turned back to Richardson as he tapped her elbow with something hard.

"Here, use mine."

Arizona took the offered card with a nod and left to settle the bill while Richardson remained in his seat, looking more and more exhausted with each passing moment. It seemed that once the energy had settled, the whole of the day's events had come crashing down on him. And he really was not a spring chicken anymore. The drink hadn't helped in the slightest.

He blinked in surprise when Arizona returned far more quickly than expected.

"There was no line. And I told them there was no need to order a taxi," spoke the redhead in response to his querying glance. The transport that had brought them here should be waiting for a summons not far from here. Plus, with the late hour it seemed as if the staff were hoping to close up as quickly as possible so they could get their own rest. She was not about to complain. "Come now, let's get you home."

It took a couple of tries before Richardson was able to haul himself to his feet and he would have sagged to the floor were it not for one of Arizona's strong arms wrapping itself around his shoulder to prop him up. It was a rather amusing sight given the height difference between them.

Wordlessly, she collected her belongings, model kit included, and began helping her Admiral out the door. Her dress was getting slightly rumpled for her efforts, but she paid it no mind.

They waved goodbye and offered their thanks to the staff as they left.

"Hey, Ari?" began Richardson as they sat on one of the benches outside the restaurant, waiting for their ride.

"Yes, John?" she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her arm still supporting him.

"I won't apologize for rejecting you." Even discounting the reasons he had given Arizona, there were certain steps he had sworn himself to not take. Steps that were becoming much, much harder to avoid as time went on.

"I'd have thrown you into the South China Sea if you had." Without hesitation or remorse at that. And possibly with her catapult.

"I will apologize if I was jerk about it."

The streetlights and the blinking skyscrapers seemed to twinkle in the late hour, like the constructions were doing their best to make up for the starlight they dimmed out.

"No more than usual. But thank you for your consideration."

They sat in an oddly comfortable silence all things considered. A barrier had been broken between them. Some unspoken or unknown line had been crossed. And yet, neither felt... displeased with the turn of events that had taken place. Nor the results.

"Transport's taking it's time."

"...They are rather late."

A loud buzzing accompanied by a rather obnoxious ringtone managed to make itself heard over the din of late night traffic. Both Arizona and Richardson looked down in the direction of the left suit pocket belonging to the latter of the two. Richardson himself groaned as he recognized his phone going off. He had chosen that ringtone specifically for the purpose of forcing him to answer with as much haste as possible.

With a bit of fumbling, he managed to fish it out with the arm not currently pinned to his side by the battleship sitting next to him.

"Richardson."

Arizona managed to make out a few words coming from the rather too loud speaker. Things like delays and broken. Not exactly the best of signs.

When her Admiral put the other side on hold, he let out a disgusted sigh.

"May I wager our ride is late?" It seemed well within reason to her. "Or worse?"

"Fun thing about military hardware. When it breaks down, it really breaks down. We can wait for our ride to get repaired or we can wait for a new ride to get here from the base." Apparently even the most well built and durable heavy transports could only handle hauling shipgirls for so long before something finally gave out.

"How would we have to wait?" Arizona was not exactly enjoying the idea of sitting around for possibly hours on end.

"Considering how slow those things are? A few hours at least for a new ride. And that many more back." And that was the fast option. Waiting for a repair could take even longer. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he loosed a truly massive yawn.

Arizona pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Nothing was ever simple.

"May I suggest we simply find somewhere to stay for the night then?" Her jaw snapped shut with a click as she realized just what she had suggested sounded like. And after tonight's debacle no less! "I-In an a-absolutely platonic sense! Y-You need the rest far more than I do a-and sitting around here waiting will do neither of us any good."

Richardson would honestly admit he was too tired and still a bit too buzzed to really think of a good alternative. And the siren's song of a comfortable bed, even if not his own, was too tempting to resist. He also wasn't enough of a jerk to get a ride of his own back to base and just leave Arizona here all by herself.

"That's fine. We're two relatively sane adults who just need a place to sleep for the night. Not a pair of drunk jackasses looking for some action." He held up his phone and began thumbing around to get ahold of the driver again. "I'll let them know. Give 'em an update when we find a place to stay, too."

While Richardson conveyed the change of plans to the driver, who sounded somewhat relieved and strangely excited at the news, Arizona helped him to his feet again. He was a bit more steady, but she wasn't going to just leave him to his own devices just yet. Perhaps she'd feel more comfortable letting him walk on his own once they got closer to their destination.

"And there's that... He even gave directions for the nearest hotel."

"That was courteous of him." Arizona readjusted her hold on Richardson's taller form as they began walking. It was easier to keep him steady and easier on her own grip if she held him closer to his middle. It also brought up a niggling of rage at her own impropriety, which had been oddly silent as of recent hours. A light blush dusted her cheeks. "You... may put your arm around me if it helps."

"You sure?" Richardson gave his tired question with little resistance.

"I would not have offered otherwise." She did not have to wait long for his arm to rest itself about her shoulders. A grumble escaped her lips as they continued their trek. "But this is still incredibly improper..."

"Could be worse." Another yawn overtook Richardson and left him blinking to regain his sight. He fiddled with his tie to loosen it's hold around his neck.

"I'll ask that you not elaborate."

"Probably for the best."

And so, beneath the lights of the city and under a wintry night sky, a warship and her Admiral walked not as superior and subordinate, but as something more.

—|—|—

Unbeknownst to the pair, a set of utterly dumbfounded pink eyes tracked their every movement.

"That's not possible." She slowly reached up to pinch one of her cheeks and found that she was neither dreaming nor hallucinating. "Iku can't believe it, but Iku is still seeing it."

"See vhat?" queried Hachi.

Iku merely pointed at the slowly retreating form of Arizona and Richardson.

"...Oh dear."


	137. A Certain Lady Part 28

**A Certain Lady Part 28**

Pennsylvania sat alone in her room, choosing to remain in the very dead center of her assigned domicile.

If a sneak attack was to come, she refused to have any side of her too close to a wall when it did.

Her dark red gaze remained locked onto the door while her lookouts kept their own eyes peeled for any sign of movement from the dark corners of the room. Her hands flew about the absent form of rifle with a practiced ease. Each motion carefully dictated for the most efficient and caring means of maintenance. Even if it did not actually rest in her hands, she knew it well enough to make due.

A clamor from her supply officer and her chief engineer told her she'd need to seek supplies soon. With as little as she'd been willing to consume the day prior, she was not the most well off. But there was the risk of poison. Of sabotage. Of what that Jap food would do to her.

And yet without supplies, she couldn't fight.

The adage of 'An army marches on its stomach' was not lost to her.

But more than her hunger, her heart and mind burned.

Burned with a pain and an indignant rage at what she had experienced so soon after being called up into action.

"That damn wretch." Pennsylvania grit her teeth and snarled, her motions becoming even more furious. It had been bad enough being tossed like a child by the enemy. But by an enemy infirm to the point of having been taken off the combat roster? It made her blood boil. "If not for her..."

That destroyer she had managed to corner had refused to budge. Refused to let a single word of information slip from her lips. A survivor of Surigao should know something about those who had returned. Anything!

It should have been admirable.

But Pennsylvania had found it infuriating.

Those defiant eyes, trembling with a barely concealed terror, had not flinched before her. And the girl had even dared offer an olive branch by saying that they should still do their best to work alongside one another. Her? Trust her back to those Imperials? How dare she!

She vividly recalled her vision going red and her fist lashing out.

And then that damned Kongou had blindsided her.

"She should have offed me when she had the chance," Pennsylvania growled out as she rose her hands in an imitation of taking aim. "I won't be caught off guard again."

Her ever darkening thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door.

The Japanese wouldn't knock. Not if they wanted to get the jump on her.

More attempts at niceties and brainwashing? It wouldn't work either. If it didn't have an Allied flag, she wouldn't trust it. And if it did… She was taking it with plenty of salt all things considered.

She shook her head, further mussing what crimson hair was not bound up.

Less musing, more action.

"Who is it?" she barked.

"...It's Arizona. I wanted to see you before briefing. Don't worry, I came alone." There was a momentary pause before her voice rang out again. "The Lieutenant Commander said you didn't eat much yesterday, so I brought you something to eat."

Her sister?

Little Ari was here to see her? In this prison they called the battleship dormitory?

If there was any silver lining to this situation, it was that she was finally able to see her little sister again. Scarred and possibly under the enemy's sway. But alive. Alive and well. A Lieutenant even!

"Pennsy?"

"Come in! Come in." Pennsylvania shot to her feet and rushed to the door, the battlefield losing its hold on her for a moment. She threw the door open with enough force to rattle the frame.

Not once did she think to check for traps.

Pennsylvania threw her arms around Arizona and hugged her mightily. A lesser ship might have burst a bulkhead or a pipe, but not a battleship. And certainly not a standard.

Arizona merely let out a grunt as she was so forcibly embraced.

"It is good to see you too." Arizona would have returned the hug had her arms not been laden with containers. Some looked near full to bursting with food. But she offered a warm smile nonetheless. "May I come inside?"

"Sure. Abs...olutely." Pennsylvania stumbled over her words as the soldier momentarily returned to war with the sister. If Arizona gave any indication of noticing, she said nothing. "Here, can I take anything?"

The elder redhead held her hands out as the younger made her way inside.

"I have it. Thanks" Arizona might have accepted the offer were she not already inside, or her parcels not more likely to spill if she did have help. A small tremor radiated through the floor as she placed the containers down. Had she brought more than she realized? It would suffice regardless.

"I don't have anywhere for us to eat," admitted Pennsylvania as she began scanning the room. There were two chairs, but the only solid surfaces that might work were desks. With a frown, she thumbed in the direction of the furniture. "Unless you don't mind that."

"Not at all. I mostly brought it for you." Arizona picked up a random container and popped open the lid. The scent of hot meats, steamed vegetables, and fresh bread filled the room. "I'm not sure how well the cooks were able to accomplish it, but I asked them to include some things from your name-state."

"But I'm not any more Pennsylvanian than you are Arizonan." Pennsylvania took the offered food and went to take a seat at the desk. "It… smells good though."

"I have some attachment. Not much, but some." Arizona moved to take a seat next to her sister. Not too quickly however, despite how much she wanted to. Sometimes there were benefits to taking your time. "Volume is more important than flavor, so we can't always have really tasty meals."

"They feed you well then?" questioned Pennsylvania as she carefully examined the steaming pot pie before her, a spoon now in hand.

"They do, despite the cost. But I will admit I prefer eating at home. Even if it is not practical from a warship's perspective, I find it more… pleasant." A single meal at home might make for a handful of bullets for her meagre anti-air guns, but there was a kindness in those meals. A love that was not quite the same as a mass produced meal. "Not to say the cooks aren't skilled or dedicated…"

"Rationing and calories mean more than morale." Pennsylvania's blunt finish to Arizona's lead brought on a silent admission. "Morale is important, but pointless if you're dead from starvation."

Perhaps it was those words that prompted the far more volatile redhead to take a bite of the meal brought to her. She could rage and moan and bring death to nothing if she starved herself out of paranoia.

And how delicious it was.

The tender chicken. The crisp carrots and peas. Every tasty morsel of potato and dripping drop of creamy sauce… All the way down to the piping hot and flaky crust.

"Is it good?" Arizona asked with a smile as she saw her sister wear an expression no longer colored by rage and hate. Even the greeting she had received had been slightly stained. But a warm meal was the key it seemed.

"...It's delicious."

"I brought more, so please eat up."

As Pennsylvania swallowed another bite, something seemed to finally register at the forefront of her mind. Perhaps realized by an earlier statement of Arizona's.

"Ari, you said you prefer to eat at home. You… don't live here?" Suspicion began to rise as she was torn between interrogating Arizona and further delving into the world of scrumptious food.

Arizona blinked.

"You don't live in this dormitory specifically designated for battleships?" That was what she had been advised of as to the living arrangements. She might have wanted to strangle that Nagato-class more than once, but she would confess the woman had not made any effort to conceal things. Dodge some questions, yes. But deception did not seem to be her strong point. Damned redeeming qualities.

"No, I do not. In fact I was never assigned a room here." Which… sounded rather odd now that she actually thought about it.

Pennsylvania leaned in and fixed Arizona with a deathly level stare. Not necessarily hostile, but weighty enough to freeze her sister in place. The grip on her utensil tightened to the point the metal began to groan.

"Ari, where do you live?"

"I… live with Admiral Richardson and his daughter."

"You WHAT!?" roared Pennsylvania nearly the moment the words had left Arizona's mouth. The windows rattled with the force behind the exclamation.

What had they done to her!?

Already she held the base's Admiral in low standing for daring to trust the Japanese like he was. But to hear that he had ordered her little sister into his home? The gall! The nerve of that… that…! It had to be part of whatever sway they held Ari under. It had to.

...Or it was a ploy. A means of keeping Arizona safe from these butchers. For the Admiral's sake, it had better be the latter.

"Pennsy, I have the feeling you are imagining something outlandish." Arizona was already quite worried for Pennsylvania and the rictus of rage etched onto her features did not help. "Nothing untoward has happened to me there. They take good care of me and Jane is a wonderful child. She has helped me more than once in dealing with my… nightmares."

Mentioning Hiei, Mutsu, and Jintsuu would probably not be the best idea right now.

"Of Pearl?"

Arizona merely nodded.

"Hmph. I suppose I'll have to take your word for it for now." Pennsylvania stabbed her spoon into her food before continuing. "But if he tries anything…"

Arizona shook her head slowly, unknowingly allowing a faint coloring of red to show on her cheeks. A once roaring rage, was instead oddly subdued. If anything, she was the one who had done something!

The two sat there in a slightly awkward silence, interrupted only by the sounds of Pennsylvania demolishing the small mountain of food that had been brought for her. On occasion, Arizona would take a bite or two of her own. But for the majority it was the elder sister doing her best impression of a vacuum cleaner.

"Pennsy?" began Arizona as she looked out the window. "May I ask why you tried to hurt Shigure yesterday?"

Pennsylvania set down her spoon and turned to look at Arizona's profile. The scars and the uniform should have cut a striking image, but all Pennsylvania saw was someone… soft. Not weak, but… she could not find the words. It was difficult to verbalize.

After a moment, the elder standard growled.

"That… destroyer knows things." She slammed her fist down on the table, shaking it and embedding the end of the into the wood. "Things I need to know! She must know something!"

"And she'd be easier to shake down than a cruiser or a battleship?" accused Arizona while casting a sidelong glance at her furious sister.

"Yes!"

Pennsylvania all but shook in her seat as memories began flooding back to her. Her failures. Her victories. A world awash in fire.

"What do you want to know?"

"...What?" came Pennsylvania's shocked whisper.

"I may have been here only a short time," she began, narrowing her grey eyes as she spoke, "but I have worked with our allies rather closely."

A dear sister she may be, but…

"Surigao. Who besides that black haired shrimp came back from that execution? Who!?" Pennsylvania snapped at Arizona, reaching out like lightning to grab a fistful of her sister's uniform shirt. Her maddened eyes ignored the momentary shock she had inflicted.

"W-why Surigao?" Arizona managed to eke out. She may have done a fair amount of research, but it was not all encompassing. Nor was she all-knowing.

"My one chance. The one moment I had to take my vengeance in blood and not earth. I _missed_ it." Pennsylvania's hot breath nearly came out as a furious curl of steam. "And my guns were silent. I couldn't fire without shooting through my allies. Revenge for Pearl and I sat there like a fool! I will not lose again. Never!"

"We crushed them. Broke them. Burned them to ash! And now I've been told to play nice with these wretched ships? Make fun and merry in this madhouse?"

By now, Pennsylvania had risen from her seat and dragged Arizona up with her. A visage of undiluted rage and hatred. Of a helpless fury with no outlet.

Arizona herself was rendered speechless. Her own demons still raged within. But her hatred burned at her own heart. Her own failings. Her sister however… Her sister had taken the cup of hate and poured it out over everything she saw.

"Why? Why do we call these defeated monsters allies!?" Pennsylvania pulled Arizona in close to the point where spittle flew upon her sister's face as she shouted. The floodgates had been breached and the vitriol flowed. "Why am I denied my pound of flesh? Why can't I put their heads on the headstones of everyone they killed!?"

"Because we can't always have what we want."

"Wh-!" Pennsylvania was caught completely off guard as a hand grabbed one of her wrists and twisted sharply. A hiss of pain escaped her lips as the limitations of human anatomy told her she had better release her grip and move or suffer a very broken joint. A second jabbing pain in her collar further enforced her compliance.

The hands' owner guided the standard away from Arizona and out of the dorm room, applying more and more pressure with each moment to keep Pennsylvania off balance and under control. It wasn't until they were in the hallway that the unknown released the captive battleship and sent her staggering back.

"Who in- _you_ …" What started as the fiery demand burned away into a guttural voice of hated recognition. The pain wasn't even an afterthought.

Her legs were shaking and her eyes were full of a deeply rooted fear, but there was no mistaking the towering pagoda masts and six dual turrets primed for a lethal broadside.

Battleship Yamashiro.

—|—|—

It was her nightmares made manifest.

A long absent specter that she prayed she would never have to face.

Even if you can't drive away a ghost, you can take solace in the fact it can't hurt you.

Things were tense enough for her when she'd been told that the Americans had finally managed to bring their own into the war. More guns. More supplies. More help.

But that meant each successful summons was another chance for those who had sunk her, her beloved sister, and so many close and dear friends that day to come back. Every ship in the Imperial Japanese Navy had lost sisters and friends to American guns. But that day of execution was what had left a scar on her heart.

And then Arizona had come back.

A standard.

The same type of battleship as the ones who had crossed her T and sent her to the bottom. There might have been different classes present, but they were standards.

And as if to further mock her misfortune, many of them survivors and the resurrected from Pearl Harbor.

She clenched her fist as her crimson eyes met another's. It was decidedly eerie in her honest opinion.

But Arizona, for all the unease her mere existence inflicted, still accepted them.

She had only heard of, not seen, the exchange between the Martyr of Pearl and Fleet Carrier Kaga. But from all accounts, Arizona wanted to move forward. She could and would rage and hate and weep for the past, but she would try to go beyond that. The mere attempt was more than she could have ever hoped for.

The elder sister, it seemed, wanted nothing more than blood and fire.

And it didn't appear to matter who she hurt to get it.

It did not dull the fear, nor the trembling of her limbs. But she would put this warmonger in her place. The war had ended seventy years ago and not everyone got the memo. If this is what it took to cool those flames, then so be it. That's what her own elder sister would do. She was certain of it. And she would not be found wanting.

She would also admit she wanted to strike out for what had been done, nearly been done, to Shigure.

Had it not been for that devoted escort of hers, she would have not escaped as she had. She would not have been given the time to compose herself. The enemy would be met on their terms, not hers.

And Shigure had returned to her shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Destroyers aren't supposed to stand up to battleships...

"Yes, me."

—|—|—

Pennsylvania would have smiled at her fortune, even ignoring the fact the Japanese warship had gotten the drop on her, but she was far too focused on actually taking advantage of the situation.

Here she was.

Her blood sang and her hatred blossomed into a deathly thirst for vengeance.

Yet she found her screws rooted in place and she could not fathom why.

Yamashiro raised a finger and pointed squarely at Pennsylvania.

The black haired battleship would have smirked at how the standard tensed were she any kind of more fun loving ship. Though given the situation, she might have foregone it even if she were.

From Pennsylvania's dorm came a disheveled Arizona, clearly confused and distraught.

"Lieutenant Arizona, I… must apologize. This could not wait." Yamashiro swallowed and vainly attempted to project an image of strength. She had made her decision and she would abide by it. She would not back down. "...And from the sounds of it, you may have needed help anyways."

"I would not! She…" Arizona felt a heavy ball of doubt and sorrow settle in her gut as she could not readily come to her sister's defense. Not after all that had happened in so short a time. What had been a relatively peaceful time with shared food had rapidly devolved into a brewing violence.

"Don't you dare confuse her anymore! You damned dog!" roared Pennsylvania, her voice dripping with vile curses. "I'll make things right. I'll fix everything! And build it on your broken keels!"

"Pennsylvania. Wh-What will lay your hate to rest? My blood? My people's blood. My family's blood? I won't allow it. I've had enough misfortune without your hate polluting it!" It was rare for her to really raise her voice, but this mad standard seemed to pull out her anger with all the ease of a master. She hated it. And she wouldn't tolerate it at all. Not here. Not anywhere! "If you want it, you'll have to take it. A-And in exchange, I-I'll take from you everything you did to Shigure! And what you would do to my family!"

"Don't you dare talk about family!" Pennsylvania drew herself up and raised her fists.

"Stop! Just, stop!" demanded Arizona as she tried to get in between the two battleships. "This is against regulations. Against everything we stand for as warships of our nations! We are allies. We don't have to like each other, but we can at least work together!"

"Arizona-san."

The younger standard halted at the unusual tone used to speak her name. Not gloomy or shaking. Certainly not resigned. It was something she could not place.

"P-Please step aside. This was… inevitable."

"Just get out of my way!" demanded Pennsylvania as she surged forward, striking her sister with a merciless body check to shove her clear. So drowned in bloodlust was she that gravity of her action was not even acknowledged.

"You… You don't even realize what you already _have_!" accused Yamashiro as Arizona slammed into the wall.

"Shut! _UP_!" Pennsylvania loosed a roar of violent syllables as she rushed Yamashiro. She would stay atop the faster warship and deny her advantages. She would cut them away and render her helpless. Helpless and pathetic. And then her guns would sing their song once again.

But the first blow would not be hers.

With a shout nary a soul living had heard, Yamashiro denied Pennsylvania her charge with a risk. A pointless risk considering the dozens of more familiar options available to her. A sidestep. A throw. Even a kick or a trip. But she had height and she had reach. And with that reach she put the opening strike on the line with the most American maneuver she could conceive of.

The sound of cannon-fire echoed down the halls as her risk paid dividends.

When Pennsylvania entered lethal range, Yamashiro's steel fist met the standard's face in what would have been an almost comical exchange.

But instead of Pennsylvania collapsing into a heap, she staggered back with a bloody face and a shout of furious pain while Yamashiro bit back a sharp cry of her own suffering. The American's nose was bent and a split lip splattered blood across the floor. Meanwhile the Japanese's bleeding fist had a few fingers that sported very unnatural angles. Neither let up their furious stares.

The world consisted of only them.

The rage of past grudges and indignation of present offenses.

It had barely even been a day since Pennsylvania's return and already tempers had reached their limits to the point of exploding.

The moment of pause ended as Pennsylvania lunged again, this time striking through Yamashiro's defense and landing a solid blow to the woman's midsection. Yamashiro doubled over at the waist as the air was driven from her lungs. Only a painful cough escaped from her lips before it was replaced with another shout of pain caused by a ruthless fist to the side of her head.

Yamashiro fell to the floor with stars in her eyes and Pennsylvania not far behind.

Pennsylvania saw only opportunities to sate her blazing hatred. She fell upon the downed Yamashiro and straddled her at the waist, putting the full force of her weight upon the battleship. Her fury only grew when she saw the determination still lurking in her opponent's crimson eyes.

She raised a fist to bludgeon Yamashiro further when her wrist was caught in a vice-like grip. One that did not yield in the slightest.

"Don't you dare stop me!" She demanded while snapping around to glare at the interloper. And her rage nearly ran cold when she recognized Arizona, a small trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth and an expression of tearful anger on her face. "...Ari?"

"The war… is over, Pennsy," began Arizona. Her grip tightened with each word. The coppery tang on her tongue did not really register to her. She had more important things on her mind. A deranged and raging sister for one. A tear rolled down her cheek until falling along the scar upon her chin.

Had she been this bad?

She'd have to ask Hiei.

She prayed not.

"You won… We g-gave you a bloody nose. A black eye. Whatever you want to call it. But that was all." Yamashiro craned her neck to more properly look up at the standard mounting her. "We k-killed your sister, your friends, your c-crews."

Pennsylvania's motion to take a swing was halted as Arizona's grip remained fast. Her other fist, not yet bound, managed to grab a handful of Yamashiro's upper works. But she did not attempt to throttle the woman. For the moment, she listened.

"But you still had friends and family left in the end…" continued Yamashiro bitterly. "We lost everything and e-everyone. And then we died. A small fortune in a mountain of misfortune."

"You… You dare lecture m-!"

" _SILENCE_!"

Yamashiro's outburst had its desired effect, much to the surprise of all.

"Tell me what it will take to make peace, USS Pennsylvania of the United States Navy." With little left to lose, Yamashiro drove in the knife. "If your sister can make peace with Kaga, then tell me what I have to do for the same."

Pennsylvania's grip went slack and her eyes widened in shock.

Slowly, she turned to look at Arizona once more.

"You… what?"

"It… is as she says." Slowly, carefully, she released Pennsylvania's wrist. The limb went slack and fell against its owner's side. "I met with Fleet Carrier Kaga and made… peace. She offered her life to me to do with what I wanted after the war. I told her to live as recompense. Live for those she had slain. B-Both for that morning and for all the rest after."

"Why? Why show her mercy? Her, of all ships?!" Gone was her impassioned fury, replaced with a dumbfounded feeling of betrayal. "The did something. They must have! Th-!"

"No one did anything to her!" objected Yamashiro sharply, still pinned by Pennsylvania. "She was welcomed with open arms even though she's a ball of misfortune herself. She made friends with us of her own accord despite being a grouch. She even won the Admiral's heart! What do we have to gain by even _trying_ to brainwash one of the most revered ships in your Navy?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"We're a-allies…" Yamashiro bit back a sob of shame not entirely unrelated to her injuries. "But Japan lives and dies on your mercy."

"You want peace?"

"I just want two things from you. Just… two."

Pennsylvania remained silent.

"An apology. W-Wait!" started Yamashiro with no small amount of alarm as the madness began to rise in earnest in Pennsylvania's eyes. "For what you did to Shigure yesterday. Not for anything else. Just… Just that."

"What else?" growled out Pennsylvania.

"A promise that you won't shoot us in the back."

"I'm going to turn you and anyone else into swiss cheese if you so much as twitch like a traitor." She could be… reasonable. But perhaps it was the knowledge of Kaga and Arizona that had cooled her head. How does one respond to that?

Yamashiro swallowed nervously at the haste at which she had received her answer. She would accept it, but it did not relieve her unease.

"I refuse to like you. I will curse you and I will hate you." Pennsylvania leaned in until Yamashiro could see only her. "And one day I will take my pound of flesh from you. But so long as we have a common foe, I will not aim my guns at you."

"I… can accept that." She didn't have to like it, but she would accept it.

"Pennsy, perhaps you could start off by letting her up?" chimed in Arizona with a sliver of brevity, who had returned to being a cautious observer during the exchange of words. "Her screws must be going numb by now."

"You are a little bit heavy."

"We all weigh roughly the same."

"That does not change much of anything."

With a grumble and a curse, Pennsylvania rose from atop her position on Yamashiro. And with blatant effort on her part, offered her hand to help the fallen to her feet. A hand that was taken with visible hesitation.

"You two should go wash up." Arizona wiped the thin trail of blood from her face as she regarded the other two battleships. Yamashiro's front was disheveled and more than a little stained with dirt and blood from the scuffle. There was not much remaining in terms of wounds, but it was easy to tell she'd been in a brawl. And her sister's entire front was liberally splattered with red. The product of a head wound for certain.

"Yes, both of you should wash up."

All three battlewagons wheeled about to bear witness to a light cruiser who was not there a moment ago.

"Y-Yeoman? How long have you been there?" stammered out Yamashiro, falling back onto the smiling cruiser's title. Normally she was much better about using Jintsuu's name. But being caught off guard and in such a state, did not lend oneself well to preference.

"Long enough."

"Then…"

Jintsuu strode forward, not minding the fact she was surrounded by enough firepower to level a small city in short order.

"Admiral Richardson was worried when none of you showed for briefing, so he asked me to come check on you." And the report would be quite the doozy. Thankfully she hadn't needed to step in. "I'm not happy it came to this. Not happy with any of you. But I am glad no one was badly hurt and that you came to terms."

"You call this coming to ter-" Pennsylvania found herself cut off by Jintsuu's smile. That sweet, kind smile that would shake the resolve of even the most indomitable of warships. "...Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry ma'am."

"Good, now go wash up. And behave." She shook her head with a measure of resignation. "I'll know if you don't."

Neither Pennsylvania nor Yamashiro wished to find out what would happen and instead nodded in the affirmative.

"Now then, Ari? Come with me, I have some questions for you if you don't mind…"

"Ah. Yes. Certainly Miss Jintsuu." Arizona stopped to give her sister and Yamashiro a small wave of departure before falling into step alongside Jintsuu. Jintsuu might be someone she considered a friend, but she did not wish to be on the receiving end of her more business driven side.

As Arizona and Jintsuu departed, Pennsylvania felt incredibly drained.

"This… is all real, isn't it. This all just happened. I'm not suffering some death dream in Hell."

"The blood on our uniforms seems proof enough."

"...Nice straight."

"You have a mean hook."

The two began marching off to the washroom to get cleaned up. Mortal foes with a shared enemy.

"Hey, I have a question." Pennsylvania did not look at the woman she hated and she was certain Yamashiro was doing the same. But she would admit she was curious. "My little sister's a really, really big prude. Before the war she was all duty and regs. Even when she was happy and smiling. How'd she win the Admiral's heart?"

"No one knows exactly how. But they were seen leaving a diner and checking into a hotel last night."

"...I will sink you right now if you're lying."

Yamashiro shrugged. It was hard to avoid the gossip around here. Some of it was fun. Lots of it was troublesome.

"Weren't we trying to kill each other just a few minutes ago?"

"This place is a madhouse…"

Yamashiro could not find the words to refute that.


	138. Chapter 102: Friends Are Idiots

**Chapter 102: Friends Are Idiots**

Yeoman Gale hummed a tuneless little ditty to herself as she pushed her tray down the lunch line. It'd start off as her own interpretation of _Anchors Aweigh_ , but then she'd gotten lost and started slipping into the _Avengers_ theme. Gale was many things and she had many talents, but she'd be the first to admit she couldn't carry a tune to save her life. Not that she was particularly upset about that right now. The chow line had _corned beef._

Gale _loved_ Corned beef, although she could never quite articulate why. But something about it always made her feel content. To sweeten the deal even further, Wash was on-station somewhere off the Oregon coast right now! Gale could indulge in a second helping without the _North Carolina's_ tiny little waist staring judgmentally at her.

Of course, Gale was happy to have Wash out of her hair regardless. The battleship had been acting increasingly odd ever since she got divisioned up with Kirishima. Part of Gale's mind still wanted to entertain the idea that she still had a shot with the stunningly pretty battleship, but… But as dreamy as falling asleep against those soft, warm breasts, Gale was certain by this point it was just a dream.

She was still happy for Wash, of course. The two of them were still friends, and she appreciated how sensitive Wash was being about the whole thing. But she knew she and Kirshima were an item now. Every time she'd walk by the battleship dorms, she'd see the lights on in Wash's room. She'd see their shadows frantically pacing about like schoolgirls stumbling though their first relationship.

And she'd seen Wash blushing a brilliant red and nervously handing Kirishima a _Axis and Allies: Naval Miniatures_ box on Christmas day. Gale'd been eyeing some of those sets herself, and she was _quite_ aware of their content. Honestly, she never would have pegged Wash as such an exhibitionist. Maybe it was a good thing she never got into a relationship with the battleship. If she was _that_ forward, Gale was worried that she'd never quite walk right again.

But those were thoughts for another time. Wash and Kirishima were out on patrol, and it was _lunch time._

Lunch was one of the few bastions left for Gale and her fellow female sailors. It was the only time they could feed themselves without having to witness the impossibly gluttony of the hungrier shipgirls and their equally impossible figures.

Battleships—and Carriers too, from what Gale had heard from her Japanese compatriots in the Midlevel-NCO-information-network—subsisted on two or sometimes just one massive meal a day. Sharing breakfast or dinner with them was murder on your self esteem, but they rarely showed up at lunch time.

Cruisers ate three times a day, but their appetite weren't as inhumanly vast as a battleship's. Besides, they corralled destroyers so Gale didn't have to. That alone earned them a free pass to the buffet line in Gale's book. It also gave the plausible excuse that they burned off all their calories running around keeping the insane torpedo-heads in line.

Speaking of Destroyers… the little shits ate six times a day _minimum._ Although most often their meals had the approximate nutritional content of nine boxes of pop-tarts drowned in sugar. If those girls were human, the'd have _all_ the diabetes by now.

Today though, the mess hall was entirely human. Wash had taken Kidd's DesRon with her on patrol, England's escort fleet was puttering up and down the coast looking for subs, and the chunniboat's kids were helping her though the emotional trauma of her latest 'quest.' Gale wasn't privy to the details, although she did know it somehow involved Tenryuu loosing a swordfight to an inanimate cardboard box.

"Yo, Doc." Gale kicked a seat out with her boot. "You mind if I sit here?"

Crowning glanced up with that kindly smile of his. "Of course not, it's a pleasure to see you."

Gale smiled a bit more. The doc always had a way of making her feel extra loved. No wonder Jersey was so in love with him. "What're ya working on?" She waved a hunk of bread at the stack of books and scribbled-over notepads the doctor'd brought with him. It was an interesting collection: Three books on naval history though the ages, two on Japanese mythology, _Janes'_ Shipgirl-to-human conversion handbook, and two guide books on pregnancy and motherhood.

Crowning shrugged. "What _aren't_ I working on?"

"Why don't we start with this?" Gale stuffed a mouthful of corned beef into her mouth and waved her fork at the doctor's copy of _What to Expect when you're Expecting._

"Right," The salt-and-pepper of the professor's beard tinged a gentle pink as he blushed. "Kat Solette was kind enough to lend me that one." He chuckled and leafed though the pages. The book had accumulated quite the number of post-it notes. Some were in Crowning's crisp handwriting, but many were in a looser, frantic script that Gale didn't recognize.

Gale motioned for him to continue while she chewed.

"Vestal…" Crowning huffed out a breath. "Ordered me to give Jersey a child."

Gale spewed her entire mouthful over the table with a choking laugh. "WHAT?"

"You heard me."

"I…" Gale wiped at her mouth with the back of her sleeve. "I… I did, but I just don't believe it." As hilarious as the mental image of Jersey finally loosing those chiseled abs for a bit of pooch around her middle was, Gale just couldn't imagine Vestal giving that order. "She really told you that?"

"Well… not in so many words," said Crowning.

"Ah, so it's just wistful thinking, eh?"

The professor just shrugged.

Gale smirked, and took a triumphant bite.

"Her exact words were 'knock that battleship up'."

Gale again spewed her entire mouthful over the table. "Not cool!"

Crowning flashed a teasing grin. "I could't resist."

"I swear," Gale scowled and cleaned up as best she could. "The two of you are perfect for one another." She started to take another bite, then thought better of it. "Have fun feeding her cravings."

"That's what I'm worried about," said Crowning. "You know how much she eats on a normal day?"

"No," Gale waved her spoon in a mildly threatening manner. "And I don't want to. Talk about something else."

"Gladly," Crowning shoved the motherhood books to the bottom of his stack. "Let's see…" His brows furrowed in thought while he drummed out a lazy cadence against the table. "Oh… I've got a theory on why carriers are so rare."

Gale blinked.

"Would you like to hear it?"

"Yes!" Gale almost snapped. "That's… that's the biggest mystery of this whole damn war! Of course I want to hear it!"

"Well," Crowning leaned in, the flickering glee of a storyteller coming over his face. "Remember back when I talked about the _Aeneid_?"

Gale nodded. "Yeah, the first recorded appearance of shipgirls, right?"

"Yes, but that wasn't always the explanation," said Crowning. "Before academia was confronted with the reality of ship spirits, we always assumed the ships rose again because…" The professor paused, taking a moment to gather his words while Gale leaned in even closer. "Because it wasn't worthy of them. They'd gone though so many trials, only to die without dignity… it wasn't fitting."

"Doc," said Gale in a voice halfway to a wispier. "Get to the point."

"Now we know that that's not the case." Crowning happily ignored Gale's eagerness. This was his story, and he was going to take his time spelling it out for her. "But I think the logic's still sound."

Gale blinked.

"Battleships were supposed to be the queens of the sea," said the professor. "When their guns speak, history listens. Only that never happened. Not once. Jutland was the closest we ever got, and even _that_ was a pale shadow of the deceive brawl these girls were built for."

"Yeah," Gale nodded. "Yeah, but the decisive battle got thrown out when planes and subs became a thing. A battle line's just a magnet for bombs and torpedoes."

"I know." Crowning held up a finger. "But that leaves us with a whole generation of girls who've never _once_ done what they were born to do. Only now they're back, and the old gods of the sea have taken planes and submarines out of the equation."

"So…" Gale shook her head. "So where does that leave us? Some random omniscient being has a hard-on for battleships?"

"Yes," Crowning shrugged. "But I think it means there's more going on here than we think."

—|—|—

Battleship Musashi rubbed her hands in anticipation while her laptop slowly booted up. In her long seclusion, she'd developed quite the taste for gaming in general, and _World of Warships_ in particular. Even if those biased Russians made _Yamato_ so horrifically under powered it was a mockery to Japan in general and her in particular, the rest of the game was pretty enjoyable.

It was a good way to pass the time. And with any luck, it would be engaging enough to drive out the horribly lewd images that had taken Musashi's brain by storm after she'd seen Jersey naked.

Because seriously… how can _anyone_ be that ripped! Jersey's chiseled body displayed muscles Musashi didn't even know existed! And that's not even getting into the swoosh of her hips and surprising roundness of her stern. Musashi didn't even know it was possible to have a stern so perfectly, smoothly rounded. It had taken all her self control not to reach out and grab a handful when the two battleships shared their bath.

Only it hadn't. Because… much to Musashi's eternal shame… she was scared to. She hated to admit it, but her whole body froze up when she felt the American's hull kiss hers.

She was jealous. She admitted it. Her guns were bigger, her armor thicker… but Jersey was just so much more… _perfect._ The American's chest was perkier than Musashi's would ever be, her lines finer and sculpted with care… She was a stunner with looks that'd kill for miles around in any weather.

Musashi just couldn't compete with that. Not really. The best she could hope to do was tie the towering American. And she wasn't even sure she could do _that_. Word on the street was Jersey'd already locked herself at least one husband. And given how promiscuous Americans tended to be, Musashi wouldn't be surprised if half the country was lining up to pleasure her.

Musashi scowled, and tore her glasses off her nose. She was a ship of the Imperial Navy. She was built to fight all commerce and awe them with her canons. She would not let a single American harlot cow her with mere hips and stern and—

Wait…

Was someone at the door?

Musashi took a second to clean her glasses with the end of her cape-that-was-most-certainly-not-just-a-shirt-draped-over-her-shoulders. Then she took another to fiddle with her bandages and armor, making sure her assets were on proper display. It would be a shame, after all, do deprive the world of such magnificent works of art!

"Coming," said Musashi.

"That's what she said," giggled a dusky contralto that Musashi would know anywhere. Mostly because just its honey-rich sound made her feel _things_ of a nature that was best left out of any official report. It was her.

The American.

 _Jersey._

But Musashi was the most powerful battleship ever built. She would not run like a scared dog or Italian when confronted with her nominally-equal. Jersey was a paltry tier _nine_ , after all. The battleship wiped the fear off her face and replaced it with a toothy, predatory grin.

"I, Musashi!" she bellowed and threw the door open, "Did indeed say this thing."

The towering American on the other side of the doorway shook her head with a smirk. But there was… something on her face. Sadness, worry… something that gave Musashi pause. As undeniably gigantic as Jersey was, there was something in her posture that made her look very small. "Yo."

"Jersey," Musashi crossed her arms under her ample bosom, subtly lifting and squishing them against her straining bindings in a manner that was in no way a desperate attempt to preen for attention. "It's almost eleven, what brings you here?"

"I…" Jersey shrugged and shoved her hands into her pockets. "I couldn't sleep, okay? Can I come in?"

Musashi shrugged. Her little room didn't have many furnishings besides her computer, and she'd already hidden all the potentially embarrassing stuff where Jersey wouldn't be able to find it.

"Look," Jersey bit her lip. "I'm lonely."

Musashi tried to hide her sudden surge of interest.

"I lost my little sister." If the American noticed her Japanese counterpart's desperate attempt to sit casually on the side of her bed—an attempt that included about a solid minute of flailing after one of Musashi's heels caught on the black fabric of her discarded bikini—she didn't show it.

"I can't sleep alone," said Jersey as she flopped onto the bed next to Musashi. Steel groaned with the immense weight of two superbattleships trying to share a single king-sized mattress. "I'm horny as fuck, and you've got the only bed big enough for me."

Musashi blinked as fast as her howling heartrate. "Wait… say that again?"

Jersey blinked. "You've got the only bed big enough?" The battleship waved over herself, "I'm… kinda large you know, and I'd rather not—"

"No," Musashi shook her head, "The other part."

"Oh," Jersey hung her head. "I… look, sometimes… It's nice to have a picket while you sleep. Helps keep the bad dreams away."

Musashi shot Jersey a look that could have melted steel. "No… the _middle_ bit."

Jersey scowled like she was having to explain something patently obvious to a very small child. "I haven't fucked anything in a sexual manner in _months._ I'm Navy. I didn't know that kind of restraint was even _possible._ "

"But…" Musashi trailed off. She couldn't imagine something like this was actually happening! "We're both…"

"Yeah," Jersey shrugged. "I dunno, how hard could it be."

—|—|—

On the other side of the world, Yeoman Gale stared at her phone in utter incomprehension. She'd gotten into the habit of checking her email and texts when she woke up. Sometimes there'd be updates to planned events, schedule changes, or the odd menu readjustment when a hungry division had eaten the kitchen's entire stock of something or other.

But this time, she'd gotten a personal text message from Jersey herself. Which raised the obvious question, _when did Jersey learn to text?_

But that question paled in comparison to the actual content of the message.

 _USS New Jersey said: "Yo, Gale. How do I lesbian?"_

Gale shook her head. She truly did live with idiots.


	139. Chapter 103: Wash Gets Jealous

**Chapter 103: Wash Gets Jealous**

She wouldn't be a Yeoman, or petty officer. She wouldn't have tiny destroyers on permanent sugar highs bolting around the base like six year olds on crack. She wouldn't have impossibly beautiful women with figures that'd make goddesses green with envy cavorting around in minimalist clothing while stuffing themselves with enough food to feed a small country. Even if just for a few days, she could put her duties aside and just be Sarah Gale.

And get doted on by her mother. Because as much as Gale liked to consider herself a proud, independent woman, she'd never turn down her mom's casserole. _Especially_ not during a Christmas-day leave. Well, after-Christmas, actually. But her family—being the loving, amazing people they were—had delayed Christmas a few days to make sure Gale could attend.

What Gale did to deserve family like that, she would never know. They were good people, almost as good as her friends on the base.

"So," Gale bit her lip and paced down the destroyer dorms, "You sure you've got everything?"

"Puh-lease," Tenryuu huffed in what she probably thought was a detached and badass manner, but really came off as pouty. Or like your sixty year old granny trying to be 'hip' and 'with it.'

Really, that described Tenryuu almost perfectly. An old granny trying desperately to be 'cool.' Only Tenryuu had a sword and the athleticism to swing it. And the only totally unblemished expedition record in the entire JMSDF. And an implausibly large rack that confused even _Janes'_ , but by now Gale was thoroughly used to busty girls cavorting around.

"Kidd likes to steal rum." Gale mentally ticked though her checklist for each girl. "Dee's… she means well, but sometimes she'll just need a chest to cry into."

"I think I can manage," Tenryuu patted her bulging chest with a cocky smirk. "Sarah, relax."

"I'm trying." Gale forced herself to plant her feet in the carpet. "You try watching over little girls who're also purpose-built weapons designed to _avoid_ any attempts to heard or control them."

Tenryuu smirked even harder, and even her floaters' hum shifted to a slightly mocking octave.

Gale opened her mouth. Then she closed it again. "Point."

"Told ya," Tenryuu clapped a hand on Gale's shoulder. "Go be with your family, yeah? I'll treat the destroyers like my own."

"Thanks," Gale smiled. "Really, it means a lot."

Tenryuu waved off the compliment. "You've earned it, girlfriend." Then she blinked her one remaining eye.

Gale blinked back

"Oooookay," Tenryuu scowled and swished her sword in the air. "I am… _never_ saying that again."

"Yeah," Gale chuckled. "Yeah, that's probably wise."

"Okay," Tenryuu flourished her sword again. At least she looked liked she knew what she was doing, unlike a certain battleship that Gale was rather familiar with. After a few choice moves, the cruiser slammed her blade back into its sheath and offered a little bow. "Merry Christmas, Gale."

"Merry Christmas, Tenryuu," Gale waved at the cruiser and ducked out into the cold. It was a bitingly chilly Winter day, but for once there wasn't a cloud in the inky Washington sky. Which was good, because Gale was determined to take her motorbike out.

She'd had this thing sitting around for months, but she'd never been able to use it. Whenever she left base, it was always with at least a few destroyers in tow, and Gale would be astonished if there was a designer alive who could build a bike to haul that much weight.

Gale watched a breath curl from her lips. It was going to be a chilly ride, but she didn't care. She loved the wind in her face and the smell of gasoline and rubber. And, if she was being honest, she liked the feel of her leathers. Especially after she'd almost killed herself for months trying to slim down and tone up to win the affection of a certain battleship.

Her ass looked _amazing_ now. It taken her almost a solid fifteen minutes to stop posing in the mirror before she finally left her room. Gale couldn't remember another time she felt so content with her figure. Which was probably good, since she was going to _ruin_ it with her aunt's cooking.

That woman wouldn't know healthy if it walked up and punched her. But _damn_ could she make a killer pot roast. Gale could already taste the hearty carrots and beef as she wheeled her bike out of its shed.

—|—|—

A scant few hundred feet away, battleships Kirishima and Washington sat hidden in trees. Wash wasn't entirely clear on why they had to climb trees for this, but Kirishima was the expert on romance, so Wash gratefully bowed to the Japanese warship's expertise. Besides, it was hard for her to question her current situation _and_ keep both eyes firmly planted on the love of her life at the same time.

Wash's mouth hung open, and her chest felt tight against her uniform. Her heartbeats pounded in her ears as she watched the most beautiful sight she'd ever witness unfold before her eyes.

Yeoman Gale, the kindest, most loving, most _beautiful_ woman Wash had ever known was dressed in form-fitting leather. The shiny material hugged her figure as she swung one slender leg over the saddle-seat of a glossy red motorbike.

The sailor's stern—no, no that wasn't the word for peoples… _butt_! that's the word!—sank into the bike's structure, caressing metal and plastic with its warm, gentle touch.

"I have never," Wash didn't care if Kirishima heard. She'd practically spent their whole patrol spilling her heart out to the littlest Kongou, "Ever… in my life… been so jealous of an inanimte object."

Kirishima blinked audible. "Uh… Wash?"

Wash was too enraptured with the dreamy curves of a woman she loved with all her heart, but knew she could never deserve to respond with anything more than a grunt.

" _We're_ inanimate objects," said Kirishima with a smirk.

Wash nodded, but the dopey-eyed look on her face told Kirishima she wasn't really listening.

The Kongou huffed and bit her lip in a pout. "Oh… for crying out loud…"

Before Wash knew what'd happened, Kirishima exploded out of the tree like a cat pricked with… with something cats don't like. Maybe a needle, or something, Wash wasn't an expert on cats. But whatever it was, it sent Kirishima flying like an armor-piercing shell with a roaring "BURNING LOVE!"

The littlest Kongou had apparently taken her big sister's mantra to heart. She slammed into the grass a few yards short of Gale, kicking up clods of dirt and digging a massive furrow as her titanic mass slowly ground to a halt.

Gale let out the flattest, "the fuck?" Wash had ever heard.

For a moment, nothing.

Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirped.

Then Kirishima bounced to her feet with a frantic look in her eyes. "WAIT!" she barked.

Gale staggered back from the battleship's thundering bellow. She would have toppled over if she didn't have her bike's kickstand down.

"There are times," said Kirishima, "were stealth and caution are called for."

Gale blinked.

"This is not one of those times," said the wild-eyed battleship. "WASH!"

Wash jumped with surprise and fell out of her tree. Perhaps a better way to put it would be that her immense weight simply tore a Wash-shaped hole though the branches until she landed in a small crater, but in Wash's opinion that particular detail wasn't exactly relevant.

"What…" Gale looked from one battleship to the other, "What's going on?"

"Wash has something she'd like to tell you," said Kirishima. "Normally, I'd never condone something so direct. But…" She shrugged with a flourish of detached miko-uniform sleeve. "There are times when violence of action is needed."

"Kirishima," Gale hung her head, "I'm _driving to Seattle_ , I'm not getting into a night battle."

"Actually," Wash nervously worried the end of her scarf and took a few steps closer.

"Wait," Gale blinked. "This…"

"Gale," Wash coughed, and edged a little closer. "Uh… Sarah… Um…"

"Guys….." Gale frantically glanced around, trying to locate the hidden camera crew.

"Just say it!" Kirishima grabbed a clod of dirt off the ground and hurled it at Wash.

"Right," Wash fiddled her scarf for a moment, then slowly dropped to her knees. "Sarah Gale… you don't." The battleship stopped herself and pulled her uniform taunt. "I know I could never do anything to deserve someone like you."

Gale's frantic search stopped in an instant. "come again?"

Wash held up a finger in a desperate request to finish her prepared thought without interruption. "Sarah, I need you to know that I'm… that I love you. That when I look at you I see the _highest_ of the navy, and of the country."

The sailor froze, but while her body was still as a statute, her eyes frantically bounced from Wash's kneeling pleas to Kirishima's silent giggles.

"You're everything," said Wash, "I strive to be. And… I, uh… I just need you to know that."

For a moment, everything was silent.

Then Gale flew off her feet and pounced on Wash with a tight hug. "Yes!" she howled though tears of happy laughter. "Yes! Wash, I… Yes! I love you!"

Now it was Wash's turn to blink. "You… you do?"

"Yes!" said Kirishima, "now kiss!"

Neither needed to be told twice. Gale immediately released her hug only to grab the battleship's porcelain features and plant a sloppy kiss squarely on her serenely confused lips. Wash, for her part, looked more confused than a seventh grader at prom. But her hands seem to know what they were doing as they crept around Gale's waist and up her back in a warm caress.

"Awww!" Kirishima bounced with glee. "You two are so perfect!

For a long while, Gale and Wash held each other. The sailor's kiss and the battleship's hug together in a moment of pure love. Then, at long last, Gale pulled away with a dopey smile on her face.

Maybe… maybe she wouldn't be riding her bike down. "Wash?"

Judging from the dopey smile on her face, Wash was too excited to do anything more than nod.

"Would you like to meet my family?"

Wash nodded, and leaned in for another kiss.

Meanwhile, Kirishima let out a squeal that could probably be heard from space. Yes, that doesn't make any sense. But she was a Kongou, and she'd just witnessed the blossoming of true Burning Love. And even the laws of Physics would bow for _that._


	140. Chapter 104: Not Helping!

**Chapter 104: Not Helping!**

Under normal circumstances, Jersey supposed she should be thrilled with herself. Falling asleep in the titanic and utterly unclothed chocolate cleavage of a stunningly pretty woman—a woman whose breasts were as huge and soft and structurally superfluous as they were inferior to Jersey's own American-built, more weight-efficient and perkier Mark Sevens—was ever red-blooded American man's dream.

If Jersey caught one of her crew taking a nap on such ample pillows, she'd have no other option than to lavish him with praise. High-fives would be involved, as would at least a few beers and lecherous comments and snide accusations of heterosexuality.

Only Jersey wasn't one of her crew. She wasn't a man. She was barely even a person, and only that because it was kinda hard to insist she was _only_ a boat when she could walk and eat like a living thing.

And whatever the hell she was, she had Crowning. Or… _had_. After what she'd done, the battleship would be _astonished_ if she stayed in this fucked-up jury-rig of a relationship until daybreak.

Jersey scowled and bolted off the bed. Sweat glistened on her pale skin as she stormed around her Japanese paramour's room. The battleship bit her tongue, frantically trying to break the skin with her teeth as she snatched up her bra and shirt.

Anger boiled though her veins and her muscles shook with rage. She didn't even bother trying to dress herself. Even if she could get her quaking muscles to comply, the battleship was so enraged she'd just tear the fabric to shreds. Her vision was little more than a bloody red haze, and her mouth filled with the taste of copper and fuel oil.

Jersey was a fast battleship of the American Navy, the fastest and strongest of her kind ever built. She existed for the sole purpose of chasing down the object of her hatred and wiping clean its stain upon the earth.

But what if the object of her hatred was herself?

"FUCK!" Jersey roared in fury and spat out a mouthful of stick red oil. Half of her wanted to crawl somewhere very dark and wallow in her misery. Fuck what her Admiral said, fuck what Crowning said… she really was a shitty fucking battleship if she couldn't even keep her… whatever the fuck the girl version of 'dick in her pants' was.

But the other half of her… the other half was nothing but unrefined rage. A rage that sent howling steam screaming down her turbines and powered her forwards despite the whimpering protestations of her cowering mind.

Somehow, the battleship's furious retreat ended up in a tile-lined shower hall with her clothes wadded up in the corner. Jersey was too mad and too miserable to question it. She just threw open the valve to its coldest setting and let water hammer against her skin like ice-drops.

She'd been so close… the only man who'd ever loved her… the only man _she'd_ ever loved… She _could_ have been happy. She _could_ have had a boyfriend… or even—

"So," chuckled a teasing Australian accent that Jersey had long since grown to loathe. " _now_ you can call him yer boyfriend."

Jersey roared in anger and threw her fist in the general direction of the voice. "Fuck you, Vicy, I'm not in the mood."

"Mate," Victory grabbed Jersey's arm and—after a brief moment to lovingly appreciate how bigger the massive American's muscles were—swung herself around to glare up at the towering battleship. She'd changed—or appeared, as the case may be—back into that impossibly skimpy union-jack bikini from earlier. "You may not be in the mood, but you sure as hell need me."

Jersey narrowed her eyes. "Fucking… this is your fault."

"I'm a figment of your imagination, mate." Victory happily put her arm though the battleship's rippling stomach to demonstrate. All Jersey felt was a little tingling where the man-o-war's timbers intersected with her own steel.

"I don't give a fuck," scowled the battleship. "Which one of us fucking told me to go for sodomy?"

Victory huffed and shook her head. The long feather on her oversized Admiral's bicorn tickled at Jersey's soaking nose, somehow deepening the battleship's scowl. "And _bloody hell_ did you go for it." She paused for a second, then added, "I assume."

Jersey blinked. "You _assume._ "

"Figment of your imagination, mate!" Victory poked Jersey in the stomach to underline the 'imagination' part. "I only know what you want me to know."

Jersey scowled and batted the sailing ship away. For a figment of her imagination, Victory always did make her frustrated and miserable. "Then how the fuck can you give me those pep-talks you handed out?"

"'cause," said Victory, "Deep down, you _wanted_ someone to tell you you're not a fuckup."

"Don't like liars either," said Jersey. "Yet here we are."

Victory planted her hand on her hip and sighed. The look of disappointment on her face was almost motherly. Or would be, if she wasn't solidly half Jersey's height. And dressed in three UK-themed postage stamps and a large hat. Jersey's subconscious had _weird_ fashion sense. "Mate?"

Jersey grunted in response.

"You made a mistake."

"No fucking shit," hissed the battleship.

"But," Victory carried on like Jersey hadn't said a word. "People do that, you know."

"Not me," said Jersey. "Not like this… I've got too much riding on me to _make mistakes._ "

"Heh, I know something you'd want riding on ya," Victory smirked.

Jersey roared an inarticulate noise of anger in the British man-o-war's general direction.

"Sorry, force of habit." Victory shrugged. "But really, mate. Is getting you laid _really_ a matter of national security?"

"Yes!" snapped the battleship. "I mean… no… just… I'm a bitch, okay?"

Victory looked up and down the American's towering form. She might only have one eye left, but that eye picked out every detail of the battleship's massive rifles, layered air-defense, and radar masts with the studious attention of a fighting Admiral. "A bitch? You? _nooooo_."

"'s true," Jersey let her head hang under the shower. Icy water cascaded down her broad back and slicked her strawberry blond hair to her skin. "I'm hard to love."

Victory shoved her hand in her face to stifle a giggle. "Sorry. continue."

"All I do is take," Jersey's voice was barely audible over the sound of freezing water crashing against her body. "I fuck up, he forgives me. I make trouble, he goes out of his way to fix things… I'm a shitty girlfriend even before…"

Victory fussed with her eyepatch and shrugged. "You try talking to him about it, mate?"

Jersey growled. "Fuck no. Tell him that after all the effort he put into me, I fucked it all up because I couldn't keep it in my fucking pants for _one fucking deployment!_ " Jersey's voice jumped to a roar of anger and she threw her fist against the wall with all her might. Tile shattered and even the concrete substrate faltered under the force of her blow.

"Nobody's perfect, mate."

"Well I fucking should be," snapped Jersey.

"You lost your little sister, mate." Victory suddenly changed back into her usual admiral's uniform with a puff of vaguely oak-scented smoke. "You're a thousand miles away from home. Don't fault ya for seeking a little solace, mate."

"Fuck you," Jersey muttered.

"And…" Victory smirked, "It ain't gay if its under way, mate."

Jersey's grumbling shifted into an even lower register.

"I gotta say, mate… you got good taste." Victory smacked Jersey across her broad American stern. "That was one _magnificent_ piece of chocolate ass."

Jersey eeped in surprise and clapped her hands to her stinging aft. "Oh my fucking god! Victory!"

"What?" Victory smirked, "she was _delicious_ wasn't she?"

Jersey roared in incoherent rage and threw a punch that passed though Victory's smug little grin like it was made of smoke.

"I'm not gonna stop talking," said Victory, "Until you actually woman up and _talk_ to the love of your life, mate."

Jersey scowled, and momentarily glanced to the heavens. "The fuck did I do," she sighed, "To get this useless-ass tea-drinking fucker stuck in my head."

"Just _talk_ to him, mate." Victory smacked Jersey across the stern again. "Then I'll leave you alone."

Jersey stood scowling under the showerhead like a soaking cat for a good five minutes before shutting the water off with a grunt. "Fine. But you—" she rounded on the tiny sailing ship, only to freeze when she noticed Victory's absence. "I fucking _hate_ it when she does that."

The battleship grumbled incoherent complaints about Victory in particular and the United Kingdom in general as she shuffled over to here her clothes were wadded up. She'd almost gotten her panties back on when someone rounded the corner and face planted squarely in the soft expanse of her upperworks.

Jersey blinked.

The newcomer blinked back. He was Japanese, a sailor by the look of his close-cropped hair and fit figure. But he was also most definitely a man. But as he pried his face out of the American's manifest breastiny, his features told a tale of more confusion than lecherous.

"Uh…." Jersey elucidated.

The sailor said something in moon-moon. One of Jersey's radio-faeries happily trotted across her bridge with a handwritten translation in hand. The battleship snatched his clipboard away and hastily skimmed the tiny writing.

"Miss", it said, "this is a men's bathroom."

Jersey's gaze narrowed and she stared at some point beyond the horizon. "Mother _fucker_."

—|—|—

Sarah Gale used to think the way Kongou existed as a quantum entity unbound by such pedestrian laws as causality and locality was a trait unique to the four English-designed fast battleships. But not anymore. The sailor was vibrating so intensely from her giggles, she was _certain_ she was approaching Schrödinger's Dess.

Gale wasn't entirely sure if anything she'd just thought made any sense. She never was good at exotic physics. Or regular physics for that matter. She was a Yeoman after all. Her job mostly entailed paperwork and paperwork accessories.

Or it did until shipgirls became a thing. At which point the amount of babysitting and running after naked ten-year-olds who were also two-thousand ton engines of war she had to do suddenly shot up.

But that's beside the point.

The point was that _Wash_ was _right there._ The most stunningly beautiful battleship—the most stunningly beautiful _woman_ —Gale had ever met had haltingly, nervously asked for her love.

And Gale'd been more than happy to offer it. After what felt like months of false-starts, backsliding, and general D-grade rom-com shenanigans, Gale and Wash were finally sitting across from one another _as lovers._

So why did the battleship look so pale. Well, paler than the delicious creamy snow-white her skin usually sported. Her face was a stark, chalky white. Her prodigious chest quivered with shallow, nervous breaths, and her hands frantically worried the hem of her splinter-pattern miniskirt.

If she didn't know better, she'd say the forty-five thousand ton battleship looked terrified at the simple prospect of meeting her parents.

"Wash?" Gale calmed herself long enough to slip a word out without squealing like a schoolgirl. "Are you alright?"

Wash shook her head, but her lips stayed pressed shut.

"What…" Gale grunted as the truck swayed over a bump. Wash might not be able to outright _slay_ a truck with her titanic weight like Jersey could, but she could at least bring it to its knees begging for mercy. "What's wrong?"

Wash opened her mouth for an instant, then promptly closed it again. She closed those warm hazel eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Her chest swelled against the straining fabric of her uniform, and Gale had to struggle not to sneak a look at the battleship's upperworks.

Finally, she opened her eyes again. "I'm scared."

Gale blinked. "You?"

Wash nodded.

"Of… what?"

Wash clenched at her skirt and nervously crossed her legs. "I… of meeting your family."

Gale stared at the warship for a moment. Then she burst out in howls of laughter that send her slumping down the side of the cabin. "Wash, they're—" the sailor paused to suck down a breath, "They're good people. Don't worry."

Wash shrugged. "I'm… I've always been a quiet person," said the battleship. "I don't really… _do_ public appearances."

"It's Christmas dinner," said Gale. "Don't worry about it, there's not even a single press conference."

Wash nodded. "I…" she sighed, and smoothed the puckered fabric of her jacket. "I've just never met such important dignitaries."

Gale blinked. "Wait, dignitaries?"

The battleship nodded as her cheeks glowed a brilliant red. "The family of the love of my life."

Gale let out a squeal that could probably be heard all the way back at base.

—|—|—

"Huh?" Tenryuu glanced up from her coloring. Well, nominally it was _Borie's_ coloring book, but Tenryuu had borrowed a page. For quality-assurance reasons, of course. She was a grown warship, she didn't find any childish pleasure in something as basic as coloring.

"What?" Kidd glanced up from the nest of coloring books, crayon boxes, and half-eaten donuts she'd assembled around her section of floor.

Tenryuu tapped a half-gloved finger against the base of her floater. "Did anyone else hear that?"

Kidd and the other destroyers exchanged shrugs, but then England waved her tiny hand. "I did."

Tenryuu smiled. So she wasn't crazy! The cruiser chuckled to herself and happily returned to the task of coloring batman's utility belt.

—|—|—

Jersey was so busy loading up her tray for breakfast that she didn't even notice someone sneak up on her.

Admittedly, between balancing a foot-tall stack of pancakes oozing in syrup—the good kind that's basically just liquid sugar, not the shitty Canadian kind that may or may not be a communist sleeper agent—, humming a wordless tune that drifted between _Anchors Aweigh_ , the Marine Hymn, and the _Robocop_ theme at will, and trying desperately to purge any memory of Musashi's delicious chocolate pagodas from her brain, Jersey didn't have much spare attention to give.

"Um… excuse me?" said a very quiet, very timid voice.

"Gah!" Jersey almost dropped her tray as she spun around on her heel. Only she didn't because she was an American battleship. And as an American battleship, she had the best gunnery computer ever build by mortal hands and reflexes that made light look like a geriatric Frenchman.

"S-sorry," stuttered a towering girl a scant few inches shorter than Jersey's already enormous frame. She was a Yamato, she had to be. Jersey would recognize those smooth, creamy features, pointed chin, and tiny little nose anywhere.

Only this Yamato wore actual clothes. Instead of a microskirt and bandages, her curves were draped in heavy canvas robes and inch-thick steel plating. She wore glasses, and her ashy black hair was tied back in a simple ponytail.

Her chest also lacked the enormous jiggling bulge of a certain chocolate-flavored pagodaboat. Instead, the heavy steel of her archery breastplate sported a gentle curve that was barely bigger than Kongou's bustline.

Oh, and she was also decked over. Probably should have lead with that one.

"Hey," Jersey casually leaned against the serving line in an effort to seem cool and collected. It worked until her immense weight tore the the tray-rack from its mounts and sent it clattering to the floor.

The carrier bit her lip and blushed.

Jersey stared at the fallen bit of metal. "Shit."

"Sorry," mewed the carrier so quietly Jersey had to strain to hear it.

"What the fuck for?" Jersey smiled. "You're Shinano, right?"

The carrier nodded timidly.

Jersey looked up and down the quivering girl. She wasn't anything like Musashi. She was quiet, timid, flat chested… everything Musashi wasn't. Which was good, because Musashi or Musashi-related activities was the _last_ thing Jersey wanted to get into today. "Jersey," the battleship thrust her hand at the carrier.

Shinano just stared at the offered hand for a moment, before sheepishly bowing herself. "Jersey-sama, It's—"

Jersey smacked the carrier on the back of the head. It wasn't a particularly light slap by normal standards, but if Jersey put any less power into it the over-armored Japboat wouldn't have even felt it. "Just Jersey. I don't have time for that moon-rune shit."

"Oh," Shinano blushed an even brighter red. "So-sorry."

"And stop fucking apologizing," Jersey grunted under the weight of her breakfast tray and set a course for the closest open table. "You wear a shirt, 's enough for me."

Shinano smiled for a moment, than hastily trailed after the battleship. "Um, Jersey?"

"Yuhs?" Jersey grunted though a mouthful of pancakes.

"I… I was wondering," Shinano blushed and scuffed her armored toe against the floor. "If… if you're not busy I mean."

"Shuhnuah," Jersey shook her head. "Juhst tah meh."

"Oh, right." Shinano took a breath. "I was going to visit Akihabara with Albie. And I'd like to invite you."

Jersey popped another mountain of pancakes into her mouth. "Thahs lahk wub lhnd, raht?"

Shinano blinked. "I'm…" she blushed and shrank back in her kimono. "I don't speak American."

"I _said_ ," Jersey swallowed. "That's like nip weeb land, right?"

"Oh," Shinano nodded. "yes!"

Jersey thought for a moment. On the one hand, she'd promised Victory that she'd talk to Crowning about… _that._ But she really didn't _want_ to.

And… well, she'd just been asked for escort by a carrier. And if there's anything she'd learned in her decades of service, it was that the highest duty for a ship of her class was _protect the carrier._

Besides, she'd been asked for escort by a ship of _an allied navy._ Refusing would be tantamount to insulting the entire nation of Japan. It would be an international incident! And Jersey would _never_ want to cause an international incident.

Heh.

Okay, she wouldn't want to cause an incident with _Japan._ Talking with Crowning could wait, her duties to her allies came first. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

"Sure," Jersey smiled. "I'd love to, Shinny."

Shinano smiled, and hugged herself with glee. For a while, the two ships sat in silence. Or as close to silence as possible given Jersey's horrendously messy dining habits. Then, the quiet carrier opened her mouth once more.

"J-Jersey?"

"Whaddup?"n

"I…" Shinano ran her hands though the end of her long ponytail. "I really like your hair. The braid."

Jersey beamed and stuffed a forkfull of pancakes in her mouth.

"Do…" Shinano blushed. "Do you think you could teach me?"

Jersey swallowed, then looked down at her syrup-splattered hands. If syrup was blood, it'd be quite the gory sight. "Lemme clean up first, k?"


	141. A Certain Lady Part 29

**A Certain Lady Part 29**

 **Christmas Edition**

Jintsuu all but staggered towards the front door, her entire presence exuding an aura of exhaustion.

Today, and many of the previous days, had been draining on a level she hadn't experienced in quite some time. Not since she'd first had human feet to stand on, really. And that had imposed its own unique set of problems. The after-action report for the day hadn't played nice either.

She'd known that operations were steadily upticking and that they'd be preparing accordingly, but this was something of a genuinely alarming pace. Made all the more so due to Hiei's removal from the combat roster and subsequent appointment to an instructor's post. Add in the gossip surrounding Arizona and Admiral Richardson along with the string of incidents involving Pennsylvania immediately following her summoning and even she would admit she was feeling rather overwhelmed.

That didn't even count the holidays.

A sigh escaped her lips as she reached for the door.

They'd even missed Christmas.

The objective part of her mind agreed with the soldier in her that it was a small price to pay for being prepared. Plus, the Abyssals did not plan their assaults around their calendar or have any measure of consideration. At least a human foe might offer a short armistice for the day. Not always, but at least the chance existed.

But it would have been her first Christmas as a person and more importantly, her first Christmas with her family.

Well, her new family.

Sendai and Naka weren't exactly a hop, skip, and a jump away.

No one really seemed to be in much a mind about it though. Certainly Jane was being a good sport about everything. And the Admiral was doing his best as well. But despite everyone's best efforts there was still a slight feeling of gloom as the festive day had come and gone without much notice.

She entered her home after shaking away the less cheerful thoughts and was immediately assaulted by a wave of delicious smelling foods. Her ears perked at the just loud enough music playing over her radio while her rangefinders took in hastily arranged decorations with due surprise.

How had this all gotten done so fast?

"Ou! Jane! I'm out of tinsel!"

...That would actually explain a lot of the decorations.

"Shimakaze, what's going on?" she called out, glancing about the foyer at all the sparkling baubles and colorful items hanging from anything that could hold them. There had been no notice of any kind of party. And she prided herself on knowing what was going on around this place. Or at least not slacking in finding out what she didn't know.

"Putting up decorations?" replied Shimakaze. She dashed by, giving only a brief nod of greeting in the process. There were things to do. And she had to get them done fast!

"Hi, Jintsuu-mama!" Exclaimed Jane, hot on Shimakaze's heels.

"Shimakaze, I told you to stop running around like that! Jane, you too!" Arizona rounded the corner, giving a stern glare in the direction the duo had bolted off in. "Honestly. They could stand for a little calm."

Jintsuu merely blinked as she turned her gaze from where Jane and Shimakaze had run off and to the American battleship currently wiping her hands on a rather messy looking apron. The sleeves of a fuzzy grey sweater were rolled up to the elbows while calf-length red skirt adorned the standard's lower half. It was a homely look for certain and it looked quite nice on the copper haired woman. But was not exactly high on her list of things to expect today.

"Miss Jintsuu?"

"Oh! Sorry. I must have drifted off for a moment." Jintsuu's face flushed a slight shade of cherry as she realized she'd been staring. She reached up and pulled the long, green ribbon from her hair, letting the brown locks fall freely. "What's going on? I don't recall anyone saying anything about a party."

"You didn't get the message? Miss Hiei said she sent an... email? to you." Arizona furrowed her brow. She might be catching up on modern technology rather well, but there was still much to learn. She could use a tablet or a computer to look up and read things, but she was hardly a power user.

Jintsuu shook her head as she removed her shoes. Oh how wonderful it felt to finally have her screws not so bound.

"I suppose it doesn't matter much at the moment." Arizona beckoned Jintsuu to follow her into the kitchen. "John wanted us to have at least some chance for holiday cheer, so he arranged for us all to have the evening off. He may have only completed arrangements today, but I am surprised no one said anything."

"Today was quite busy. But this would explain why some of you were relieved a bit early." Jintsuu shook her head as she followed Arizona without question. Another ship might have asked why Arizona was using the Admiral's name so casually, but she was not such a ship. She knew the whole story. Every little detail. Too bad it wasn't the information she felt she really wanted a few moments ago. "I must be more tired than I thought to let this all slip."

Arizona merely nodded.

"Well, there's no use dwelling on it now." She removed her gloves with a small flourish. "What can I do to help?"

"You can try one of these and then change into more comfortable clothes." Arizona held up a cookie with a sugary coating and what looked to be an anchor drawn on in blue frosting. There was the hint of playfulness tugging at the corner of her mouth. But surely she hadn't been so infected by Hiei and Mutsu's more mischievous moods and the pleasant feelings of the holiday spirit. Certainly not.

"It would be nice to get out of my uniform first. Thank you." Jintsuu took the offered cookie and smiled. One less than delicate bite later and her smile had turned into something more comparable to Kongou's when talking about Admiral Goto.

"I wager you approve?"

Jintsuu nodded blissfully.

"Miss Hiei put them together," commented Arizona as she turned to check the contents of the oven. The casserole within looked to be finishing up nicely. "In fact, she put together a rather large portion of dinner tonight."

"You didn't make this?" Jintsuu only blinked at the mention of Hiei having been the creator of such a tasty treat. Hiei was an absolutely amazing cook, but when her creations took a turn for the worse, they often were found out the hard way. So she considered her wariness and disbelief quite warranted.

"Heavens, no." Arizona gestured to much of the ongoing cooking. "I am merely keeping an eye on things and following her instructions accordingly."

"You're not quite ready to take on this kind of task?" she asked innocently.

"I am willing, but not yet ready."

"Fair enough." Jintsuu smiled and polished off the last morsel of cookie. She could not help but let that silly expression cross her features again. This was a most dangerous thing indeed. "Then, I shall do as you suggest and go get changed. And hopefully not get run over in the process."

The pounding of feet and rambunctious shouting of the decoration crew reached their ears.

"We may hope. Though you would not be the first and likely not be the last."

Jintsuu arched an eyebrow inquisitively as she took another bite of sinfully delicious baked goods. Arizona was being quite talkative this evening. Odd, but nice to see. Perhaps that shell of hers was starting to give a little. Or she happened to catch her in just the right mood. Either way, she wouldn't complain.

"They bowled over the Lieutenant Commander not even five minutes after being given decorations to hang." Both girls had been given a cautionary scolding by their victim, but it was for naught as they were zipping around again soon after. Arizona crossed her arms and huffed. "At least they've managed to avoid breaking anything. Or plow into my sister."

Jintsuu blinked.

That was something she genuinely was concerned about not knowing.

"Arizona, I would greatly appreciate an explanation." Preferably as of about... five seconds after the most volatile ship in Sasebo had been given an invitation. Ideally before it had been done in the first place. "I mean no offense, but Pennsylvania is not the most personable of ships."

"...No, no she is not." Arizona wished she had more of a defense for Pennsylvania, but there was little to be found. Pennsy's scars and hate ran deep. Down to the keel and suffused into her steel. Love and hard effort had begun to ease her own sufferings were she to admit it, but they were still small bandages for a gaping wound. Whatever would help soothe her sister's heart would not be a small thing.

Jintsuu remained silent and continued waiting for an answer. There might be cheer and good spirit filling her home, but she could not let this slip by unnoticed. This was her home and this was her family.

"I asked John if his invitation to the fleet included her and he said yes." Arizona turned to check the myriad foods Hiei had placed under her watch. So far so good. The potatoes were almost done, so she'd need to get the garlic ready. "I admit I questioned his decision. But he said that if she can't shelve her anger for a single evening like this, then he would be arranging sessions with a counselor."

Jintsuu sighed.

That man refused to let anyone fall to the wayside.

Even someone so dangerous as Pennsylvania.

"We did tell you he would not allow you to languish. It would be hypocritical of us all to cast aside your sister." She smiled with a mixture of resignation and amusement. "Despite how difficult she will be."

"Yeah, he's not that much of an ass."

Both warships turned to the new voice and beheld Hiei clad in jeans and a positively mind-bending dazzle camouflage sweater. Their gazes slowly went cross-eyed as they unwittingly tried to follow the patterns of green, white, and red. Jintsuu even felt herself listing to one side. But for the life of her, she couldn't tell which.

Hiei grinned at their reactions before snapping her fingers with a laugh.

"Eyes up here ladies."

"Hiei... What is that?" Jintsuu managed to ask as she tried to do as was asked of her.

"Cotton based quantum refraction apparel rated for medium level urban camouflage employing Kongou-Class particle entanglement principles."

"...Pardon?"

"Bad Christmas sweater. An All-American tradition!" Hiei gave a thumbs up which finally snapped Arizona out of her stupor. Wow, she really picked a good one if she did say so herself.

"I have concerns about what you consider All-American."

"As do I."

"Hmph. Everyone's a critic."

The sound of an oven timer going off alerted all to the fact that the casserole within was more than likely due for some attention.

"Right! Ari, you handle that. I'll work on the potatoes." Hiei didn't waste a single moment as she became a flurry of activity. Right alongside her was Arizona, tending to dinner with a deft hand. It felt good to work together like this. She glanced over to the only cruiser present. "Jintsuu, go get changed already. Relax. Take a load off. Go pester Mutsu or someone. We've got this."

Jintsuu hesitated for a few moments before acquiescing with a smile.

"Oh, very well. I suppose I don't have much choice but to make myself comfortable."

"That's the spirit!"

"With another cookie for the road."

—|—|—

Jintsuu traipsed down the stairs with a merry smile on her face and clad in infinitely more comfortable garments.

Her duty uniform was hardly uncomfortable, but the mental release of being in something so much more casual was understandably absent.

Hence her choice of stormtrooper themed sweater and oversized skirt-one of Mutsu's-fastened just enough to not slip off her hips. A pair of long, fuzzy socks and her ever present green ribbon completed the ensemble. And oh how wonderful it felt.

An amused giggle escaped her as the sounds of Mutsu and Richardson attempting to do some last minute wrapping of presents reached her. It would seem that her Admiral's XO was having a slight bit of difficulty with the tape. She could offer to help, but she would rather let them have their fun and amusement unobstructed. It wasn't like she couldn't find out all the details later anyways~

With a reckless hop, she bounded over the last few steps and landed perfectly at the base of the stairs.

This time she was more than ready for the destroyer/daughter maelstrom that came barrelling past her. Arizona's mostly fruitless cautions reached her radio room a few moments later. Perhaps Hiei ought to weigh in? Then again, the Emperor's Ship might decide to have some fun herself and join in. Something that would no doubt irritate the redhead even further.

...Speaking of redheads.

Jintsuu rounded the corner and beheld the infinitely more troublesome and dangerous of the two Pennsylvania-Class battleships: the nameship herself.

"Good evening, Miss Pennsylvania."

Pennsylvania simply turned to regard her with a furious red gaze. The standard's grip on the arms of her armchair tightened noticeably.

"Would you like a snack before dinner? Maybe something to drink?" asked Jintsuu politely. When no answer was forthcoming, she all but glided over to the sofa across from Pennsylvania and flopped down without a shred of elegance. "It will be your loss if all the cookies get eaten first."

"I don't want anything." Pennsylvania nearly growled out her response. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to participate in this revelry. Not when it was hosted by Japanese boats and a flag officer who was far too close to said boats and her sister. It was only Arizona's presence that brought her here tonight. Nothing else.

"You want to be far, far away from here. Where you don't have to see what Japan has become and how close we are to America." Jintsuu leaned back against the plush sofa was a small smile. She did not allow it to grow as she saw the standard's ire rise. "Safe and sound with Arizona. With Utah and Oklahoma. With Cassin and Downes. Somewhere you can protect them from us and somewhere that you can make us pay all at the same time."

Pennsylvania growled, but did not lash out.

"Am I correct?"

"...To the letter."

"I thought so."

The carols playing over the stereo filled the ensuing silence. Jintsuu setting further into her seat with a murmur of contentment and Pennsylvania leaning forward with a conflicted and grouchy expression.

It was Pennsylvania who finally broke it.

"Are they back?"

Jintsuu remained silent.

"Who has come back?" she very nearly demanded.

"None of those four if that's what you mean. Vestal is in Washington though." She arched her back with a satisfied mewling sound as her back loosened. "She's apparently one of the greatest blessings you Americans have received. A good repair ship goes a long way. And her probably more than any other."

"Hmph. Of course. She was caring for the wounded even though she was ablaze herself." Pennsylvania crossed her arms assertively as she spoke, her voice not a snarl for once. If it hadn't been for Vestal, how many more would have sunk or died? And those were the actions of one ship. One crew. So many more had gone above and beyond that morning.

The silence settled in again.

Jingle Bells began to play and Hiei's laughter echoed from the kitchen.

They could hear Arizona cautioning Shimakaze about running with food and the wonder that was the destroyer actually agreeing.

"Miss Pennsylvania, may I ask something of you?" Jintsuu placed her hands in her lap and squared her shoulders.

"What?"

"Just for tonight. May I ask for a ceasefire?" She did not bow her head. No. Rather she matched gazes with the standard and kept it there.

"Why the devil do you want a ceasefire? We're not at war against each other." Pennsylvania gave Jintsuu a look of incredulity. Had the cruiser been hit in the head one too many times? Granted, war would let her finally take her vengeance in the most final manner possible. But that would pull how many lives down along with it?

"Because there are traditions and precedent for enemies laying down arms for Christmas." Jintsuu narrowed her gaze. "And whether you admit it or even realize it, I believe the war never ended for you. That's what your actions ever since your return have told me. So this is the only way I can think of for you and my family to have Christmas together."

There was a rictus of undiluted anger growing on the red eyed standard's face. And if her hands had returned to the armrests, they may have been shattered.

"You... _you think y_ -!"

"Do it for Arizona if no one else."

Pennsylvania looked as if she'd just been slapped by the Secretary of the Navy.

"She still has her nightmares. The demons in her heart refuse to leave her be. The failures and missed chances of her past still cloud her. She's a stubborn old prude and there are times she is genuinely difficult to be around." Jintsuu pointed towards the kitchen. "But she's happy. She has friends, family, even rivals."

" _They_ were the ones who-!"

"And she has made her peace. Hiei was part of the fleet that destroyed your world and now they're friends. Rivals even. Ask Kaga and she will tell you how her offer to end her life in recompense after the war was quite viciously thrown out the proverbial window." There was a measure of ice in Jintsuu's voice, but she needed it. She needed every bit of her composure to speak through the belt armor of Pennsylvania's heart. Not break. Just speak.

"Just for tonight, I ask for an armistice."

Pennsylvania struggled to find words. Her hatred staggered and the fire in her heart flickered. She could wrap up all these words in the guise of brainwashing. She could. But something about doing so felt... wrong. Just this one time.

She stood and crossed the distance to Jintsuu, who still sat firm in her ridiculous sweater. It would be so easy to reach out and break her. But... why didn't the thirst for blood boil up? Why did the thought sour on her tongue?

"...Just who are you?"

"I am my Admiral's yeoman." Jintsuu smiled warmly.

"That's only a half truth." Pennsylvania clenched her fists at her side. She made her decision. "Just... just for tonight. But only if you tell me who you really are."

Jintsuu's smile warmed.

"A lord needs a retainer, does he not?"

Pennsylvania shivered for the second time since meeting the Sendai. And she doubted it would be the last. But a promise was a promise. Even to a subject of hate.

"I'll give you peace for tonight. Just tonight. Tomorrow we're allies again and nothing more." Damn this madhouse and all the mind warping menaces within! But if she were to be a warship of her word, then she could not remain distanced as she was. "...I will go help set the table."

Jintsuu nodded with an approving look.

"Thank you, Miss Pennsylvania. I truly mean it."

Pennsylvania huffed and left the room, stopping only to hang her worn-out greatcoat along the way.

After a few moments, Jintsuu let out a breath and let herself relax. That had been harder than she thought. But at least there was hope yet. No armor was invulnerable. And Arizona was the easiest and most effective means of getting past Pennsylvania's.

She didn't care how cruel or underhanded it might be. If it helped bring a modicum of peace, then so be it.

For Pennsylvania's sake.

For the sake of Japan and America.

For her family's sake.

Jintsuu turned her eyes towards an approaching figure.

"My, my... It's dangerous to take on a battleship by yourself." Mutsu smiled as she walked over to take a seat next to Jintsuu. This woman did so much of her own accord... Really now. She wrapped an arm around her and pulled the cruiser into a hug.

"We both know I've done far more crazy things than that," replied Jintsuu with a laugh. "And it was well worth it. Pennsylvania is hurt in a way none of us can really understand completely."

"Close, but not all the way, hm? I'd be worried if one of us could." Mutsu raised her free hand and pointed towards the growing cacophony as Pennsylvania tried to help. "But you might have made a tiny bit of progress."

Jintsuu giggled.

"And a little progress is better than none, our Lady Retainer~"

"Erk!"

Mutsu laughed as Jintsuu turned bright red.

"Merry Christmas, Jintsuu."

"Merry Christmas."


	142. Chapter 105: Social Media Downfall

_**E/N:**_ _Ain't this a bitch? I upload a chapter, then only the next day do I find out it's broken. Problem is that my work schedule prevents me from doing anything about it for several days until now. So yeah, you can stop messaging me now. And I should be able to get the copy of the next chapter up sometime tomorrow as a semi-apology._

 **Chapter 105: Social Media Downfall**

Battleship Musashi smiled as the hazy veil of sleep slipped astern with all the substance of a passing fog bank. She wasn't exactly sure how long she'd been asleep for, her night with the American Amazon had worn her crew to the bone, and even now they staggered to their stations half-awake. But she _did_ know that her night had been one to remember.

Her belly was full of salty chips, popcorn dripping in what Jersey so vehemently claimed was butter, and still-fizzy root beer bubbled against her bunkers. Her bare chest was soaking in hot, sweet American drool from the shapeliest battleship ever to grace the seven seas.

Well… at least the most proportionate, Musashi herself was—like her beloved big sister—a creature of such titanic size and prowess that she stood above mere mortal standards of beauty. Jersey might have the cutest little stern Musashi had ever seen, but the Japanese super-battleship sported the largest rifles ever fielded and the only impenetrable armor ever fitted to a battleship.

And, if she was quite honest, her first-hand experience with her own stern was limited to a few brief glances in steamed-over mirrors. She favored a proper Imperial skirt after all, not the typically American short-shorts. For all she knew, her armored-over hangers might yet rival the American's smoothly-curving gun tubs.

But all of that was a discussion for another time. Musashi, for all her usual bombast, didn't feel like arguing semantics today. She was content to let the world go uninformed of her obvious superiority in the realm of naval warfare, at least for a little while.

Mostly because there was a far more important thing the world needed to be informed of.

Musashi stretched her arms to the sky, her back arching until her keel snapped back into alignment with a mechanical clunk of oiled steel slamming home. She pushed her last fleeting remnants of her dream aside. A handful of scattered memories of oiled-up muscles, typically American delight in horrible puns, fresh-baked pie, and something about ice meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Musashi found her glasses on the floor next to her night-stand, and chuckled to herself as she slid them on. She half-expected them to be mangled beyond recognition after that night. The big battleship took a moment to tie her hair up into its usual snowy twin-peaked style, and snapped a few selfies for her Instagram.

No, she wasn't wearing a shirt. It's Instagram, why would she be wearing a shirt when clever camera angles would do the trick. Besides, she had a duty to her country, her beloved big sister, and the engineers who forged a dream into steel and oil.

She would not let the world go unaware of the engineering marvel that was the _Yamato_ -class battleship, nor would she shroud that seagoing beauty again. The Iowas had served longer than any battleship in history, but she would _not_ allow her sister to be forgotten.

Musashi snapped a handful of extra pictures, just to be on the safe side. Then, with her daily quota of tastefully-nude images uploaded to her adoring internet fans, the battleship set herself to ensuring said legions of adoring fans were properly informed.

Thankfully, Twitter was magic and should be worshiped.

 _ **IJN Musashi** Bas3dMusashi. Dec 26th  
I just had sex AND IT FEELS SO GOOD! Thanks for the ride, USNavy.  
#ChocolateSurprise #RodeTheBlackDragon #TotalPenetration #LonelyIsland  
_

Content that the world was now properly aware and informed of nightly activities, Musashi snapped a final selfie for twitter. She'd learned that there were some poor, deprived souls unable to follow her Instagram account (Also known as "the single best thing ever to happen to that website in the history of ever) and her sense of honor wouldn't allow her to deprive those poor people from the sight of her glorious drool-covered cleavage.

But, with her duties taken care off, the battleship was forced to set her course towards more utilitarian actions. Her night battle with the American had drained bunkers already depleted by a long, frigid crossing of the Pacific. Battleship Musashi was in desperate need of supply.

Thankfully, she could _smell_ pancakes cooking from here. Musashi smirked, and pulled her shirt square over her hips. After such an entertaining night, there was nothing better than a hearty breakfast to refill her stamina.

"Battleship Musashi!" Musashi thrust her fingerless-gloved fist in the air, "Heading out!"

The towering battlewagon stormed though her door and powered down the hallway, only to be stopped by a surly Marine who's face went a brilliant crimson the moment he laid eyes on the greatest exemplar of Japanese Naval Might ever produced.

After a few minutes of heated conversation, Musashi shuffled back to her room with a scowl that was most certainly devoid of even a hint of poutyness. "I, Musashi," she said with petulant defiance, "Will put on sarashi before leaving."

—|—|—

Support carrier Shinano was happier than she could ever recall being in her entire life. Her… admittedly rather short life, but she was still very happy regardless. Her tummy was bursting with warm pancakes speckled with chocolate chips and drowned in warm syrup (the "good stuff" according to Jersey), spiced sausage links, orange juice, and icy milk. It was a better meal than the carrier had ever had, and she'd almost refused to accept it.

But after a few minutes of cajoling by Jersey and White—or… really cajoling by White. Jersey just yelled at her and shoved fistfuls of pancake down her throat whenever she opened her mouth to protest—Shinano had finally accepted the Americans' generosity. It _was_ Christmas after all. Shinano didn't really know what that meant, but apparently it was very special, and Jersey seemed very insistent on pampering the big auxiliary carrier. Shinano was too shy to even attempt to dissuade the brash Americans from getting their way.

Not that she would have in the first place. The way Jersey fretted over her warmed her heart. The gigantic American battleship barked at her in a dusky tirade that was somehow both profane enough to peel paint from the walls—literally—and motherly enough to make Shinano's heart swell with contented pleasure. That was something she loved about Americans.

When they wanted to make you feel loved, they pulled out all the stops.

Of course, even Jersey's instruction paled in comparison to White's decision to curl up on Shinano's lap for nap. The tiny little carrier who'd faced her own sister in surface battle had apparently been defeated by Jersey's insistence on force-feeding pancakes to everything within arm's reach. Not that Shinano cared, feeling her momboat's warm, tiny body in her arms made her flush with warmth on this cold winter day.

"Jersey-sama?" Shinano coughed to hide the crack in her voice. She was still getting used to addressing proper capital ships, let alone being pampered by one.

"Enough with the nip honor shit," Jersey rolled her eyes and ran her fingers though the carrier's ashy black hair. "Call me Jersey. Or fucking Jer if you want."

"Jersey," Shinano nodded. "I…" she thought for a second. "Thank you for showing me how to do this."

"'s the least I can do," the American said almost absentmindedly as she fished a lock of Shinano's hair out and braided it in.

"You're a very nice woman," said Shinano.

Jersey froze for a moment, and a low rumbling growl slipped past gritted teeth. "No," she hissed. "I'm not."

Shinano shivered, and tried to make herself as small as she could with a sleeping escort carrier on her lap. "B-but—"

"I'm a shitty," said Jersey, "Mean old battleship, and don't you forget it."

"Oh—" Shinano nodded, "Okay, Jersey."

"Mmm," Jersey nodded and tucked a few more strands into place. "There, tell me what you think."

Shinano didn't need to ask for a mirror. One of the benefits of being a carrier—or really, any ship bigger than a destroyer—was her aviation complement. She could always send a spotter plane up to take a look around, even back at her. Besides, her pilots could always use the practice.

"Eeeeeee!" the young carrier squealed in happiness and tossed the end of her braid over her shoulder. This was so much better than the ponytail she'd been wearing ever since she came back. It looked just like the style she'd worn when she'd first answered her summons, the style she'd tried so many times to replicate herself. "Thank you!"

She swung around and buried her face in Jersey's belly. Her arms wrapped around the sinewy American in a warm hug. "Thank you so much!"

"Fuck," Jersey grunted and hurriedly scowled to hide her smirking smile. "It's the fucking least I could do, kiddo."

"Well," Shinano glanced up from the battleship's belly, and promptly leaned back a bit more to regain line-of-sight. "It's really nice, I like it a lot!"

Jersey planted her hands on her hips and stared out the window with a brooding scowl. "Yeah… well…" she sighed and shook her head. So much for the detached brooding angle. "Fuck it, you look cute as fuck, kiddo."

Shinano smiled and let her head loll back against Jersey's tummy. "Warm," she sighed.

Jersey rolled her eyes, and ruffled the sleepy carrier's hair. "Yeah, kiddo."

"J-Jersey?" Shinano's eyes were solidly closed, and her voice was barely above a sleepy mumble.

"Yeah?" Jersey lazily scratched the carrier's head with a contented smile on her face.

"Whazzat braid you have?" asked Shinano. "looks like a water fall."

Jersey squinted, and ran a hand though her strawberry blond mane. "A waterfall braid?"

Before either girl could say anything more, the doors exploded open with a thunder of straining wood, inexplicably fluttering doves, and burning cordite. Framed in the suddenly present portal with her fists resting confidently on her hips was none other than the perennially shirtless form of IJN _Musashi_. The Japanese battleship's gait had a cocky swagger to it as she stormed over to the breakfast line, and her smirking face never quite left Jersey.

"Mushi." The battleship's name slipped past Jersey's lips with stony, furious indifference.

"Jersey," Musashi winked at the battleship, but any further attempts at smooth comments were ruined by a rumble from her belly that knocked over the house of cards a pair of Fubukis were working on.

"Onee-sama!" Shinano shuffled White off her lap in a panicked flurry of limbs and heavy canvas skirting. The moment the tiny American carrier was safely deposited on a chair, the towering Japanese flattop bolted to her feet and bowed deeply to her chocolate-skinned sister.

"Sister," Musashi beamed at her sister, but her smile withered under Jersey's stony, hate-fueled glare. There was something not quite right with the big American, but Musashi couldn't shake the feeling that she was only seeing reflection of something that was pointed squarely inwards. "J-Jersey."

Jersey just grunted.

"Um…" Shinano wrung her hands and glanced from Musashi's boots to her own. "S-sister… Jersey and I were going to visit Akihabara today."

"Hmm?" Musashi cocked her head, partly in physical expression of her question, but mostly because her pancakes were getting in the way.

"It's fucking weeb land," said Jersey.

"Oh, I'm aware," said Musashi. Truth be told, she'd been wanting to visit the district ever since she learned about it, but her long isolation had made that impossible. Now, however, she could mingle with the adoring public, and maybe pick up some toys or something. Word is the _New Jersey_ Nendoroids were already hitting the shelves, and she'd have to get some of those. And if a daki cover were to fall into her bag, well… Musashi would do her part to support the Japanese economy!

"Well…" Shinano scuffed her toe against the floor. "I-if you'd like to join us…"

Musashi opened her mouth to say yes, but something stopped her. There was something about the way Jersey scowled at nothing, the way her massive legs were taut with straining muscle, the way her glare seemed to cut through even her mirrored shades that uneased the titanic Japanese battlewagon.

Then the American sighed. "Yeah," Jersey hooked her hands over her gunbelt. "She's your sister, you should tag along."

"Mmm," Musashi puffed out her chest. She wasn't quite sure why, but getting approval from the American she'd spent the night with made her feel far more confident. "Then I, Musashi, would be _happy_ to accompany you!"

—|—|—

Admiral Goto smiled as the fresh aroma of freshly-made coffee filled his office. Coffee was an ever-present constant on the naval base, but _good_ coffee was a rare luxury only present for a scant few days after a supply convoy pulled in. Goto knew full well that it'd be gone before he could blink, disappeared down Ooyodo's collection of implausibly large mugs.

The admiral was confident the only reason Ooyodo hadn't died from a catastrophic caffeine overdose yet was simply because she constantly too wired for her body to notice. That girl almost drank more than the entire base put together.

Not that Goto minded his aide's voracious appetite for stimulants. Rare was the day that the old command cruiser got more than an hour or two of sleep, and without her tireless logistical magic the Islands would have fallen months ago. Ooyodo'd earned her coffee.

But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy his share.

Goto settled into his chair and smiled at the warm sent washing off his brimming "#1 Teitoku" mug (a gift from Kongou, of course.) The warm ceramic had just kissed his lips when he heard the sound of furious footsteps pounding against battered flooring.

"TEEEEIIIIIII~"

Goto sighed, and put his mug back down.

"TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~"

Truth be told, he _had_ missed her. She might be batshit crazy with an inexplicable fascination for a certain out-of-his-depth admiral, but she was as good a ship as any man ever had.

"KUUUUUUUUUU!"

The office door slammed open with a groan of stressed wood and wrenched hinges, revealing the bubbly, frantically smiling figure of the British-built returnee herself. "Teitoku!" she flung her arm out with a rustle of detached sleeves and… rather inexplicable cherry blossoms.

"Kongou," Goto gripped the arms of his chair and braced himself.

"I'm so happy to see you again!" Kongou squared her stature and planted her shoes firmly on the ground. "BURNING LOVE!" The battleship exploded off the floor and hurled herself into a spinning human—or battleship—cannonball. The girl hurtled towards Goto in a spinning mass of giggling battleship and frantically flailing nontraditional Miko robes.

For an instant, everything slowed to a crawl, and Goto briefly contemplated ducking out of the way. But he was only human, and Kongou was already in the air. He doubted that he'd clear the blast radius in time. Besides… it was the day after Christmas, and Kongou hadn't had a proper celebration.

So Goto just grabbed the sides of his chair and held on with all his might.

"LOVE!" Kongou slammed into his chest with far more force than her slender build might imply. Her shapely stern cushioned the blow at least slightly, letting her fall squarely onto his lap in a puddle of giggling battleship.

Goto winced, sure his sternum was bruised to hell and back. He'd never had the pleasure of a lap-Kongou before, and she was far _far_ heavier than she looked. His legs felt like they were aboubt to give out under the immense weight of her slender body, but… But at the same time, he couldn't be happier to have her on his lap.

Kongou blinked, her mind suddenly catching up with her body. She blinked again, glancing from her own very much seated body to the Admiral who was cradling her in his hands instead of standing beside her smirking at the crater she'd dug in his floor. Her head tilted to the side, and she brought a single finger to her lips and uttered a quiet "What?"

"Merry Christmas, Kongou." Goto smiled and wrapped his arms around the immensely heavy warship.

Kongou wasn't sure what'd just happened. But she was _quite_ sure she liked it. "Dess," she said contentedly.


	143. Chapter 106: Weebland Ahoy

**Chapter 106: Weebland Ahoy**

Support Carrier Shinano had never rode a train before. She didn't like it. Her arms were wrapped so tightly around her armrests the steel was buckling under her terrified embrace. Every grunt as the distant engine panted to haul her immense weight sent a shiver of fear down her keel, and every groan of suspension pushed to the limit to balance two Yamatos and an Iowa earned a meek squeak.

Shinano would much rather have just walked, but she forced herself to be content. This was just a journey after all, the _other_ ships had traveled by train dozens of times without a single incident. Shinano knew that what she was doing was safe, but that did nothing to assuage the irrational terror she felt with every sway and jolt.

She'd almost rather be under air attack right now. Or… or even be forced to make new friends. If only White was here, she could cuddle the tiny American and maybe hide behind her skirts. That always made Shinano feel safer, but White wasn't here today. She had her own duties to perform, duties that included picking up enough slack to give Shinano the day off.

For that, the support carrier was eternally grateful. And she was determined not to let the little American's sacrifice go in vain. She _would_ visit Akihabara, and she _would_ enjoy herself! Even if she had to grit her teeth and suffer through it! For White!

"You doing okay, kiddo?" Jersey glanced over from the other side of the train. The gigantic American hadn't said much during the two-hour train raid. She'd played with her phone a bit in the beginning, but after about twenty minutes she apparently got so upset at it she threw it against the wall hard enough to leave a dent. Then she just crossed her arms and muttered under her breath something about "weebs" ever few minutes.

"Mmmhm," Shinano nodded, and relax her death-grip on her seat by a tiny bit. She was still scared out of her wits, but her fear of dying on the train was slowly replaced by her terror at being in public. "J-just…"

"You've nothing to fear," boasted Musashi. Shinano's big sister hadn't been very talkative either, but she'd found work to busy herself with on the ride up. Work that, admittedly, mostly involved her fussing with the handful of bandages covering her chest and snapping selfies with her phone. But Shinano admired her big sister's dedication to letting no moment go unspent.

"Oh," Shinano smiled, "Thank you, Musashi."

"What she said," said Jersey while scrupulously avoiding even a glance in the other battleship's direction. "You're the size of a house and you're built like a fucking tank." She stopped for a second then added, "A real tank. Like a fucking Abrams. Not those fucking useless-ass floaty-tanks you people built."

Shinano blushed and tried to bury her face in her own kimono.

"Point fucking is," Jersey jabbed a finger at the carrier, "You're a national fucking hero. They'll fucking worship the salt you steam on."

That only made Shinano blush harder and try to sink low enough in her chair to disappear from view entirely. She didn't want to be praised, she just wanted to do her job.

"Jersey," Musashi's voice thundered across the train car with forceful hesitation.

"Yeah?" Jersey still didn't look in the battleship's direction as she settled back in her seat.

"Have you seen Albie at all?"

"Nope," said Jersey. "Lost track of her an hour ago."

Musashi blinked. "We're in a _sealed train car._ "

"What part of 'submarine' do you not understand."

Musashi opened her mouth to thunder back a retort, then sheepishly closed it again when the logic of Jersey's statement sank in. "Oh," she said quietly.

"Fucking told ya," said Jersey.

Before the two battleships could get into yet another argument, the train let out a series of pained gasps and agonized metal groans. Shinano squeaked in fright and curled up into as tight a ball as she could manage in the hope that doing so would somehow make the situation better. As she hugged herself tightly and tried to breath, she felt the train start to slow to a crawl.

Finally, her trip was done, and she'd be able to get solid land under her keel again. The carrier never thought she'd look forward to beaching herself like this. But she _also_ never thought she'd be sharing a train car with an American.

"Shinny," Jersey's dusky voice brought with it a gentle prod. "We've stopped, you can cool it with the sonic."

"Sonic?" Musashi shot Jersey a sideways look.

"Fuck you," was Jersey's typically eloquent response.

"I thought I already d—" Musashi's boast died under a withering glare from the American.

"Now," Jersey grunted and helped the carrier to her feet. "Let's—"

"FREEEEEE!" Albie bolted though the towering battleship's legs and exploded out into the bustle of Japanese shoppers in a streak of salt-encrusted hair and stolen fatigutes.

Jersey blinked. "I'm not even gonna question that."

"I, Musashi," thundered the shirtless wonder, "Think that is a wise course of action."

Shinano just blushed and smoothed the rumpled canvas of her uniform.

"C'mon," Jersey waved to the carriage door. "We came to weeb-land, let's go meet the weebs."

The three girls filed out of the exhausted train and onto the waiting platform. That was practically swarming in Japanese people—a mind-shatteringly large number of whom were dressed in Naka-orange attire of some variety—all eagerly pointing cameraphones at the three returned warships.

Musashi puffed out her chest until her sarashi strained at its breaking point and cheerfully mugged for the camera. She tossed her snowy hair back with a laugh and drank in the attention like it was a fine wine, only without the culture. The dew'n'doritos of wines, as it were.

Shinano let out a tiny eep and tried to hide behind Jersey's skirts. When that failed due to the American's not wearing a skirt, she just cowered behind Jersey's legs and tried to will herself invisible.

Meanwhile, Jersey was reevaluating ever decision she'd ever made while an inarticulate, undirected rage slowly filled the empty vessel that was once her heart. "We did not nuke you guys enough," she muttered.

Shinano whimpered in agreement, and shuffled closer to Jersey's protective umbrella.

"Ah ha!" Musashi puffed out her chest even further and thrust a gauntlet-clad hand in the air. Apparently she'd found a shop she wished to visit, only it was a— a— oh no.

"Fuck," breathed Jersey.

"What's an adult toy store?" Asked Shinano as she timidly made a course for her hard-charging sister's wake.

"No," Jersey grabbed the carrier by the strapping of her breastplate and dug her heels in.

"Bu-"

"No," insisted the American.

"What is—"

"I'll tell you when you're older," said Jersey. The American planted her hands on her hips and looked around for the least-weebish place she could find. She towered over the gaggle of assembled denizens of this Naka-infested hellscape, so getting a good vantage point was easy. But she still couldn't find any place that didn't look like it was in dire need of smiting with hellfire and brimstone.

Japan was _weird._

"Shinny, what do you say we—"

"Eee!" Shinano suddenly stood bolt upright, and her face blushed a brilliant crimson. Her muscles tensed and she stared at Jersey with utter panic.

The battleship pivoted on her heel, slowly bringing the carrier into view. Standing far to close to her stern was what could be generously described as a man-shaped bag of quivering flesh and sweat-encrusted anime-branded clothing.

The… _creature_ had the look of a formerly obese individual who'd been forced into loosing weight by the crushing supply shortage, despite his ever effort to the contrary. His clothes were baggy and loose, but somehow still far to revealing over his amorphous excuse for a body. His hair was tied back in a ponytail greasy enough to fuel Jersey's boilers halfway across the Pacific, and his hand…

His hand was planted firmly on Shinano's shapely stern, puckering the fabric of her heavy skirt where he'd got a firm hand full.

Jersey planted her hands on her hips and smiled. "Smart move."

He blinked at her in uncomprehending disgust, hand still firmly wedged between the catatonic carrier's shaft galleries.

"She's got a mighty nice ass, doesn't she?" Jersey clapped a hand on the oily otaku and chuckled. "Plus… she's a carrier. She wouldn't know the first thing about what to do in a close-engagement."

He tried to squirm away from the two warships, but Jersey's friendly pat suddenly turned into an iron-hard grab.

"You get in close," Jersey's friendly voice lost all its dusky joking, hardening into a hissing wispier glowing with rage. "But," she leaned in, bending deeply until her lips were less than an inch from his ear. Her teeth flashed in the platform spotlighting as she whispered in his ear. "there's one thing you forgot."

"W-what?"

"Me." Jersey's hand closed around the ratty collar of his shirt and the towering battleship effortlessly hoisted him off his feet until his face was inches from her growling visage. With her free hand she pushed her mirrored shades up over the bill of her cap, forcing him to endure her unadulterated icy stare.

"I'm an _Iowa_ ," Jersey's voice had lost all its teasing luster. The amazonian American knew nothing but rage, and she'd lost all pretense of keeping that hidden. "For fifty fucking years I had _one_ job," she growled. "Just fucking _one_. Wanna guess what it was?"

The slime ball grunted something in anger and threw a kick with his dangling foot. His only reward was a meaty crunch as flesh and bone slammed into the steely flesh of Jersey's musclebound thigh.

"Protect." Jersey hauled him even closer, until her hot breath blasted in his face. "The. Carrier. And I just lost my sister, so I'm feeling _EXTRA MOTHERFUCKING PROTECTIVE RIGHT NOW!_ " Jersey poured all her anger and frustration into her words.

He screamed and threw an ineffectual punch at Jersey's ironclad abs. "Filthy Gaijin—"

"Gaijin?" Jersey laughed. "*Gaijin? You think I'm a devil?" Her laughter stopped in an instant and a glare that could boil steel locked on his squirming features. "I'm more then that. I'm a blue-eyes black MOTHERFUCKING DRAGON!" She thundered at the top of her lungs, "And I am NOT IN THE MOOD FOR GAMES!"

The battleship stepped back, holding him in the air at arm's length without so much as a quiver in her outstretched limb. "So ask yourself this, _fat man_ ," her chest heaved and her features twisted into an angry snarl. "Do you really wanna fuck with America, today!?"

"N-no—" mumbled the otaku as a puddle streamed down his legs onto the platform.

Jersey let him drop to the floor in disgust. "Apologize to her. Now! Or I'll rape your fucking corpse!"

"S-Shinano—" he shuffled on his knees, hands clasped in supplication to the quiet support carrier. "P-please…" he trailed off into gibbering Jersey's Japanese wasn't good enough to understand. If she even cared enough to bother tasking her crew with translating.

The battleship pressed her fingers into her palms as her anger boiled over. She was _furious_ , and she knew she was going to catch some sort of flak for what she'd just done. Hell, they might bust her all the way down to Ensign for this, if not recruit seaman. And that's assuming they didn't just throw her in NAVCONBRIG until she rusted to nothing.

But Jersey didn't _give a single rotten fuck._ Her first instinct, her _only_ instinct was to _protect the carrier._ Shinano was under her protection, and she would _not_ let some subhuman slime ball lay a finger on her without repercussion.

"Shinano," Jersey squared her hips and bit back her fury to a mere undercurrent in her clipped contralto. "Do you accept his apology."

The giant support carrier glanced from the gibbering puddle pleading at her feet to the quietly fuming battleship standing watch. For a moment, it looked like her soft, youthful features were about to melt into confused tears. But then she squared her broad shoulders, tensed her jaw, and stared squarely at the otaku quivering at her boots. "No."

Jersey shook her head in surprise.

"He apologized to me," said Shinano. Her voice was as quiet and timid as ever, barely audible over the bustle of the vast city surrounding the two warships. But there wasn't a shred of hesitation. "But not to anyone else."

"Uh…" Jersey was about to say something, but thought better of it. Like it or not, this was the carrier's show now. The battleship was a mere observer to the new age of war.

Shinano smoothed her heavy canvas skirts and bit her lip. "Swear to me," she said quietly, "That you will never do this again."

The otaku mumbled a stream of gibbering moon-runes punctuated by frantic shaking of his head and other body parts.

"You there," Shinano waved her armored leather gauntlet at a policeman who'd rather wisely chosen to wait for Jersey's rage to subside. "Did you see what he did?"

The policeman nodded, and any color left in the quietly gibbering otaku's pimple-cratered face drained away.

"I leave him in your care," said Shinano.

For a moment, the two warships stood in silence as the policeman hauled away the crying puddle of manflesh. Then, Shinano pivoted on her heel and flashed a timid thumbs-up at Jersey while her face blushed shades of red never before experienced by man. "D-did I do good?"

"Do good?" Jersey smiled, "Shinny, that was fucking awesome!"

"R-really?" Shinano worried the buckles on her thick leather belt and scuffed her shoe against the platform.

"Fucking yes, really!" Jersey squared her shoulders and squinted. "Swear to me," she said in a reasonable approximation of Shinano's timid accent, "That you will never do this again." She chuckled. "That was badass as fuck, kiddo."

Shinano blushed even redder and shrank back into her kimono.

"C'mon," Jersey motioned to the bustle outside the platform. "I hear there's a whole world of weeb shit out there to—" The battleship stopped dead in her tracks and slowly pivoted to lock her rangefinders on the impossible thing before her.

A girl—a pretty one at that—stood in a non-traditional take on the standard Japanese Miko outfit that Jersey was all to familiar with. Her short, ruffled tartan mini-skirt was accessorized with crisp white thigh-highs, and she carried a bundle of fliers clasped to her bounded chest. A latticework hairband Jersey'd seen far too much of recently sat on her head as she smiled up at the towering American and her (almost) equally gigantic Japanese companion.

Jersey blinked. "You see her too, right?"

Shinano nodded.

"So," Jersey coughed. "Uh… hi."

"Hello, miss Jersey. Miss Shinano." The girl bowed deeply from the waist, "It's good to see you in Akihabara."

Jersey blinked. "How the fuck did you know who we were?"

The girl rolled her eyes in a cute, Japanese way that somehow didn't feel condescending and took a step closer. The top of her head didn't even reach the thickest part of Jersey's chest.

"Oh," Jersey scowled at nothing in particular.

"I work for the fleet activities tea parlor," the girl handed Jersey a flier that was helpfully written in moon-runes the battleship couldn't read. "The owner would like to invite you to dine at cost."

Jersey narrowed her eyes and stared at the flier like it might try to eat her at any moment. "I'm not sure that's—" And then she recognized the only moon-rune she actually knew how to read. "What's this word?"

The girl had to stand on tip-toes to see what Jersey was pointing at. "Oh, 'pie'."

"Pie you say?" Jersey licked her lips and prayed she wasn't drooling visibly.

"Yes," the girl nodded. "Pie."

"Yo, Shinny," Jersey waved at the carrier. "You feel like pie today?"

Shinano offered the battleship a confused look. "What's pie?"

"Oh for the love of god," Jersey grabbed the carrier's wrist and smiled at the girl. "Wgnd beh…" she stopped and wiped the drool from her mouth. She couldn't help it, she hadn't had a good pie in… in far longer than any woman should be forced to go without pie. "We'd be happy!"


	144. Chapter 107: Priesdess

**E/N:** _Some of you may have noticed I have upped this stories rating to "M". I did so after some reflection and deciding that because this story deals with adult themes that it should have it, even if how it handles said adult themes may or may not warrant it. Then again, I'm pretty sure Jersey's language alone would qualify this for a "M" rating if this were a video game so eh..._

 **Chapter 107: Priesdess**

The moment Jersey set foot in the "Fleet Activities Tea Parlor", the battleship was assaulted by an overwhelming sense of weirdness. And she'd walked past a dozen pretty girls in Naka clothing—what the locals called "cosplay"—and a dozen other weird-in-a-Japan-kind-of-way to get to it.

It wasn't quite the parlor itself, although the establishment looked like the illegitimate lovechild of a salt-encrusted sailor's pub and a proper English tea-house born prematurely and delivered by a mildly-incompetent midwife with an inexplicable taste for French maids. Jersey was quite proud of herself for coming up with such a creative metaphor, and she made sure to scribble it down in her log before continuing.

Not was the source of the pervasive weirdness quite the waitress employed by said parlor, although they were definitely eroding Jersey's sanity faster than a cavitating screw. For one thing, they were _all_ Kongous. A full dozen pretty Japanese girls shuffled around in flowing red-on-white uniforms, frilly abbreviated Miko skirts, and polished brass headgear.

There was even a thirteenth dressed in what Jersey instantly recognized as a Royal Navy uniform who introduced herself as "Indestructible" and spoke in an impeccable English accent. Which was funny because she looked _far_ more Japanese than Kongou did on her most-Asianest day.

Nor, even, did the weirdness stem the girls' greetings to each new arrival. Every time a man or woman entered, they were greeted with a bubbly "Hello, Teitoku!" from every present not-Kongou. And everyone who left was sent off with an affectionate, "See you soon, Teitoku!"

Thankfully Jersey and Shinano had been spared that little greeting. Apparently the Japanese had recognized her as a shipgirl, although Jersey couldn't for the life of her figure out how. Maybe it was just her proximity to Shinano?

"This is so fucking weird," Jersey grumbled as she ducked though the doorway and unfolded her towering bulk into the parlor proper.

"Is- is it?" Shinano pressed her hands against her chest and shuffled as close to Jersey as she could get without physically getting inside the big American.

"It really, really is," said Jersey. The two battleships were guided to a waiting table by a girl who—save for being a hair too short and looking actually Japanese—was a spitting image of the eldest of the Kongou siblings. She even had the flush-mounted AA platform atop her armored bridge that was unique to Kongou's pagoda.

Wait.

Jersey blinked, and whipped off her mirrored shades to frantically polish the lenses with her scarf. Gone was the faint after-image of pagodas and stacks, in its place was only a smiling brunette in nontraditiona-Miko garb waiting for her to take a seat.

"Did you see that?" whispered Jersey to Shinano.

The carrier looked like a particularly large deer caught in the headlights, and shook her head as much as her trembling muscles would allow.

Jersey blinked again. "Okay." She sighed, and carefully settled herself into the spindly wicker-backed chair. They were—as far as Jersey could tell—the exact same model that Kongou herself produced for her tea parties. Only these chairs couldn't have been imbued with the improbable dess-magic those girls seemed to exude, so there wasn't a chance in hell that it'd support her titanic weight.

Not that Jersey really cared. Crashing though the chair and landing squarely on her stern would be funny as hell. Might even put a smile on Shinano's face, which the poor girl desperately needed.

But, to Jersey's immense surprise, the chair held. Barely, it let out a series of creaks and groans worse than a Russian cabbie trying to parallel-park a train, but it held.

"The fuck?" Jersey shuffled her butt, almost trying to get the chair to break. But while it groaned with every movement, the Amazonian American somehow remained firmly above the floor.

Shinano giggled, and quickly stifled it with a gauntlet to her lips.

Jersey narrowed her eyes. "Fuck you, Flatyam."

"F-flatyam?"

"You're a Yamato," said Jersey. "But you're…" Jersey waved her hand in what she hoped described the carrier's flat-chested carrier nature. "Flat… or fucking something."

Shinano let out a squeal of bliss and hastily stuffed her heavy leather gauntlet in her mouth to muffle the noise.

"Right," said Jersey.

"Ahem," the not-Kongou coughed with a flicker of signal lamps. "Could I take your orders?"

"Right, yes." Jersey flipped open her menu and scowled angrily at it. "I can't read shit."

The not-Kongou stifled a smirk and quietly turned the menu around in Jersey's hands.

"Ah," Jersey nodded. "I still can't read shit. Just get me one of every meat."

"One of…" The girl's face screwed up in confusion, "Of… every meat?"

"Yes," Jersey snapped her shades back on with a flick of her wrist. "America."

"I don't think that makes sense," said Shinano.

"It does," Jersey snapped around to stare down the carrier. "In _America._ "

The not-Kongou chuckled at Jersey, "I can get you started with a Shepherd's pie."

Jersey froze, then slowly pivoted in her seat to face the waitress. Her body moved with the oiled mechanical precision of her main battery as she slowly brought her gaze to lock squarely on the smiling Japanese girl's face. "Now listen to me _very carefully_ ," she said in a voice that wavered between her usual dusky contralto and her growlier Arnold impression. "Give me all the Shepherd's pie you have."

Shinano coughed, and timidly raised her gloved hand in the air. "Um… w-what is Shepherd's pie?"

Jersey blinked. "Okay, actually, bring _us_ every Shepherd's pie you have."

"Of course, Dess!" the not-Kongou girl beamed and offered a quick curtsy. "And to drink?"

"C-can I have apple juice?" asked Shinano.

"Of course!" said the not-Kongou in a voice every bit as cheery and bright as Shinano's was halting and timid, "Dess!"

"I'll have boiled Gatorade," said Jersey.

The girl froze, and slowly brought her finger to her lips in a look of utter bewilderment. "W-what?"

"Boiled," said Jersey. "Gatorade."

The girl blinked again, then shivered in horror.

"I know what I'm about, son," said Jersey.

"I…" the girl stiffened, and pulled her uniform smooth. A look of serenity passed over her crisp Asian features, and she braced herself like a woman facing a firing squad with dignity. Which sounds hyperbolic if you don't know how seriously English girls in general and Kongous in particular take their tea. "Of course, miss Jer—"

Jersey almost fell out of her chair howling with laughter. "HA!" She clutched at her side, willing her TDS to stay together as shrieking peals of laughter stressed her structure to its breaking point. "The look on your face!"

"M-miss?" the not-Kongou stared at the laughing American.

"I'm fucking with you," said Jersey though gasping breaths. "Just… just bring me whatever's your favorite."

"Oh," the girl beamed. "No problem, Dess!" She clapped her hands to her side and bowed from her apron-clad waist.

Jersey laughed. But then—for just the barest fraction of a second, mind you—she saw those distinctive deeply-spaced turrets instead of the girl's retreating stern. It wasn't anything like the constant second-sight of living with _actual_ shipgirls, but… But Jersey'd run into costumes before. And _never_ had she seen though them like that. Not even for an instant. "Fucking Jap Dess Magic," she grunted.

—|—|—

"I shouldn't have brought you," Sarah Gale bit her lip and glanced across the groaning truck's cab at the _North-Carolina_ she'd grown to love. To an untrained eye, the battleship looked as stoically serene as ever, but Gale knew her enough to spot the tiny cracks in her mask.

Wash's hands clenched at the hem of her miniskirt, pulling the splintered fabric taunt over her undershorts. She held her head high, but her gaze never wandered from a spec on the far horizon, and the swell of her chest only quivered with quiet half breaths. The battleship stood at full alert, her mouth hung just open enough to glimpse her shining teeth, and her scarf didn't quite hide the coiled tension in her neck. "Hmm?"

"I…" Gale scowled and rubbed her temples. She'd ditched her leather riding jacket an hour ago in an attempt to stem the tide of nervous sweat wetting her shirt. She liked to think it'd helped, but she wasn't sure. "I shouldn't have brought you today."

Wash blinked, and those big hazel eyes of theirs drifted from the horizon to meet Gale's. "If you'd like," said the big battleship, "I could return to the base."

"No, Wash—"

"Kirishima and Tenryuu are cooking dinner." The battleship placed a gloved hand on the sailor's shoulder. "If you're worried that I'd go hungry."

"No," Gale shook her head. "It's not that. And I'm not worried about you going hungry here." She brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear and scuffed her boot on the floor. "My mom's from Alabama, you know. I don't think even Jersey could out-eat her hospitality."

"Mmm," Wash smiled, and her tummy let off a sympathetic groan at the thought of warm skillet-cooked cornbread dripping in butter and honey, pecan pie, and peach cobbler.

"But…" Gale blushed and bit her lip. "You see, when I came out—"

Wash raised her hand like a kindergartner asking a question. "Came out?"

Gale nodded. After a few seconds under Wash's trademark stare of utter comprehension, she quietly added, "As a lesbian."

Wash blinked again, her stare only slightly less uncomprehending this time around. The battleship fidgeted in her seat, thick legs crossing with a wispier of camouflaged thigh-highs as she settled in for an explanation.

"A woman who loves other women?" Gale sighed. It worried her how unsurprised she was at having to explain this to the quiet battleship. Wash might be a goddess on the waves—a or at least a demi-goddess if Crowning's hypothesis was at all accurate—but she had the social awareness of a rough-cut two-by-four. At least she was quiet enough to keep her ignorance hidden, unlike Jersey who boasted of it for all to hear.

Wash shot Gale another confused look, and slowly raised her hand again.

" _You're_ a woman Wash," sighed Gale.

Wash blinked, then stared down at her exceedingly generous bustline. Then, after about a minute's contemplation, she slowly lowered her hand. "Oh."

"Look," Gale couldn't help but chuckle at the porcelain-faced battleship's confusion. There was something about the old _NorCar_ that made everything she did elegant. She was bewildered, but the quiet confusion on her renaissance-sculpture features couldn't help but put a smile on the sailor's face. "Ever since I came out… whenever I'd bring a girlfriend over they'd—"

Her next words were downed out in the hiss of straining brakes and groaning metal as the truck staggered to a halt. Transporting something—or someone—as enormously heavy as a battleship was never an easy ordeal, and the steep, narrow streets of Seattle only made the situation worse.

"We're here, ma'am," came the gruff voice of the Marine driver.

"Oh god…" Gale's face paled. "Look, Wash… whatever happens just stay cool, okay?"

Wash nodded. "I will."

"Good," Gale hastily unbuckled her seatbelt and ducked out the back of the truck. Wash followed a bit slower, careful to keep her immense weight from buckling or snapping anything as she clambered down the truck's reinforced ladder. But as much as Gale might have enjoyed the battleship's miniskirt-clad stern swooshing with each halting step, she had other things to look at.

"Oh no…." Gale shook her head in horror as the last drops of color drained from her face. "No no no no," the mantra continued as she gazed upon the works of a determined southern housewife.

The house was adorned with the usual collection of Christmas-themed lawn decorations and festooned with lights. But that's not where the decorations ended. Hanging over the door was a hand-lettered banner—signed by at least a dozen members of Gale's family—saying "WELCOME HOME, SAILOR!" And flying proudly just below Old Glory was an equally large rainbow flag.

"MA!" Gale blushed a brilliant red at the display. Before she could say anything more, the door all but exploded open, and a short woman who reminded Wash of nothing more than a smaller, curvier WeeVee, came tottering out in a Christmasy apron and beaming smile.

"Sarah!" Gale's mother moved with astonishing quickness given her tiny size and portly build. It wasn't quite as crushing and unexpected as a destroyer-hug, but it was close.

"Ma," Gale laughed and hugged her mother—who positively reeked of cookie dough and fresh stuffing—back as tightly as she could. "Ma, it's good to see you."

"We're so happy that you could join us," Gale's mother smiled and finally let go, only to shuffle over and give Wash an equally tight hug. "This must be the lucky lady!"

Wash coughed, and somehow managed a proper curtsy in her miniskirt. "I… believe I am, Misses Gale."

"You can call me Mother," said Gale's mother with a smile.

"MA!" Gale's blush intensified.

"Of course, mother," Wash beamed and gave the chubby woman a hug.

"WASH!" Gale's blush intensified yet again.

"Oh, sush, dear." Gale's mother waved a hand at the sailor and smiled. "I'm just being friendly. Wouldn't want your lovey girlfriend to feel unwelcome."

Wash just beamed in happiness while Gale sputtered. "M-ma… you can't just—"

"So," said Gale's mother. It would be a lie to say she was oblivious to Gale's increasing blush. She was very much aware, and she was reveling in it. "I hope you like the flags."

Gale stopped mid-word and slowly closed her mouth. "I… It's… it's a bit much… but yes, I do, actually. Thank you."

"Of course!" Gale's mother laughed and elbowed her daughter in the stomach. "Oooh!" she winced in mock agony and rubbed her elbow. "You're getting _fit_ down there, sailor!"

Gale bushed, while Wash just nodded appreciatively and used the sailor's overwhelmed confusion to sneak a glance at her tight leather-pants clad rear. Gale's mother gave Wash a quick questioning look, which Wash naturally responded to with a quiet thumbs-up.

"Ha!" Gale's mother howled in laughter and hurried the two women into the warm bustle of her house. "So, tell me?"

"Oh no," Gale winced.

"When's the wedding?"

"MA!"

—|—|—

Light Cruiser Naka was not a cat, but you'd be hard-pressed to tell. Curled up in a thick blanket in front of her six-monitor workstation with a steaming mug of coco pressed to her chest, the brilliant orange girl looked not unlike a singing tabby. And Naka was quite okay with that particular description. She'd seen enough of her sister's pudgy ragdoll to know that cats were perhaps the world's leading experts in relaxation.

And right now, Naka could use some relaxing. With Jintsuu deployed down in Sasebo, and Sendai off screaming Yasen all over the Pacific, the light cruiser was alone for the holidays. She'd see her sisters—or at least Jintsuu—soon enough, but right now she wanted nothing better than to curl up and enjoy the Christmas cheer.

Besides, she'd need plenty of energy when she met her sister and linked back into the light-cruiser-information-network. Word on the waves was that Richarson was building himself a harem to surpass even Kongou's Dess.

Personally, Naka's money was on Mutsu winning the Richarson bowl. But if Arizona really _had_ offered to have the Admiral's children…

Naka smiled and sipped her steaming beverage. There was nothing like hot chocolate with a candycane dissolved in it. So what if it was the day _after_ Christmas. Naka and her taskforce had spent the season at sea, they _deserved_ some restful holiday cheer.

But, duty calls even tired cruisers. Naka braced herself, and slipped one gloved hand out of the warm embrace of her bundled up blanket. Even if she'd put off today's stream because of the season, she still needed to monitor the shipgirl's public relations, and for _that_ she needed to operate her mouse.

The cruiser hummed to herself as she scrolled though twitter feeds on her screens. The JMSDF used to assign a detachment of human officers to this task. But after the entire corps had to be invalided out of service after near-fatal caffeine overdoses by the end of the first week, Naka volunteered to take over.

It was actually a pretty relaxing job. Yuudachi's twitter was ninety percent her giving cheerful poi-filled reactions to cute cat pictures people sent in, Kawakaze's twitter was just a running tally of every time Yuudachi poied, her _own_ twitter was a masterpeice of PR and fan-management, as befitting the number one internet celebrity in all of Japan…

And then there was Musashi. Setting aside the ridiculous number of Yamato-class-related arguments the battleship had gotten into (including one that ended up getting the entiery of Yokosuka banned from /k/), the battleship was rather… liberal with her figure. Naka was actually sitting on a few requests from AV companies complaining that Musashi's constant selfies were putting them out of business. And… one request for the battleship to star in a production, which Naka had resolved _never_ to let her see.

But for all her enthusiasm for borderline-lewd selfies, Musashi seemed to have a firm grasp on OPSEC. Not one of the hundreds of "tastefully nude" images of the chocolate battleship so much as revealed her current location. The background—assuming anyone even noticed—was carefully sanitized of anything bearing a name or brand. Musashi might be impossibly vain, but she wasn't stu—

"Oh, COME ON!" Naka growled in annoyance. She just _had_ to jinx herself. The cruiser made a mental note never to think anything good about the battleship—or people in general— _ever again_ until she _finished_ checking _everyone's_ twitter accounts.

The light cruiser hastily slapped together a report to forward to Admiral Goto, and fished her phone from her desk. With the time difference, there was a _tiny_ possibility that Jersey's boyfriend hadn't seen it yet, but that possibility was getting slimmer by the instant.

She needed to get on this, _now._ Naka frantically hammered out a text message to the big American. Hopefully she'd get this in time, Naka _really_ didn't want to see the sweetest non-Kongou-related shipgirl relationship go up in flames.

—|—|—

"Mother _fucker_ ," Jersey stared at her phone with a rage so palpable it raised the room's temperature by a few degrees. Wood and wicker groaned under her weight as she tried to hate her cracked cellphone out of existence. "Mother FUCKER!"

Shinano carefully set her teacup down and leaned over as far as she dared on the rickety wooden chair. "M-miss Jersey?"

The American glanced over, her fury dimming fractionally as the object of her ire slipped from her vision. The battleship clenched her phone in her fist, shaking it as her muscles tensed with anger and betrayal. Her lips pulled back over gritted teeth glistening with metal shards and her icy blue eyes burned even more intensely than normal. For a moment, she struggled even to bend words to her will, so great was her frustration. In the end, all she could say was a furious "MOTHER FUCKER!"

"O-oh," Shinano nodded and settled back to her seat with a timid nod. "I… I see."

"'s…" Jersey exploded to her feet, her triple nickel-plated revolvers in their canted leather holsters popping into being around her hips with a swoosh of displaced air. "'s not you, kiddo," she said as she started angrily pacing.

Shinano nodded, although her happiness at not being the cause eclipsed her distress over the American's anguish. She hadn't known the big battleship long, but Shinano liked to think she was at least _friends_ with the big American. In fact, she'd like to claim Jersey as one of her momboats. If… if the American wold have her that is. It twisted her heart up in knots to see a ship she thought so highly of be so distressed.

"I gotta…" Jersey stopped her pacing and pivoted on her heel, sending bits of sawdust and twisted food flying as her sneakers gouged into the floor. "I gotta go, honey. But… fucking…"

"Don't worry," said the tiny swimsuit-clad form of Albacore. The little submarine adjusted the bulging shopping bag slung over her shoulder and smiled at the battleship, "We'll look after her."

Jersey blinked. "We?"

"Mmmhm," Albie nodded. "Archie?"

"Huh?" another swimsuit-clad girl—this time wearing tied-off coveralls instead of speckled-blue fatigues—appeared by Jersey's other flank. Along with her own selection of bulging shopping bags, Archerfish carried a little baggie full of water and one tiny and very confused goldfish. "Fishie," she explained while pointing helpfully to the baggie.

Jersey blinked again, then glanced at the girls' shopping bags. "Ya'll bought that stuff, right?"

Albie and Archie looked at each other like Jersey'd just spoke to them in double-Dutch. "Yeeess?" half-said Albie.

Jersey blinked. "What-the-motherfucking-ever," said the battleship. "I gotta get back to fucking base. Make sure Yamaflat over there doesn't die."

"Will do!" said Albie. This time there wasn't a shred of hesitation in her voice, just determined professionalism.

"And if fucking _anyone_ ," hissed Jersey, "So much as _touches_ her wrong. Shove a torpedo up every hole you can find."

Albie and Archie giggled like murderous teenagers with no sense of right-and-wrong. Which is basically what submarines _are_ , so Jersey found that reassuring.

"'Kay," Jersey huffed in a breath. "Gotta… fucking…" her voice trailed off as she bolted out into the bustling street and took off at a dead sprint. Luckily the packed Japanese crowd parted like the sea before her. Apparently they knew better than to get in the way of an angry, emotionally-fragile giantess.

After what felt like years, but was probably just a few minutes, Jersey stumbled crashing into an internet cafe. The battleship didn't really know what that was, but the handful of moon-runes she could actually make out mentioned something about computer access or some shit. And maybe… maybe she could actually call home without having to endure the two-hour train back to Yokosuka.

Because… she'd fucking put this off long enough. If she was gonna salvage this… No! No she was not fucking salvaging this shit! It was beyond fucking saving and she fucking well knew it. But… she just had to do _something_. Crowning'd been more than kind to her bitchy ass, he deserved the truth at least.

After a few moments of furiously stammering the only Japanese she knew and waving fistfuls of yen around, Jersey finally found herself led to a tiny booth she could barely fit her gigantic frame into. But she didn't give a rotten fuck, it was private. Nobody needed to see what was going to happen, she owed him that.

A skinny man in a faded Naka-Chan t-shirt who spoke at least some English offered to help her open her Skype. Jersey was worried he'd try to feel her up like that pervert at the train station, but to her surprise, he was nothing but respectful. She mumbled a few "Arigotoes" and sent him on his way with a fistful of cash.

Then, as the door closed behind him, it was only her and the computer.

Battleship _New Jersey_ , the most decorated battleship in American history, the ship who charged headlong into a dreadnought with little more than fumes in her bunkers without a second thought, the battleship who made a superpower quake in the age of the guided missile, the fucking _Black Dragon_ took almost ten minutes to work up the courage to click the "Video call" button.

And then… she waited for what felt like hours until the man she loved picked up.

 _"Jersey,"_ Crowning's face flickered into being on the computer. He was the same as he'd always been, same tightly-cropped beard, same gray-streaked hair, same half-zipped sweater with a steaming mug half out of frame. Only… only he wasn't smiling, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

"Doc," Jersey bit her lip. "You, uh… you heard."

Crowning just nodded. _"I did,"_ he said. His voice was clipped and precise. Not angry, but devoid of all the warmth and gentle care Jersey'd grown so used to. _"But,"_ he stopped, lips almost meeting as he struggled to put his words in order. _"I'm… prepared to hear your side."_

Jersey bit her lip and felt a tear run down her cheek. "There's nothing to fucking say," she said. "I… fucking…" she trailed off, waiting for him to snap at her. To yell at her for how she'd abused him, to berate her for being a shitty, bitchy battleship and a shitty, bitchy girlfriend who did fucking nothing but take and fucking _take_.

But he didn't. He just stared at her, disappointment and hurt writ large on his face. And that made Jersey mad. She hadn't just cheated on him, she'd fucking hurt the man she loved. She'd done the fucking _opposite_ of what she was goddamn supposed to fucking DO!

"GAH!" Jersey roared in anger and slammed her fist into the wall. "FUCK!"

 _"Jersey?"_ even now, Crowning couldn't quite leave all the tender care out of his voice.

"I'm a fucking screwup!" said the battleship. "I… My sister died. And do I fucking go to the one man who's always been fucking there to support me? Fucking _no_ I didn't! I fucking though with my fucking dick which unless you hadn't noticed _I don't fucking have!_ "

 _"You slept with Musashi because you were…"_ Crowning stopped and ran a hand down his chin. _"Because you were in despair after you lost your sister?"_

Jersey nodded meekly.

 _"Jersey…"_ Crowning shook his head. _"I want to believe you, I really do. But—"_

"But I've always had a fucking hard-on for Musashi and you fucking know it," said the battleship. "Fucking… cheating-ass bitch… you're better-fucking-off without me."

 _"Maybe,"_ said Crowning. He laced his fingers and let a deep breath whisper though them. For a moment, the two sat in silence, him struggling to find the words while she struggled to melt into the floor. _"Jersey…"_

"Mmm?"

 _"What you did_ was _wrong,"_ said the professor.

"I fucking know that," muttered Jersey.

 _"But it doesn't define you,"_ said Crowning. _"Don't let it. I'm begging you don't let it."_

"Doc…"

 _"What you did…"_ Crowning bit his lip. _"Hurts. I won't lie to you, it hurts. But I can… understand it. You lost your sister. You were scared and alone. You went to the first place you could find comfort."_

"Shouldn't 'vae," mumbled the Battleship as she curled herself into a ball.

 _"No,"_ said Crowning. _"You shouldn't have. And I wish to whatever god's listening that you hadn't. But… Sex for solace—"_

"Wasn't Sex," mumbled Jersey.

 _"Hmm?"_

"It…" Jersey scowled and straightened out. "We didn't _have_ sex. I… fuck! Neither of us could figure out how it worked, so we fucking watched commando all night not that's not the FUCKING POINT!" Jersey's voice suddenly jumped from a rambling wispier to a furious roar. "The point is I FUCKING TRIED! I fucking knew it was wrong and I fucking did it anyway because… fucking… _fuck._ "

 _"Jersey,"_ Crowning didn't snap at her, but his clipped voice was far more commanding than usual. _"You're a good person."_

"Not a—"

 _"A_ good person, _"_ said the professor. _"You're not perfect because no man ever was. But you've got a good heart."_

Jersey let a bitter laugh slip past her lips.

 _"What you did hurts,"_ said Crowning. _"But you've got a war to win. And you're still my friend."_

"F-friend?" stammered the battleship. It was more than she expected. Hell, she was certain it was more than she deserved.

 _"Friend,"_ said Crowning. _"You give more than you think."_

Jersey tried to say something, but the moment she opened her mouth she broke down crying. Tears flowed from her icy eyes like water from her fire hoses, and the American amazon sank against the floor with her back propped against the wall. "T-thank you."

Crowning sighed and, after what felt like ages to the battleship, smiled at her.


	145. Chapter 108: Sushi, Confusion, Suffering

**Chapter 108: Sushi, Confusion, Suffering**

The Admiral's office was quiet as death itself. Not even the gentle breeze visible though battened-down windows broke the utter silence. Admiral Goto stared though the knit palisade of his steepled fingers, wordless disappointment writ large on his weathered features. Beside him was the larger-than-life image of Admiral Williams displayed on a flat-screen.

Like his Japanese counterpart, the American Vice-Admiral wore a look of utter and complete disappointment, and his gaze was only barely reduced to save levels by the camera he was forced to look through.

The two men weren't just Admirals, they were _high_ Admirals. Williams was in overall command of the Pacific fleet, while Goto lead the entire Japanese shipgirl force. Men like that _never_ personally handled disciplinary issues. They had a million pressing duties to attended to, a simple ass-reaming could be delegated to an available Lieutenant or Master Chief.

Unless, of course, the fuckup was of such a serious nature that it demand the presence of not one, but _two_ Admirals.

On the other side of the desk, standing at firm attention and trying not to think about scuttling herself, was the American super-battleship New Jersey. The heels of her sneakers were pressed together, her chest was held out with her shoulders back and her chin held high. Her icy eyes were locked on an imaginary point on the horizon, and her hands were pressed against her bare thighs to keep them from shaking.

The battleship was a force to be reckoned with on the sea, but she could honestly say she'd never been so utterly terrified as she was right now. It was a good thing she'd had a light lunch, or she'd be shitting enough bricks to pave the Pacific.

Beside her, Musashi stood at tense attention. Jersey could tell the chocolate-skinned warship was just as terrified as she was. For good reason, _she_ was used to _Imperial Japanese_ discipline.

Jersey blinked and allowed herself a nervous, rattling breath. She'd rather try to take on a full carrier battlegroup with nothing but blanks and kind words than endure her Admiral's stony silence another instant.

 _"Jersey,"_ Williams' gravely voice rasped though the television's speakers. Suddenly, Jersey wished he'd stayed silent a little longer.

"Sir?" Jersey forced herself to stand even straighter.

 _"Do you know why you're here?"_ Williams' voice was as calm and level as parched lakebed, which only made Jersey's heart twist into knots. It was a well-known Navy fact that the intensity of one's fuckup was inversely proportional to the voume of the one doing the correcting.

"I…" Jersey stopped to gather herself. "I made a mockery of myself and the Navy."

Williams just nodded.

"I embarrassed myself in front of our host nation," Jersey bit her lip until she tasted oily copper. "My conduct was unbecoming of an officer of the navy."

 _"Damn right it was,"_ said Williams. _"I could bust you down to Ensign for that, if not kick you out entirely."_

"Yes sir," Jersey nodded.

 _"But I won't,"_ said her Admiral. _"I understand there were… mitigating circumstances."_

The battleship nodded again. Her Admiral was handing down her judgement, arguing with him would be as pointless as screaming into the wind to quiet it down.

 _"It's not easy to loose a sister,"_ said Williams. _"And we need you on the line. Which is why I'm giving you this one chance."_

"Sir," Jersey felt her fingernails dig into the meat of her thigh and tried to quell the nervous tension building in her stomach.

 _"Don't make me regret it. Williams out."_ The Admiral's stony glare vanished into the inky blackness of the flat-screen's 'no input' screen.

"And you," Goto spoke for the first time, his gaze locked on Musashi's. "This isn't like you."

"Sir," Musashi nodded timidly.

"Explain yourself," demanded Goto without so much as a sliver of anger in his level voice.

"I…" Musashi glanced at Jersey for a moment, then down at her toes. "There's no excuse, sir."

"I know," said Goto. "But Musashi… this isn't like you. What happened?"

Musashi pursed her lips. The leather of her skirt creaked as she strained to stand even taller and stiffer. "I was hidden for so long," she said. "When I could finally show off… I let myself be overwhelmed, sir."

"Will it happen again?"

"No sir," protested the battleship. "I swear it, sir."

"Mmm," Goto nodded. "Musashi, you're not to post anything _anywhere_ without getting approval from myself or Naka."

"Understood, sir."

"Jersey," said Goto. "You and your task-force are to sail for Sasebo at dawn tomorrow to prepare for the South-China-Sea offensive."

"Sir," Jersey nodded.

"Musashi," Goto glanced at the Japanese battlewagon, "the latest convoy's almost turned around. You're to join the escort fleet."

"Understood," Musashi snapped to attention.

"Both of you," Goto waved to the door, "Dismissed."

"Sir!" Jersey and Musashi saluted as one, then hastily evacuated the room as fast as their shaking legs could take them.

As the door swung shut behind her, Jersey ripped at her scarf with a sweat-slick hand. "Fuck me…"

"Perhaps…" Musashi wiped quivering hands on her sweat-slick belly. "Not."

"Mushi?" Jersey fished her mirrored shades from her pocket and slipped them over her icy eyes.

"Mmm?"

"What do you say," said the American, "We pretend this never happened and go back to being badass battleships?"

Musashi thought for a second, then planted her gloved hands on her hips and nodded. "I, Musashi, think this is an excellent plan."

"Kick ass and take names?" Jersey offered her fist to the chocolate amazon.

"Kick ass and take names." Musashi returned the gesture with a hard fist-pound of her own.

—|—|—

Heavy Cruiser _Prinz Eugen_ of the United States Navy sat with everything below her waterline covered by the warm embrace of something Frisco called a… kotatsu. It was a very strange invention, essentially a space-heater with a blanket thrown over, and that simplicity offended Prinz Eugen's refined Teutonic engineering sensibilities nearly as much as the potential for unplanned fires did.

However, as much as the big German-born cruiser would have preferred something safer, she had to admit the comforting warmth was _amazing_. It wasn't _quite_ was comforting as snuggling up with Lou and Frisco in their shared bed, but it was closer than the German would have ever thought possible.

Besides, she'd endured the hellfire of the atom. Twice. And still could've survived if not for the radiation imbued on every surface of her hull. A small electric heater was the least of her concerns.

Especially when a far more confusing matter was assaulting the ordered Prussian matrices of Prinz Eugen's finely-machined mind. "Um," the cruiser coughed, partly for attention and partly to clear out the last scraps of burn-up phlegm left over from her incompetent American crew, "Frisco?"

"Yeah?" The beautiful Asian-American cruiser glanced up from her soft resting spot on Prinz Eugen's non-treaty-compliant upperworks.

Prinz Eugen opened her mouth, but it took her a moment to find the words. "The Frauleins…" she said. "Why are they driving the Panzerkampfwagens?"

"You know," Lou glanced over from her chosen resting-spot on the other half of Prinz Eugen's soft, fluffy chest. "I've been wondering the same thing."

Frisco bit her lip and blushed. "You know…" she sank lower under the protective warmth of the kotatsu. "I'm not really sure."

"I am not complaining," said Prinz Eugen. "Merely… confused."

"I think we all are," said Lou.

"Japan is _weird_ ," said Frisco, although her voice was muffled by the heavy blankets she was swaddled under.

"Mmm," Prinz Eugen nodded sagely. "I would much rather have allied with America."

"Well now you're allied with _both_ of us!" chirped Lou.

Frisco's head popped out from under the heavy blankets just off Prinz Eugen's hip. "And we're happy to have you!"

Prinz Eugen blushed a bright red. "D-danke!" she said. "Danke! Danke!"

"Oh… stop it!" Lou waved her hand in what was supposed to be a dismissive gesture, only for the much larger German to effortlessly grab in her a squeezing hug and smother her in ample Teutonic Lebensraum…es.

"Suft," mumbled Lou though a face-full of squishy German-engineered softness.

"You know…" Prinz Eugen sighed and slumped back against a pillow. "The two of you remind me of panzerfuhrer Miho." She smiled and stroked Lou's beautiful shimmering red hair. "You have always gone out of your way to make me feel welcome and loved."

"Aww…" Lou giggled and flopped back onto the floor.

Frisco purred and sprawled out from under the kotatsu in a most cat-like manner.

"Now," Prinz Eugen giggled, "If only we could get some skintight anglerfish costumes…" The cruiser swore she heard a record needle scratch somewhere as both Americans looked up at her with abject horror. "Kidding!"

—|—|—

Yeoman Sarah Gale had never in her entire life been quite so mortified as she was at this very moment. Every time she brought a girl home, every single time _without fail_ her mother had to go all Southern-hospitality. It was endearing as all hell, but it was also _utterly embarrassing_. But at least normally whatever girl Gale might bring around would be aware of her mortification, and try to steer the conversation away from the inevitable subject of weddings.

But not Wash. The serene battleship seemed utterly oblivious of Gale's growing embarrassment, and she was happy to indulge Gale's mother's love of wedding talk. While the two of them hadn't actually set a date yet, they _had_ established that Wash would wear her dress whites for the ceremony—after a bit of good-natured ribbing from Gale's mother about how well Wash would fill them out—, and that it would be a spring wedding, and that Jersey would be Wash's maid of honor.

Gale was pretty sure _that_ would be an utter disaster, but at least Jersey of derailing any conversation that wasn't sufficiently focused on herself or her awesomeness. Wash just let her mother guide the conversation, which was a very, _very_ bad thing.

"Well," Gale's mother chuckled and placed a fresh pan of steaming green-beans in front of the hungry battleship. In the ongoing battle between Wash's unstoppable appetite and Gale's mother's immovable southern need to overwhelm her guests with food, Wash seemed to be winning. But not by much. "You're a hungry one, aren't you?"

Wash nodded. "I'm a battleship, and this is _quite_ delicious."

"Honey," Gale's mother laughed and tousled the warship's russet brown hair. "You're too kind."

"You deserve it, mother," said Wash.

"WASH!" Gale banged her head against the table as she soared to new and interesting levels of embarrassment.

Wash glanced at the love of her life. "Gale?"

"Don't worry, honey," Gale's mother chuckled and re-filled Wash's glass. "This happens every time she brings a girl home."

"Because of _you_ , Ma!"

"I'm your mother, dear," Gale's mother giggled and mussed her daughter's hair. "It's in the job description."

Gale mumbled something into her napkin, so Wash offered a quick hug to cheer her up.

"At least," Gale's mother cackled to herself, "I'm not asking you about grandkids!"

"Maaaaaaa," Gale grunted.

Wash, however, just looked confused. "Pardon me… mother?"

"Yes?" Gale's mother spun around on her heel like a short, pudgy top.

"Why…" The battleship stiffened up and brushed a few crumbs off the wool-clad swell of her hearty chest. She pursed her lips and took another moment to straighten her uniform, making sure she was in perfect form to address the highest dignitary she'd ever had the honor of meeting. "Why would you not ask about grandkids?"

Gale's mother gave the battleship an empty glance, while Gale just moaned into her napkin.

"Do…" Wash's voice got very timid, "Do you not think I'm worthy of your daughter?"

"Oh," Gale's mother blushed, and gave the obviously-worried battleship a warm hug. "No, I think the two of you are perfect for each other, dear."

"Then…" Wash trailed off.

"You're… a woman, dear…"

Wash shook her head. "No I'm not… not really."

"Wash, no," moaned Gale.

"I'm… on some level a magical being," said Wash. The battleship puffed out her chest with pride and smiled back at Gale. "I could well be able to carry your daughter's children."

"WASH!" Gale waved a spoon at the battleship.

"Lovely dear!" Gale's mother ignored her daughter's annoyance to pamper Wash some more. "You'd make an adorable mother."

"Ma!"

Wash giggled. "I… I think your daughter would be more adorable."

"GAH!" Gale stormed off to the bathroom in a huff.

Gale's mother chuckled as Wash's serene gaze followed her lover—and said lover's tight leather pants—until they vanished from view.

"Are you checking out my daughter's bottom?" asked Gale's mother with a smirk.

"No," protested the battleship. Then she glanced at her toes and mumbled a quiet "…Yes."

Gale's mother winked.

"I apologize," said Wash. "But… you… she's _very_ attractive."

Gale's mother laughed. "Don't worry a thing, sweetie. Why don't you tell _her_ that."

Wash thought for a second, then nodded resolutely. "GALE!" she yelled to make sure Gale could hear her.

"WHAT?"

"YOU HAVE A VERY NICE BUTT," said Wash with her usual serene detachment.

Somewhere down the hall a glass shattered. "MA!"


	146. Chapter 109: Christmas Special

**Chapter 109: Christmas Special**

Battleship New Jersey hadn't visited a sub pen before. They were almost as strange as the underwater machines that inhabited them. The air was hot and wet, it was like steaming into a fog bank only a hundred times more intense. And it _stank_ of chlorine and alcohol with a subtle hint of the paint-peeling reek unwashed bodies crammed into a tiny metal tube tended to produce.

Instead of thick carpet, the floor was lined with wet plastic grates. Jersey felt her sneakers squelch against the deck with each step she took deeper into the pen. Her shades were already fogged up from the sheer humidity, and Jersey had to tuck them into her vest.

As far as she could tell, the pen was deserted. But that could mean anything, submarines were sneaky little bastards, and Jersey was terrifyingly aware of how deficient her torpedo defense was. The battleship's heart rate skyrocketed into a nervous eight-part cacophony. Her damage control crews stood to their stations, nervously checking and re-checking their gear while very eye not otherwise occupied scanned for torpedo trails.

Not that that'd save her. The Japs had those stupid-ass bubble-less oxygen torpedoes in their overstuffed, undersized swimsuits.

The battleship put one foot before the other, fighting against her every instinct to slip deeper into the pen. She was a surface-combatant. She belonged in the open ocean. Hell, she'd take puttering around on the moon before she'd willingly step into the distilled _wrong_ that was a submarine's lair.

But this wasn't about her. She had a mission she had to accomplish, and she _needed_ help to do it. So the battleship forced herself to go deeper into the quiet lair. The sound of her sneakers squelching against the wet grating sounded as loud as gunshots against the quiet backdrop of lapping water.

Unlike the surface-ship dormitories, the sub pen was dominated by a single massive pool. But it was totally empty, and there weren't enough rooms leading off it to house all the submarines, even if they were bunked in packs of ten.

"Pardon me," a quiet voice broke the silence from somewhere behind Jersey.

"FUCK!" Jersey spun on her heel, her weapons materializing in her fists as she frantically brought her rifles to bear. Klaxons screeched in her mind as she reflectively jumped to full alert.

"It's okay." A slender Japanese girl half Jersey's size stood before the towering American without so much as a flinch. An apron was tied around her narrow waist, and her face wore the exhausted, run-down happiness of a young mother.

"Shit," Jersey scowled and slammed her guns back into their carriers. "Sorry, that—"

"No," the girl—who Jersey noticed had the inexplicably full bustline that so many of the Japanese ships shared. For some goddamn reason—shook her head and planted a hand on Jersey's musclebound shoulder. "It's okay, every surface ship does that the first time she visits."

"Right," Jersey shrugged, then attempted to offer a hand and bow at the same time. "Uh… USS _New Jersey_."

"Submarine tender _Taigei_ ," the little tender smiled and returned the American's shake. "It's nice to meet you."

"You, uh…" Jersey coughed and rubbed a kink out of her neck. Rationally, she knew she should be at ease. But she shouldn't shake the ass-clenchingly primal terror infesting every bulkhead of her hull. "You too. Sorry… you're a tender, right?"

"Mmm," Taigei nodded and fished a little sushi roll from the bulging bags Jersey just now realized she was carrying. "The only surface ship who visits here with any regularity. Would you like one?"

Jersey smiled, "Yeah. I mean… if you're offering."

"It's nice to have company," said Taigei.

"You always this alone?" asked Jersey as she popped the sushi roll in her mouth.

Taigei shot Jersey a confused look. "I'm… not alone, Jersey."

"Dah fuq?" Jersey blinked.

"Most of my children are sleeping," said the tender. "They're exhausted after patrol, as you can imagine. But they're all here?"

Jersey screwed up her face and tried to ignore the goosebumps on the back of her neck. "Uh…" she glanced around the deserted poolroom.

"No," Taigei giggled, then pointed at the water. "Sleeping."

Jersey blinked, then leaned over to look into the glass-smooth water. Nestled at the bottom, cuddling against one another like so many top-heavy swimsuit-clad logs, was a half-dozen sleeping Japanese submarines. It would be adorable if it wasn't pants-shittingly terrifying. Looking at them all Jersey could think about was how flawed her TDS was and how defenseless against threats from the deep.

"O-" the battleship's voice cracked like plateglass, and she staggered back against the nearest wall. "Okay, uh…"

Taigei shot to Jersey's side, offering a gentle hug and a tender look that brought Jersey's racing heart down to just above redline. "Is there a reason you came?" she said.

"Uh…" Jersey just now realized she was being gently guided to a side room, with the tender acting as a ad-hoc defensive screen against the exhausted subgirls. Jersey hated herself for being so scared of the submarines of a _friendly_ nation, but subs freaked her the hell out. "Y-yeah. You, uh… you seen Albie or Archie around?"

Taigei steered the quaking battleship into what looked like some kind of rec-room. The slatted floor was replaced by damp all-weather carpet, and there were rows of books, DVDs, and a few game consoles scattered around. Also a few beanbag chairs, which the tender all but shoved the battleship into. "I have, actually. I can fetch them if you want."

Jersey nodded, and worked her stern deeper into the soft beanbag. "Yeah, if you wouldn't mind."

Taigei smiled, and fished a juice box from her bag. "Here, I'll be right back."

Jersey waited until she was totally sure the tender was out of sight before sticking the tiny straw into the equally tiny box. She was a battleship, dammit, and a grown-ass woman. She _should_ be downing neat bourbon and stale, boiled-over coffee. But juice is juice, and something about sipping the sweet luquid made the big battleship feel a tiny bit more at home.

"Big J?" Albie chirped out with her usual enthusiasm as she came padding thought the door.

"Gah!" Jersey leaped from her seat in fight, crushing her half-finished juicebox in her vice like grip and spraying her face with juice. "Don't _do that_ to me here!"

"Sorry," said Albie with complete and utter lack of remorse. That's one thing about submarines, no sense of right or wrong. Which is sometimes useful when they're being military assets instead of trolling little shits. "Oh, and Archie's here too."

"Hello!" Archie waved at Jersey, then pointed to a little black clasp holding her ponytail back. A clasp with a little fish charm on it. "Do you like it?" she asked. "It was a Christmas present from Albie."

"I saw it when we were shopping in Aki," said Albie, "And I just _had_ to get it for her."

Jersey chose to ignore the little voice in the back of her head telling her to make sure the sub actually _bought_ it for now. Jersey had more pressing things to worry about, and she couldn't pull of her plan without the two submarines to help her.

"I do." The battleship leaned over to ruffle Archie's hair, earning a happy giggle from the _Balao_. "Look, there's a reason I came down here."

"I figured," said Albie.

"Yeah," Archie nodded, "You're really pale."

Jersey scowled, "Am fucking not."

"Are too," said Albie. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"Okay, fuck you." Jersey rolled her eyes and fished her wallet out of her shorts. Exactly how it got there in the first place was a mystery to her, last time she checked her shorts only had the two pockets, and there _certainly_ never was a wallet-sized bump in her otherwise smoothly curving stern. But it was convenient so Jersey chose not to look into it any further.

"Look," Jersey dumped a giant wad of cash out on the floor. "I'm an officer in the US navy. That means I get paid."

The two subs nodded.

"And…" Jersey sank back into the beanbag. "Since housing and all my meals are on the navy's dime, it's just been sitting there. Growing. That's all of it right there." The battleship sighed and looked at the little pile that was her life's savings. Which sounded more impressive than it was, considering her "life" was barely four months.

"Okay…" Archie scratched at her temple, "What do you need us for."

Jersey told them. "Think you can do it?"

"I…" Albie puffed out her cheeks. "It'll be tight."

"Please," pleaded the battleship.

"I said it'll be _tight_ ," said the submarine. "But we'll get it done."

—|—|—

It was a quiet evening on the other side of the world.. Snow piled up outside, while deep within the Eastern Seaboard Antisubmarine command, Admiral Carraway sank into his usual chair deep within the operations center. The vast screens dominating the walls displayed real-time information gathered from all the currently deployed hovercats, P-8s, and Canadian forces watching the Atlantic were empty.

The Abyss had exhausted itself with its recent offensive, and there was nothing less to press the beleaguered Atlantic convoys. It'd be back soon, and in force. But at least for tonight, Carraway a quiet, uneventful evening to look forwards too.

Even Akron was getting into the spirit. While the air-headed airship carrier hadn't lost her penchant for filling every quiet instant with happy singing, she'd traded her usual repertoire of painfully memetic jingles she'd found on the internet for something a little more elegent.

 _"Silent night."_ And Carraway had to admit, she had a _beautiful_ voice. _"Holy Night."_

"More hot-chocolate?" The minute form of _Cannon_ -class destroyer escort USS _Eldridge_ —"Elly" to her friends—tottered over lugging a steaming carafe nearly as big as she

"Don't mind if I do," Carraway smiled and offered his mug to his tiny secretary ship. The little destroyer escort didn't look like much, she probably could have passed for his granddaughter if she really tried. But her tiny body was at least eighty percent heart, and she'd gone all-out for Christmas.

She and her fellow DEs were tottering around the chilly base in Santa hats three sizes too big, handing out steaming hot chocolate and candy-canes to every sailor and marine on the base. Meanwhile, roving bands of faeries went from desk to desk inside the TOC, caroling in their own wordless way.

Even Akron had pitched in, during one of her few moments of downtime between patrols. The naturally-buoyant girl had chased down each and every hovercat on the base and given them all festive ribbons and little gondolas with tiny electric candles. It didn't seem like much, but watching the fat airborne felines drift aimlessly around was strangely beautiful.

Plus, even the infamously assholish cats had traded their usual looks of smug disinterested disgust for genuine happiness and contented purring. And _that_ was a Christmas miracle if he'd ever seen one.

—|—|—

Yeoman Sarah Gale scowled at her own reflection and tried to will her cheeks to loose their rosy-red blush. She could still _hear_ Wash and her mother going at it. Up until a few hours ago, the idea of Wash proclaiming loudly and at great length how beautiful she found her ass was among the sailor's most precious fantasies.

Now it was turning into her nightmare. Well… a pleasant sort of nightmare. On side-effect of Wash's infamous social ignorance was her utter inability to lie convincingly. Every word she said about the curviness of Gale's ass, or how she filled out her fatigues just so, or how every time the battleship saw Gale's perky butt swish by it doubled her resolve was the truth. Wash meant every word.

But still…

Her mother just _had_ to go and ruin everything. Gale would be mad if she didn't have an even more pressing problem do deal with. A problem she hoped was just a figment of her imagination, but she'd learned never to assume _anything_ when it came to shipgirls.

"Vestal?" Gale cradled her phone against her ear and waited for the cranky old repair ship to pick up.

 _"If you're drunk,"_ came a raspy accent clipped to prickly precision by Gale's phone's tinny speaker, _"It's your own damn fault."_

"No," Gale bit her lip and shook her head. "Vestal, it's me. Gale."

There was a pause. Then Vestal took a deep breath and blew into her phone. Gale assumed the old auxiliary was smoking that grungy pipe of hers again. _"Gale. Nice to hear from ya,"_ she said, all trace of medical frustration gone from her suddenly-cheery voice. _"Merry Christmas."_

Gale smiled, "Merry Christmas, Vestal. I, uh… I have a question for you."

 _"Mmm,"_ Vestal grunted for Gale to continue.

The sailor froze. She knew what she wanted to ask. Hell, she knew what the answer was probably going to be. But… going so far as to actually _voice_ it was… It was like a dream come true, but it still tied her belly up into knots. "Uh…" Gale shook her head and forced herself to just plow right in. "Can Wash have my babies?"

The line went silent for what felt like hours. Gale prayed that the repairship was just awestruck that she'd ask such a silly question. Of _course_ Wash couldn't carry her children, they were both women! Shipgirl or not, that just couldn't be—

 _"Yeah,"_ said Vestal.

Gale blinked. "Wait, what?"

 _"Wash can have your babies,"_ said the repair ship. _"We're magic like that."_

Gale blinked again. "W-what?"

 _"Can't promise you wouldn't end up pregnant too, though,"_ said Vestal with a chuckle.

"Vestal!" Gale clutched the phone to her jaw. "Please tell me you're joking."

 _"I am,"_ said Vestal. _"'bout her putting a bun in your oven. That I'm not sure about."_

Gale was speechless. She figured she should be horrified right now, but all she could think about was Wash cradling a little bump around her middle, and that thought made her _really_ happy. Happier than she thought possible.

 _"I could send you some books if you'd like,"_ said the repair ship.

"Uh…" Gale smiled inspite of herself. "That… that'd be nice."

 _"And just so you know,"_ Vestal was starting to chuckle herself. _"The Major might be army, but he's good people. We're both here for ya, Gale."_

"Thanks Vestal," Gale's cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much. But she honestly didn't care at this point. "Merry christmas!"

 _"Merry Christmas, Gale."_

The sailor slipped her phone back into her pocket and opened the bathroom door. And almost ran squarely in to the generous bosom of the most beautiful battleship she'd ever laid eyes on. A battleship who might, if all went well, be carrying her children before too long. A day ago, Gale would have banished the thought in an instant. Things like that didn't _happen_ to her.

But they had. And she couldn't express her joy.

"Wash, what are you…" Gale trailed off when she noticed what was in the battleship's raised hand. A single sprig of mistletoe.

"Sarah," Wash smiled. "I—" Before she could say another word, the sailor fainted right into her chest.

Gale's mother pounced around the corner and snapped a picture with her smartphone. "Close enough!"

—|—|—

The Gulf-coast defense command's shipgirl common room was what could be considered a disaster area. The tree was still standing—barely and at an odd angle that threatened to fall over at any minute, but standing—but that was all that could be said about it.

The floor had all but vanished under a frenzied strewing of shredded wrapping paper and frantically opened boxes, not to mention a bunch of pajama-clad shipgirls happily playing with their new toys.

The air was thick with Christmas carols—that Texas' lazy drawl occasionally joined in with—and the sent of warm cream-cheese drizzled pastries filled the room. Texas had gone out of her way to make sure each and every person on the base had their fill of her _delicious_ cooking.

Honestly, Atago could not overstate how delicious the old battlewagon's cooking was. She'd been stationed in the American South for almost a year, and not a day went by that some kindly old woman insisted on feeding her some new and delicious delicacy. But Texas' cooking topped them all.

And the battleship—despite all Atago's protesting panpakapans—had insisted that the cruiser needed some "meat on her bones" and kept feeding Atago until her coat barely fit anymore. Even Alaska had developed a small, but noticeable bit of pudge around her otherwise chiseled middle by the time the battleship was done with her.

Texas was apparently still darting around base as fast as her tired old VTEs would take her, handing out leftovers to everyone she considered improperly pampered. Meanwhile, the younger girls were happily playing with their toys.

Alaska had followed the cruiser's advice, and bought the three Kagerous legos for Christmas. Lots of Legos. Atago had also bought the girls Legos, so they were practically drowning in the stuff. Legos were strewn over the floor in a vast sea of tiny plastic pieces that the three destroyers were slowly cobbling together creations from. Even Texas' baking hadn't torn them away from their play for more than a few minutes.

Alaska, meanwhile, had gotten a more modest haul. Not that the quiet American seemed to mind. She actually seemed more upset that her own gifts were taking attention away from the destroyers mounting excitement with each box they tore open, but that was Alaska for you.

The big cruiser had gotten the latest couple of books in the _Changing Destiny_ series from Nachi, a big bag of Eskimo pies from the destroyers that Atago had rushed off to the freezer, all seven _Star Wars_ movies on Blu-ray from Texas, and a few hot-wheels cars from Atago.

Alaska was playing with the hot-wheels at the moment, surprising absolutely no-one. The snowy-haired cruiser wore a smile of utter bliss as she sat splayed-out in her pajamas, gently pushing the cars back and forth on the carpet while making little "BrrrrBrrr" noises.

"'Laska?" Atago smirked and fished one last gift from under the tree. A gift she'd gone out of her way to hide until now.

"Brrrbrbr?" Alaska made confused car-engine noises and glanced up at her blonde best friend.

"I think you forgot something," Atago tossed the little package over to her waiting friend.

"What?" Alaska's face morphed into a slightly more confused version of her usual blissful bewilderment as she turned the little bundle of wrapping paper over in her fingers. "'tago, you didn't. I already got so mu-"

"This isn't from me," said Atago with a wink. "I'm just the messenger."

"You mean…" Alaska clutched the package to her chest, "Santa?"

Atago shook her head. "Someone a little closer to home, 'laska."

The big American blinked. And then her chest started heaving as she hyperventilated in place. "Is— Is—"

"Open it," giggled Atago. She honestly didn't know what the gift was. But she _did_ know who it was from. "And read the card first."

Alaska shredded the paper in a flurry of swinging hands and nervous panting. The cruiser was barely in control of her own body at the best of times, and her excitement was only exacerbating the problem. But eventually, she was able to fish the card out from the shredded debris that was once it's envelope.

"Dear Alaska," she read. "We just got these in, thought you'd like them. Merry Christmas. Cameron." The big cruiser blinked.

"That's him, isn't it?" said Atago with a smile. "That's your boy?"

Alaska nodded furiously, but all that escaped her lips was a squeal of utter joy.

"What's in the box?" asked Atago, eager to know what her best-friend's would-be lover thought was a suitable Christmas present.

Alaska tore open the box and dumped it onto the floor. Inside was a little hot-wheels card, but this time it _wasn't_ a car. It was a ship. An exact die-cast replica of the blushing Large Cruiser herself.

Atago hastily buttoned her blouse all the way to the top.

"Eeeeeee!" Alaska squealed in happiness and hugged the toy to her nonexistant bosom.

"There's a note too," Hamakaze glanced up from her Legos just long enough to fish a tiny folded scrap of paper from the detritus. Her eyes flew over the paper as she drank in the words. Then she too let out a happy squeal. "LASKA!"

"Hmm?" The big cruiser shook herself out of her glee-induced stupor just long enough to answer the cry of her little destroyer friend.

"It's Cameron!" Hamakaze thrust the paper under Alaska's slender nose, "He wants to ask you on a date!"

* * *

 **E/N:** _I have currently chained myself to the bridge of the USS Alaska/Atago. The captain goes down with hi*glubglubglub*_


	147. Chapter 110: Domestic Catgirls

**Chapter 110: Domestic Catgirls**

Musashi was uncharacteristically quiet as she soullessly ate her lukewarm soup. Each spoonful came slowly and mechanically to the big battleship, driven more by muscle memory than any conscious desire to eat. Even the grumpy rumble coming from her bare midsection barely roused the battleship out of her melancholy—although it did earn a few confused/envious glances from a passing destroyer puddle.

Musashi thought she was just having fun, so what if she hadn't _actually_ bedded the mighty black dragon. A little white lie never hurt anyone, right? After all, her entire _existance_ —along with her beloved big sister—was a lie. The super-battleships were built under the cover of literal covers, canvas sheets tied up to hide their half-finished hulls.

And then Goto dragged her into his office with the American Amazon in tow. Musashi wouldn't have minded a stern dressing-down from her Admiral—or even a stern "dressing down"—as long as she was alone. She wasn't shy to admit she loved the towering American like a sister. And watching her get her magnificent American ass chewed out for something that was, essentially, Musashi's fault made the big Japanese battlewagon furious.

She resolved to never again hurt one of her friends like that. She only hoped Jersey meant it when she said there were no hard feelings.

But before the battleship could ponder her future any longer, the mess hall doors exploded open off their hinges and smashed back against pathetically overworked stops. Before the dust had even settled, a very familiar dusky contralto belted out, "HO! HO! HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS, MOTHERFUCKERS!"

Musashi blinked. "It's the twenty-sixth," said the battleship with uncharacteristic calm.

"I'm sorry," thundered Jersey, "I can't hear you over the sound of all these PRESENTS!"

Musashi wheeled around in her chair, mouth open to snap back a cutting retort at the American's _infuriating_ tendency to answer anything and everything with some variation of that phrase. But her voice died in her throat, and several signalmen fell at their posts from excessive nose-bleeds when the big battleship realized what Jersey was wearing.

A fur-trimmed red microskirt that could've passed for one of Nagato's hung off the Amazonian American's broad hips, kept decent only by frantic work by Jersey's usual skintight undershorts. A knotted red shirt strained over breasts suddenly uncompressed by her usual sports bra, and the battleship's chiseled belly was on full display. Her hair was even braided though with sprigs of mistletoe and holly, and a titanic bag that was far to heavy for any mere human to lift was slung over one muscled shoulder.

She even had a pair of little bells and an even litter wreath hanging off the knot struggling to keep her overstuffed top together.

"Sorry," one of the two American submarines that kept popping up everywhere ducked around one of Jersey's hypnotic hips. "It was the best we could do on short notice."

"Yeah," another sub popped up from being Jersey's other, equally entrancing hip. "She's kinda large."

"Fuck both of you," Jersey shook her hips first one way then the other, giving each little submarine a gentle bump right in the face. Musashi had never been so jealous of a submarine before. "I look fucking _hawt_!"

Musashi didn't dare respond. Even if she could coax a sound of out her voice box, she was certain it'd just be drool-filled gibbering.

"Now," Jersey scowled and tugged at her straining top, somehow managing to avoid flashing anyone in the room—although Musashi had seen less daring outfits when she looked in the mirror. "Who wants presents?"

Every destroyer's hand shot up, and the heavier ships were behind only because their bigger turbines took longer to spin up.

Jersey beamed, and trotted over to the nearest gaggle of happy young destroyers. "And put on some fucking Christmas music for secnav's sake!"

Right on cue, one of the submarines suddenly appeared near the PA system, and plugged an ipod into the jack. Instantly the room was awash with Naka's latest Christmas album.

"Ha!" Jersey cackled as she handed out plushies and warm hugs to a gaggle of Special-types. "The traffic cone can sing, can't she?"

Naka stared blankly at the battleship, clearly bracing herself for some snarky put-down that never came.

"You sing weird-ass Jap shit," Jersey smiled and ruffled the cruiser's buns. "But _motherfucker_ do you sing it well." The battleship slipped something into the cruiser's hands. Musashi was too far away to see exactly what it was. It _looked_ like just a scrap of paper, but the way Naka laughed and hugged the giant battleship made Musashi think it was something more.

"And _you_ ," Jersey rounded on Shinano, who was trying her very best to hide her titanic bulk behind White's minute frame. "Flat-a-yam. You ever fucking seen Ess-Bee-Why?"

The carrier shivered a catatonic negative.

"It's fucking awesome." Jersey fished a blu-ray box-set from her enormous sack and handed it to the littlest Yamato.

She didn't even need to offer a hug, because Shinano leaped into the battleship's arms and squeezed her tight. "Thank you, mama!"

Jersey blushed, and hugged the carrier back with equal measures awkwardness and enthusiasm.

And then it was Musashi's turn to reap the benefits of being friends with an American come Christmas time. The middle Yamato settled back in her chair, a giddy smile plastered on her chocolate face as the towering American sashayed over. "What's gotten into _you_ , Jersey?"

Jersey shrugged. "It's Christmas and I'm an officer."

"What's your rank have to do with anything," said Musashi. She _tried_ not to leer at the American's rippling belly. But… it was _hard_. She'd never _seen_ a warship with quite so much power.

"I'm supposed to look out for my girls," said Jersey. "Be a gentleman and shit."

"You?" Musashi laughed. "A gentleman."

"You shut your whore mouth," Jersey grabbed an empty glass and chucked it at the laughing battleship. "Besides, I got shit for you too."

"You do?" Musashi leaned forward in anticipation.

Jersey grunted and pulled an enormous, still-steaming apple pie from her sack. "Baked it myself."

Musashi was drooling just looking at it. The smell was overpowering already, and the air was suddenly so sweet she could _taste_ it. "T-thank you."

Jersey smiled and ruffled the battleship's snowy hair-tufts. "Merry Christmas, Mushi."

—|—|—

Under normal circumstances, the sight of Kongou sitting behind a desk cheerily brewing tea would be no cause for concern.

Okay, that was a lie. The cheerful British-built battleship's presence was _always_ cause for concern. She had a knack for showing up when trouble was about to boil over and defusing it all with warm scones and delicious tea. But when the battleship wasn't running around like a crazy woman—which she arguably was—putting out fires and stopping problems, she was busy creating new and interesting problems.

She tried her best, she really did. Goto didn't know how he'd have kept the fleet together without here, especially in the early days. Having Ooyodo around to help only marginally improved the situation. The cranky command cruiser was a genius at logistics, but she was a tightly-wound ball of stress and nerves who knew nothing but spreadsheets and rage. She couldn't match Kongou's heart if she tried.

But… for all her well-meaning effort, the old battlewagon had caused her share of problems. Goto couldn't help but be wary when he saw her sitting quietly behind his desk.

Only that wasn't the reason he was so concerned. His heart rate was spiking into the quadruple-digits because of her outfit.

The battleship wore her usual radar headband, but she'd accessorized with a floppy Christmas hat and some thick red-green ribbons. That was an exhaustive list of the old warship's attire. How she wasn't chafing like mad was beyond Goto.

"Oh!" Kongou smiled and batted her eyelashes at Goto. "Tei-to-Kuuuu~" She trailed off with a blown kiss launched in Goto's general direction.

"Uh…" Goto sighed and cradled his head in his hands. If she really thought this display of skin would get to him… he worked with _Nagato_ for crying out loud.

"It's time to open," Kongou tried to cross her sinewy battlecruiser's legs in a sultry manner, but the wince in her delicate English features told Goto that ribbon chafed more than she let on. "Your Pah-RESENTS!"

Goto shook his head. "Kongou, Christmas was yesterday."

"Then," Kongou giggled without missing a beat. "your gift's three hundred and sixty-four days early!"

Goto glanced around the room, purposely keeping his eyes from drifting anywhere near Kongou's Christmasy bandages. "I don't see any presents," he deadpanned.

Kongou pouted. "Are you suuuuure~"

Goto sighed in resignation. "You're the present."

"Dess!" Kongou golf-clapped with a smile that could scorch paint from twenty paces. "Aren't you going to unwrap me?"

Goto grabbed the office chair— _his_ office chair—that Kongou had planted herself in and pushed her out of the way. Which was easier said than done, Kongou might look like a lithe, athletic young girl, but she was _enormously_ heavy. And she'd dug both her heels in like anchors, which might've been a more significant factor. "Kongou, I have work to do."

"B-but…" Kongou's face had lost a shade of its cheery radiance. "Teitoku, presents!"

Goto grabbed one of the folding chairs he kept in his office for just such an occurrence and set it up before the overflowing altar to the gods of paperwork and requisitions that was his desk. He didn't even glance at the pouting battleship as he settled his glasses on his nose and read though the uppermost form. "Another time, Kongou."

"But…" Kongou wheeled her chair over with a screech of battered wheels. "Teitoku…" her voice was barely more than a whisper as she draped herself over her beloved Admiral.

Goto couldn't find it in himself to ask her to stop. The battleship was warm and soft and smelled faintly of fresh buttered scones. And for all the trouble she caused him, she more than paid it back in trouble she _averted_ for him. And he'd be lying if he said she wasn't cute.

"Teitoku," Kongou nuzzled her admiral with her slender nose. "I know I don't look it, but I'm getting old."

"I thought kanmusu don't age," said Goto as he filled out one of Ooyodo's requisition forms. Exactly why she needed a "Viennese triple-extraction apparatus" was beyond him, but he'd learned long ago never to question his constantly-exasperated logistics officer.

"Well…" Kongou trailed off, her ribbons creasing as she shifted position. "We don't… but still! I'm _really_ old!" She pounded her foot into the floor with a pout.

"I can tell," chuckled Goto.

"I'm really old," said Kongou, "And _I want babies, Dess!"_ "

Goto stopped, and slowly put his pen down. "Kongou," He glanced over at the battleship, his gaze briefly dipping to her tightly-muscled belly. He'd be lying if he said he'd never pictured her with a little bun or two on the slipways. Or in a wedding gown for that matter. But, "We've got a war to win."

Kongou pursed her lips, her features suddenly looking far older and wiser than her usual schoolgirl glee. "Right," she nodded. "And after that… I've a _heart_ to win!"

Goto chuckled. "One thing at a time, Kongou."

Kongou bolted to her feet, too enraptured with her own prepared monologue to deviate from her chosen course. "We will fight them on the seas, dess!" she boasted in a remarkably good Churchill impression that still sounded distinctly of kooky Japanese girl. "We will defeat them with burning gunfire, Dess!"

"Here we go," Goto smiled at her.

"Then," Kongou pivoted on her heel to square off against her Admiral. "I will fight _you_ in the sheets, Dess! And I will show you my BURNING LOVE, Dess!"

Goto smiled a bit wider. "Until that day, Kongou. But…" he motioned to the piles of paper swamping his desk.

"Right!" Kongou wheeled towards the door. "Battleship Kongou, heading out!"

The fast-battleship stormed though the door, only to run into Ashiagara doubled-over a requisition form. The heavy cruiser glanced over the battleship's ribbons and shook her head. "Even _I_ think that's desperate."

Kongou just smirked in the Hungry Wolf's general direction.

"Hey, Kongou?" Ashigara grabbed for the passing battleship's arm. "How do you spell 'Aphrodisiac'?"

Kongou blinked. "I do _not_ want to know, Dess."

—|—|—

"Somethin' Somethin' Somethin' Somethin' Mushroom! Mushroom!" Akron giggled to herself as she sung. She forgot the name of the song… and some of the words… but she knew that Chief Halley had shown her it before she shipped out. And she liked Chief Halley, ergo she liked the song.

She should really buy him something. He'd been so nice to her ever since she got back, and he'd shown her so many cool things the FUTURE (Well, the present to him. But to her it was the FUTURE, and she refused to be convinced otherwise) had to offer. She _would_ have given him something for Christmas, but she was on patrol all week, and she'd burned all her leave time setting up decorations.

Most of which were still there, like those lights she'd strung up along the rooftops. They were _pretty_ , and she could even see them from the air.

"He he," Akron giggled as a breeze hit her broadside on. Apparently she as going south now. She didn't really mind, she didn't have anyplace to be. Besides, the base looked _so pretty_ with everything covered in snow. It was like walking though a storybook.

The pudgy carrier felt something soft and furry nuzzle against her head. One of the K-types! Akron loved her K-types, they were so soft and furry and made her happy whenever she could snuggle them.

"Heyyyy!" Akron grabbed the lazily drifting cat by the scruff of its fat neck and gently tugged it down into her arms. "Who's a good kitty?" Akron turned the cat over and shoved her face into its's soft silvery belly fur. "Whuzaghdkhtteh" she cooed into its tummy.

The cat purred and tried to nuzzle the carrier with its cold nose.

Akron giggled and pulled away. " _You_ are!" She said, fishing the name tag on its collar out from a mountain of fluffy fur, "K-twenty-seven! Yes you a—" The carrier stopped and her ears twitched upright. Not the soft pink people-ears on the sides of her head, but the silvery cat-ears perched on the top of her equally silver hair.

Akron wasn't quite sure why she had cat ears, but she rather liked they way they looked on her and Macon, so she wasn't going to complain. Besides, they gave her _very_ good hearing, which made it easy to tell when someone was sneaking up on her.

"Elly?" Akron perked up. The little DE's diesel-electric drive made a very distinct noise that none of the other girls quite matched. And her stifled giggles were even more distinctive.

"Dangit!" Elly crossed her little arms with a pout.

"One of these days, Elly," Akron let K-27 float out of her arms and spun on her heel to face the destroyer-escort. She overestimated the angle though, and ended up spinning a good twenty degrees too far. Oh well, easy enough to fix. "One of these days you'll sneak up on me. But not today!"

Elly pouted. "Imma figure out how to sneak up on you! Just you wait!"

Akron giggled as the little escort's breath curled from her adorable little face. The carrier counted herself exceptionally fortunate to assigned to an escort fleet. There were so many cute ships! She just wanted to hug them all! "Maaaybe~" she teased.

Elly sighed. "Um… I got you something."

"Hmm?" Akron's ears pivoted over a hair before her body followed suit. "You have my full and undivided attention."

Elly giggled, and stood on her tiptoes to pet the bigger carrier's perky cat-ears. "You're so funny when you do that."

Akron put on a face of pure pathetic hurt, and slowly put one hand on Elly's arm with a quiet mew.

"Uh," Elly settled back on her feet. "It's from all of us DEs. We, uh… yeah." She trailed off into a sage nod.

"Oh, I can't wait!" Akron clapped her hands together eagerly.

"I hope you like it," Elly blushed and handed the airborne carrier a gift-wrapped box roughly the size of her head.

"A box!" Akron beamed as she took the present and cradled it against her ample bosom. "Thank you!"

Elly stifled a giggle with the end of her overlong sleeve. "Um… there's something inside it."

Akron blinked. "I knew that." She blushed and tore at the wrapping paper like the large cat that she was. Before long, the paper was torn to shred small enough to waft away in the breeze, and the airship was left holding a box with a smaller box taped onto it.

"Cat ear headphones!" Akron hurriedly tore the black-blue accessories from their box and settled them on her head.

"Mmhm," Elly nodded. "That way… you know… you can listen with both?"

"I love it!" Akron swooped down to give the little DE a soft hug. "Thank you!"

Elly blushed and pried herself out of Akron's chest. "An', uh… the iPod has a bunch of songs on it for you. Me an' the girls asked around for stuff you might like."

"Aww…" Akron blushed in return. "That's so thoughtful! You girls are the best!"

Elly scuffed her foot in the snow. "Aww… merry Christmas, Akron."

"Merry Christmas, Elly!" Akron smiled and wrung the empty box between her hands. Then she kept gently squishing it. Then her gaze drifted down into its cardboard depths.

"You can keep the box if you want," giggled Elly.

"Yay!" Akron beamed and promptly shoved the box over her head like a makeshift helmet.


	148. A Certain Lady Omake

**E/N:** _So this is what happens when Old Iron is medicated, I guess?_

 **A Certain Lady Omake**

"The hall plays host to a cacophony the likes of which could only be spawned by the drunken revelry of adventurers, soldiers, and some of the more rambunctious scum of the living. Wenches carrying wooden trays filled with tall mugs of frothing ale and hearty, questionable food dance around the groping hands of the less savory and sober patrons. Even the music is terrible, which adds to the dingy atmosphere. And the unfortunate, unskilled bard spends just as much time dodging insults and projectiles as he does attempting to play.

Sitting at one of the tables are two seasoned looking adventurers. One a stout, female dwarf with short, red hair and wearing a solid looking breastplate. A hefty looking axe hangs from her hip while a rather large shield rests against the table. Her companion is fine featured elf with short, brown hair and green eyes. Somehow she manages to wear her shirt of chain in a fashionable manner. A slender hand toys with the pommel of a rapier like it were a cane."

A hand makes a gesture of offering to the two.

"...It is my turn now?"

"Of course, Ari. I was just setting the scene. Now you and Mutsu get to interact for a bit." Jintsuu lowered her hand as she peeked around the screen set up in front of her. The image of a large eyeball-like monster adorned with tentacles decorated the center. "Try to stay in character though."

Arizona swallowed nervously as the rest of the table's occupants turned to her with varying degrees of anticipation. Mutsu in particular seemed to resemble the cat who had caught the proverbial canary.

"Very well." She took a breath and narrowed her eyes angrily, pouring plenty of ire into an accent she'd heard on the television. "How much longer do we have tae wait, treehugger? Those raiders ain't gonna kill themselves."

"Pfft!"

Mutsu didn't even bother holding back her laughter, earning a growl from the American and plenty of chuckles from around the table.

"...I should have made my character mute."

"N-No! Th-that's fine!" choked out the Japanese battleship as she visibly struggled to compose herself. If Arizona had gone on for even a sentence longer she'd have been on the floor, rolling around and laughing like a maniac. Oh if only she had a video camera! "I j-just wasn't expecting you to ge-ahaha!."

"I'm more impressed she got the accent. Just like that guy from that movie." remarked Richardson as he leaned back into his chair. He had even less of an idea of what was going on than Arizona did, but they were all having some kind of fun. Seemed to be the insane sort, but it was still somehow fun. "Gimli, I think?"

"Gimli, son of Gloin," added Jintsuu between giggles.

"That's the one."

"If we may continue?" grumbled Arizona.

"S-sure," stammered Mutsu as she calmed herself down. She cleared her throat and gave Arizona an almost whimsical look. "We'll get going soon soon as our entertainment stops dancing with fruit and we find our little friend."

"John, roll a reflex save," commanded Jintsuu with a roll of the dice.

"...Six." Why did he play a bard again?

"The tomato strikes you squarely in the face for two non-lethal damage." Jintsuu spoke in grave tones, conveying the results in a dreadfully serious manner. "The half-orc bouncer says you're done for the night and hauls you off stage."

"And there's our entertainment~"

"A spoony bard who cannae even string together two notes? Even my dead an drunken ancestors can do better." Arizona grinned in a rather wicked manner as she laid out a rather suitable Dwarven insult.

"Oh, he has his uses I'm sure. Earning coin at a tavern just doesn't seem to be one of them." Mutsu matched Arizona's grin and levelled an amused gaze at the irritated Richardson.

"Go piss on a dragon."

"Oh my. And here I thought bards were supposed to have silver tongues. This one seems to have rusted over." Mutsu's grin turned into something a bit more mirthful. "I gesture to the map on the table and say: Maybe some adventure will polish you right up?"

"Lewd."

"What? I'm just playing my character," replied Mutsu with a bit of a huff. "And what are you doing? All you've been doing is rolling dice."

Albacore adopted a stern expression.

"What any good rogue does."

"What might that be, Albie?" Arizona asked with a bit of amusement, a little glad to have seen someone else call out her superior.

"Rogue things!" Albacore placed a hand on her chest proudly with the declaration. "Rogues were made for us subthieves. They're the best!"

"Remember to let me know when you roll below a twelve for this check and a fourteen for this one, alright?" Jintsuu had found it far easier to let Albie just keep rolling until she hit a certain threshold. Oh, the results were sure to be amusing.

"Right."

"I don't know why, but I feel very worried for my coin purse." Richardson eyed the submarine in a wary manner that was blatantly exaggerated.

"Then I'm doing a good job."

Well, what could he say to that?

"Oh, I steal his pants."

"What?"

"Whose pants?" asked Jintsuu with a growing smile.

"The bard's!"

"Why mine?!" Richardson exclaimed. It was bad enough being a crummy bard. At least they could let him keep his pants in fantasy land!

"I don't understand the question..?"

Even Arizona joined in on chuckling at their Admiral's misfortune.

"My my~ You just can't keep them on, can you?"

"Mutsu, I swear to SECNAV…"

"John, roll to see if you spot Albie. Otherwise I'll be forced to roll for you. And that will be a stealth check from you, Albie." Jintsuu's words sent the grumbling man into action. It was up to the Dungeon Master to keep the peace and Mutsu seemed to be well intent on teasing their Admiral to the ends of his sanity. Certainly entertaining, but she did need to put her foot down.

A roll of a red twenty-sided dice and some maths. Maths of great import to the safety of one man's trousers.

"Ha! Seventeen!"

Albacore rolled her blue and gold.

"Nineteen natural!"

Richardson's head met the table with a dull thud. Why…

"Now a sleight of hand... " Albacore rolled her dice once more and looked up at Jintsuu with bright eyes when the results were displayed.

Arizona's eyes twinkled with mirth.

"I dare say you've been depantsed."

"Can't beat a natural twenty."

Albacore beamed as she added Richardson's pants to her inventory.

"Please tell me I don't need to check if I'm still wearing pants."

"Hmm…" Jintsuu placed a finger to her cheek in thought. Should she or shouldn't she? A quick glance around the table brought the answer to her. "You feel a slight draft, but because Albie's roll was so good, you think nothing of it as you sit down. The wooden chair is more uncomfortable than you expect."

"You guys…"

"Now then! Since we have everyone assembled, how about we get going. We've gold to win and heads to bash." Arizona cut in before Richardson could attempt to do anything to correct his lack of trousers. She pointed to Mutsu even as an embarrassed glow rose on her face. "You've been tooling wit yer fancy poker all night. Ye'd rather use it what it was meant for?"

"Fun as watching this little sideshow carry on may be, I'm a far bigger aficionado of gold~" returned Mutsu. Oh, she'd get Arizona back for that one. Without fail. Maybe just not this session. "So I say we get our feet a moving."

Richardson groaned again. He could feel his sanity draining away.

"I'm getting dragged along and I don't even know your names." Might as well play along with the misfortune. At least the fun might be worth it in the end? Hopefully?

"Zona Stoneblood, right and ready and true." Arizona crossed her arms proudly while her face went stoplight red. "Jes don't get in mah way, or I'll be liable to break ye in half."

"Gate Forestrunner." Mutsu offered a wink and a smile. It wasn't the most original name, but who cared? She was having a blast!

"Applecore's the name, thieving's my game." Albacore rolled a few more dice before giggling, her fauxhawk bobbing in tune. Rogues were the best thing ever. SO many skills. And all the points to use them too. "And you all still don't know where I am."

"Samuel Guinness." Richardson tapped at his character sheet. "I play the lute. Badly."

"We gathered," sounded the four seated warships.

"Well, now that introductions are over and done with," began Jintsuu, "I say it's time to head out!"

They would play into the wee hours of the night, laughing and shouting and carrying on.  
Because few things beat a good, silly game of Dungeons and Dragons.

And Albacore stole everyone's pants. Including skirt-resembling garments that may or may not be belts posing as such.

In game and out of game.

Except Arizona's.


	149. Chapter 111: Confusion Intensifies

**Chapter 111: Confusion Intensifies**

"You want a drink doc." Vestal glanced up from the messy collection of reference books, paperwork, and medical texts attempting to eat her desk just long enough to glance at Crowning though the chipped lenses of her eyeglasses.

"No," Crowning sank into a chair. "I—"

Vestal locked her eyes on his and scowled. "Wasn't a," she grunted and hauled her aged body to its feet with a crack of ancient metal and groaning flesh. She wasn't as young as she used to be. And that was saying something for her, she was ancient even when she served in the Pacific. "Ah… a question doc."

Crowning shook his head and tried to wave her off. "Vestal, I really don't think…" he trailed off and pursed his lips. "Yeah. Pour me one."

"That's the spirit," Vestal stuck her pipe between her teeth and promptly forgot about it as she poured two glasses of brandy. "Now," a tiny faerie wearing grubby, coal-covered fatigues darted down the stem of her pipe and stoked the fire. "You're here because of the tweet, aren't ya?"

Crowning blinked at the repair ship. "How did you—"

"I'm old," said Vestal. "But I'm not decrepit. Solette's kid taught me how to internet." She fished an iphone covered in coal dust from her tool belt and settled it on her desk.

Crowning smiled and took a drink of the sniff brandy.

"So," Vestal puffed on her pipe. "You're not mad about Jersey."

The professor stared into his own reflection on the oak-brown brandy and sighed. "I really thought… I thought we'd had a thing going. That she…" he glanced up to see Vestal's catlike half-grin. "That wasn't a question either, was it?"

Vestal shook her head. "To tell you the truth, I'm surprised. You don't find girls with asses like that everyday."

Crowning growled under his breath. "It wasn't… She was pretty, but she was more then that."

"She was your knight in shining armor, eh?" Vestal tossed back her drink and poured herself another.

The mental image of Jersey in impractical miniskirted plate standing atop the corpse of a slain dragon intruded into the professor's mind, but he shooed it away with a grimace. "Could say that."

"You thought she was perfect," Vestal's bushy eyebrows twitched, but her gaze was as solid as the horizon. "Don't deny it either, doc. You called her a living god."

Crowning chuckled. It was the oldest cliche in the book, and he'd waltz right into it. "And you think I got so caught up in… the _myth_ of the Black Dragon, I forgot she was still a girl."

"Not just a girl," said Vestal. "A _battleship_ who spent most of her life in the age of cruise missiles."

Crowning blinked. "I don't follow."

Vestal fished a giant book from under her desk and thumbed though the pages until she found what she was looking for. "This," she turned the book so Crowning could see, "Is a Jap Type-95 Long-Lance torpedo. Oxygen-powered, wakeless, with a ninety-eight-hundred yard range at fifty knots and a twelve-hundred pound warhead."

Crowning nodded. He was still getting his head around the intricacies of naval combat, but the name 'Long-Lance' was evocative enough for him to remember. "Like Naka and her girls carry."

Vestal shook her head. "That's the ninety-three. This—" she tapped the illustration—"Was the sub-launched model."

"I don't follow."

"Jersey—" Vestal took the book back and went hunting for another page. "—Has flawed torpedo bulges, but that doesn't matter because she doesn't even _have_ a hydrophone set."

Crowning blinked, not quite sure where the old repair ship was going with this.

"And," Vestal pivoted the book around again to show an angry dart of a missile with stubby delta razor blades for wings hanging under a white-painted jet. "This is an AS-4 Kitchen missile. Flies at mach four with terminal radar guidance and a ton of high-explosive in the nose."

The repair ship settled back onto her haunches. "After her reactivation, the extent of Jersey's _effective_ air-defense battery was a handful of marines with Stingers that _might_ down a pesky helicopter. Stopping things like _that_ —" Vestal tapped the missile's picture again "—was the job of her escort. And Jersey lived like that for a decade."

Crowning was silent as he pieced together what Vestal was saying.

"Your girlfriend," said Vestal, "more than any other battleship in history, is _utterly_ reliant on her escorts to feel safe. She needs you. Just like she needs all of us." She shrugged, and took a puff from her half-forgotten pipe. "But you knew that, otherwise you'd be angrier over what she did."

The professor's voice was barely above a whisper when he replied. "Yeah."

"You want my advice?" Vestal crossed her arms with a groan. "Because I'm giving it no matter what you say. She just lost her sister and you just found out she's not this perfect goddess you thought she was. Neither of you got your heads on straight."

She shifted in her seat, shifting her bulging tool-belt with a jingle of gritty wrenches and sockets. "But… she still needs you, and I'm pretty sure you still love her. You just know she's _human_ now."

Crowning chuckled. He'd always thought of Jersey as _the_ protector. A paladin against the demons of the abyss. It never occurred to him that she might need a protector of her own. "Yeah… I hadn't… yeah."

"Not saying she's not an asshole," said Vestal with a grin. "Just… think 'fore you do anything drastic."

Crowning nodded. "Thanks, Vestal."

Vestal waved his thanks off with a flick of her hand and went back to her paperwork. But just as he was leaving she piped up again. "Uh… Doc?"

"Hmm?"

The repairship bit her lip. "You've been here a lot longer than I have." She paused for a moment then added, "Notice Wash eating more than usual lately?"

Crowning shrugged. "Can't say I have, why?"

Vestal drummed a finger against her papers. "No reason."

—|—|—

Hamakaze's eyes narrowed to precise slits as she sized up her target. Her torpedoes were dialed in, and her gun crews stood ready by their posts. They were as drilled and disciplined as anyone in the IJN, they wouldn't open fire without her express order.

But if she _did_ give such an order, they would not miss. Not at this range. This was knife-fighting range, a destroyer's natural environment. Here, she and her sisters held all the cards.

It didn't hurt that Nachi was taking up the rear of the formation. With the Kagerous screening her, the heavy cruiser was free to bring her long twenty-centimeter rifles to bear without fear of outrunning her turrets. She sat behind a newspaper-covered table, idly cleaning one of her hip-mounted quadruple tubes while her main battery directors hovered over her target.

"You know," the big cruiser smiled a venom-dripping grin, "You'd be amazed how fast a human body decays at sea."

"Mmm," Hamakaze nodded, but her eyes never lost her target track.

"Just a few days in the blue," Nachi nodded to the gaggle of minute faeries sprawled over the table and snapped a torpedo tube back into its cradle, "Even your own mother would _never_ identify the body."

Urakaze just stared as menacingly as she could. Which, for her, meant smiling in a slightly less sunny manner than usual.

"If they even find it, that is," said Nachi. "The sea's so vast… you'd probably be eaten to nothing by fish before you washed ashore."

"Or sharks," said Isokaze.

"Sharks _are_ fish," said Hamakze.

"No they're not!"

"Yes they are," said Hamakaze.

"They aren't, actually," said Urakaze. "Sharks don't have bones."

Hamakaze huffed. "For the purposes of this example, they're fish."

Isokaze blinked. "I'm confused."

"Miss Nachi didn't mean _only_ bony fish will eat him," explained Hamakaze. "She was using 'fish' in the general term of 'sealife'."

Urakaze scratched at her chin. "I'm kinda with Hamakaze now."

"What!" Isokaze screwed up her face in a pout. "No fair! NACHI!"

"All of you shut up," Nachi scowled and hung her head. "You're _supposed_ to be intimidating him."

"Oh," Hamakze nodded and swung her gaze back around.

"Right," Urakaze nodded resolutly.

"Sorry, Nachi." Isokaze's pout lessened by a fraction and she brought her own battery to bear.

On the other end of their stares, rifles, and torpedo tubes stood the utterly disinterested form of Cameron Young, Alaska's friend from the toy shop and soon to be date. His hands were thrust casually into the pockets of his jeans, and a lopsided smirk graced his youthful features. "You girls kinda suck at this."

"Do not!" said Isokaze.

Cameron chuckled, and fussed with the tie hanging loosely around his neck. "Get to the part where you tell me you're not afraid to go to prison."

"What?" Hamakaze's face paled. "Noo… prison is scary."

Nachi's head fell to the table with a loud thump, and the big cruiser started quietly pounding her skull against the newspaper covered wood while mumbling under her breath. Cameron got the feeling she wasn't saying very nice things about her destroyer screen.

"You!" Isokaze thrust a gloved hand at Cameraon. "You made Hamakaze cry!"

"Not crying," protested the silver-haired destroyer, but her sister had worked up too much inertial to stop so suddenly.

"Prison might be scary!" thundered Isokaze with all the volume her tiny lungs could produce, "But we'd go there to protect our big sister!"

"You mean 'laska?" chuckled Cameron.

The three destroyers nodded. Nachi just bashed her head against the table, which Cameron decided counted as a nod.

"Ya'll _do_ know Texas already gave me this talk, right?" Cameron laughed a honey-smooth southern chuckle. "No offense to you girls, but she's an awful lot scarier than you."

"Oh," Isokaze nodded. "We know."

"Trust me," added Hamakaze, "We know."

Before anyone could say anything more, a tall blonde in a long blue-green coat with a smile that noticeably brightened the room exploded through the doors with a laughing "Pan~ pa~ ka~ paaaaan~"

"Wagner's bridal chorus?" said Cameron.

"Yes!" Atago beamed at him and giggled. "How did you know?"

"My mom's a wedding planner."

"Ooooooh!" Atago's smiled grew so large it started to genuinely unease Cameraon. Perhaps he should have kept that little tidbit of information to himself. Texas had made the same kind of excited giggling noise when she learned. He tried not to think of reasons why.

Nachi banged her head against the table and muttered something. The only word Cameron caught was "Baka".

"'Laska will be right down," said Atago. The busty cruiser settled onto a couch and pulled her coat tight against her legs with a giggle.

"Are you going to try and intimidate me, ma'am?" asked Cameron.

Atago laughed. "Of course not, sweetie! I'm just going to keep a spotter in the air so I can get some pictures." She laughed again, and brought her kindly eyes around to meet his. "While I stay within main battery range at all times."

"See girls," Cameron glanced at the destroyers while pointing to Atago. " _that_ is how you make a threat."

Hamakze nodded, and fished a notebook from her bra and scribbled a few lines down.

"'Taagoooooo~" Alaska's beautiful airy voice washed down the stairs like the first lights of dawn kissing the coast. "Tagooo… Is he here?"

"Yes, 'laska," said Atago.

"Still?" Alaska seemed genuinely surprised, but her voice kept its kind-but-contentedly-bewildered lilt that Cameron found so endearing.

"Yes, 'laska." Atago giggled. "Even we couldn't scare him away."

There was a pause.

"Oh, good!" Alaska's laugh preceded her as she ducked though the doorway. Which was probably a good thing, because even with advance warning Cameron took what felt like hours to pick his jaw up off the floor.

She was beautiful, even more stunning than she normally was. Her old parka and heavy snow boots had been traded in for a sea-blue dress trimmed with fur around the neckline and sneakers. Her pale skin glittered like freshly-fallen snow, except for the brilliant patches of red on her adorably chubby cheeks, and her silver hair was done up in a rope braid tipped with a little anchor.

If he could have torn his eyes off the nervously happy look on her face, he might have noticed her tights giving a better look at her tremendously strong legs than her old pants ever had. But her smile was just too cute to look away from. "W-wow."

"I told you," said Atago.

Alaska smiled and twirled her dress a bit more. "'s so swishy!"

"You look beautiful, 'laska."

Alaska giggled, and shuffled over to his side. It was a little awkward, considering how much taller she was—and how her nerves were ruining her already tenuous sense of coordination. But that just made her that much more endearing. "T-thank you!"

Cameron beamed at her. He bit back his nerves and put his arm around his slender waist so his fingers just brushed at her hip. "Do you mind, 'laska?"

The large cruiser didn't answer. But she did suddenly squish herself against him with the quiet 'shhhoompf' of a sheet of paper getting lifted by a vacuum, and her hand was suddenly around him.

"Is…" Cameron blushed. He was pretty sure that was a yes, but… well he hadn't been this nervous in years. "You don't mind?"

Alaska frantically shook her head. "I like," she mumbled.

"Eeeee!" Atago bolted to her feet with her phone snapping off pictures faster than a battery of antiaircraft guns. "You two are SOOOO CUUUUUUUTE!"

Cameron felt Alaska's skin heat up as her blush deepened. He was sure he wasn't doing much better, but he didn't look nearly as cute with a blush as she did. "Uh… shall we?"

Alaska nodded happily, and he steered her back out the way he'd came.

One of the benefits of dating a shipgirl was the free transport. Anything bigger than a destroyer—who Cameron was pretty sure were off-limits anyways—would hopelessly max-out any civilian car or truck. Thankfully, Admiral Raleigh had offered one of the base ten-tons to ferry them around on their date.

Unfortunately, said truck came with a pair of Marine drivers who felt it their duty to both intimidate him into a quivering wreck and offer him thoroughly unhelpful love advice. But they were cool enough guys once you got to know them, and neither one was anything but a gentleman once Cameron actually had Alaska on his arm.

"So," the cruiser settled herself on the spartan bench with a smile. "Where are you going?"

"Well," Cameron blushed. It'd sounded like such a brilliant idea when he thought of it, but now that he was actually _telling_ the gorgeous cruiser… "I was going to take you ice skating."

Alaska looked confused. Which could mean literally anything, because she always had that slight air of being a stranger in a strange world just happily fumbling her way though life.

"It's…" Cameron stopped and forced himself to get his words in order before just letting them spill out of his mouth. "Uh… I figured… you can walk on water… this way I could to."

Alaska's contented face twitched into a slight smile.

"That sounded more romantic when I thought of it," said Cameron with a nervous chuckle.


	150. Chapter 112: Shenanigans Ensue

E/N: _The omake at the end is not exactly author-approved, but I liked myself so much that I exercised editors perogative. Regard it as non-canon until stated otherwise._

 **Chapter 112:** **Shenanigans Ensue**

Cameron Young knew he didn't have a thing in common with the snowy beauty that was large cruiser Alaska. He was a nineteen year old working part-time in a toy shop to pay for school, she was a seventy-two year old warship working full-time and then some to keep people like _him_ safe from sea monsters. He was, at best, boyishly handsome, while her smile could light up a room like nothing else.

To tell the truth, he wasn't even that good at ice skating. The first time he'd ever even _been_ on ice was a few days ago, when he stopped by the rink to get some practice in. He used to be into rollerblading, but that was years ago and his skills were more rust than actual skill. But he persevered on until he could at least make a complete lap without falling on his butt. He was determined not to embarrass himself in front of Alaska.

As it turned out, he didn't have to worry.

Because as bad as he was, it didn't matter. Alaska was worse.

He'd assumed that her effortless grace on the water would let her skate across the ice—which was, after all, just frozen water—without a second thought. Maybe she'd take a few minutes to get her bearings, but he was sure she'd pick it up soon enough.

She had not.

Alaska was her usual, uncoordinated land-going self. Only this time she had knives strapped to her feet.

"CAAAAAAAMMMEEERRROOOONNNNN!" Alaska screwed up her face and blindly flailed her arms in front of her as she—somehow—slid sideways into the wall. "CAN'T STOOOOPPPPPP!" The wall groaned as it bore the brunt of her impact. But it was designed to resist a sixty mile-per-hour body check between two heavily-padded hockey players. It could endure a gentle love-tap from an adorable large cruiser.

Just _barely_ , but it could.

"'Laska," Cameron tried not to laugh as Alaska's long legs flailed against the ice, kicking up a cloud of mist that reached almost to her knees. "'Laska, calm down."

"Okay," she clung to the barrier like her life depended on it and slowly brought her legs to a stop.

"We can go," Cameron pulled up alongside her and offered her his arm. Instantly she was all but hanging off him, her body feeling very warm and soft pressed against his arm. "If you want."

For the tenth time since she'd gotten on the ice, Alaska shook her head vigorously. "Don't wanna, this is fun!"

Cameron shot her a look. He could _feel_ her vibrating in terror against him. "You sure?"

Alaska nodded. "'s scary. But fun!"

"Want to try another lap?" Cameron gently pushed off against the ice with an angled skate.

"Mmm," Alaska nodded, and slowly slip from his grasp until she was standing alone on the ice. Her arms were spread wide, and her knees shook as she struggled to keep her center of mass squarely over her feet.

"Just…" Cameron glanced over at her and tried not to smile. She might be an uncoordinated derp on land, but the smile on her face was brighter than the sun. "Relax. Bend your knees."

Alaska did as she was told, and promptly splayed her long legs into a surprisingly good front-split. Cameron… did not know she was that flexible, and some part of his brain filed that information away for further notice. "Uh…" Alaska glanced down, utterly bewildered at why her legs were suddenly facing opposite directions. "Is this normal?"

"No," blurted out Cameron. "Most girls aren't that flexible."

Alaska blinked. Then her cheeks blushed a brilliant red and she nervously worried the hem of her dress.

"S-sorry," Cameron bit his lip and skated over to help. He wasn't sure how much help he could be, Alaska was far, far heavier than her lanky build would suggest. But it felt wrong to watch the girl he hoped would be his girlfriend struggle to her feet without at least _trying_ to help her up. "Here."

Alaska took his hand in hers—wow, her hand was soft. And just the right level of cool too, like a refreshing shower after a long day—and flailed her legs around. After about a minute, she managed to get all her appendages in order and stood back up.

"Uh," Cameron waved to the cruiser's shapely stern. "You have some ice on, uh…"

"Huh?" Alaska felt up her butt, the blushed as she felt the bits of chipped ice stuck to her skirt. "Oh… thanks."

"No prooo…" Cameron trailed off as he watched Alaska clean herself off. She didn't try to brush it away, she just shook her hips and let it fall off the deep blue fabric. He was trying really hard to ignore the way her stern shifted to and fro, but… but it was _really_ hard. Hopefully miss Atago wouldn't shell him for looking, he couldn't tear his eyes away if he tried.

—|—|—

"Yesss!" Atago broke the silence with a squeal of delight.

"What?" Hamakaze glanced over the top of her half-finished PEOPLE magazine.

"She did the hip thing I taught her!"

Hamakaze tossed her magazine away, "Did it work?"

"I think so!"

—|—|—

"Cameron?" Alaska smiled innocently at her date. Her snowy hair was a total mess, but somehow that made her serenely confused features even more stunning.

Now it was Cameron's chance to blush. "S-sorry, 'laska."

The large cruiser just nodded, and pivoted around with a frantic stamping and shuffling of feet that she didn't seem entirely in control of. She stared at the ice with determination, then took one gliding step forwards. "CAMERON!" she clapped her hands with glee, "CAMERON! CAMERON! I'M DOING IT!"

Cameron laughed and set of with her. "You really are, 'laska! Good for you!"

Alaska giggled and took another gliding step. She wasn't touching the wall, she wasn't even hanging off Cameron's waist like a damp cat with her legs flailing every which way. She was _skating_. And then—although Cameron wasn't even sure if her brain was aware of it—her hand reached out and took his in its soft grasp.

"'Laska?"

"Shhh," said the cruiser. "I wanna enjoy this."

—|—|—

Jersey closed her eyes and drank in the chill winter air. This close to the coast, she could taste hints of home cooking dancing around the salty spray, and it was enough to set her belly rumbling. Then again, almost anything was enough to get the battleship's tummy agitated, but that was a point for another time. It was too nice a day to worry about feeding herself, at not just yet.

Food would come later. From what she'd heard Jane Richardson made a _killer_ chocolate cake.

"Mmm…" Jersey gave her washboard belly an absentminded pat. Just thinking about cake made her mouth water, and a tiny gurgle slipped though the layers of fabric covering her tummy.

A halfheartedly stifled giggle wafted over the waves from somewhere off Jersey's port beam. A very familiar giggle that Jersey was still unsure if she found endearing or annoying. The big battleship sighed, and glanced over at the source of the noise. "What do you want, poi?"

Yuudachi giggled again. Her hair flaps waved in the breeze like the flowing silk of the scarf she hadn't taken off since Jersey gave it to her all those… weeks ago. Damn, had the Princess _really_ been that recent?

"You're…" the blonde destroyer tugged at her fingerless gloves—a Christmas present from Tenryuu. Jersey thought they were tacky and dumb. Her own cut-off flight gloves were _infinitely_ cooler. "Like, really cute!"

"You take that back," Jersey locked her aviator-shaded glare on the little destroyer with a scowl, "You little shit."

Yuudachi shook her head, her hair flaps magnifying the movement like a very fluffy dog shaking itself dry.

"Destroyers," Jersey scowled. "What's got you in such spirits?"

"I get to see Shigure-chan!" Yuudachi hugged herself with a lazy-eyed grin.

"Your sister?" Jersey made a show of looking horrified. "Secnav strike me down…"

"No," Yuudachi shook her head. "She's, like really nice poi! You'll like her a lot!"

"Poi," Jersey chuckled. "I hate literally all of you meme-spewing Japanese shits."

"No you doooont~ poi!"

The battleship shook her head and planted her hands on her hips. "Go fuck yourself, kiddo."

Yuudachi darted over to give Jersey's hips a quick hug. Then before the big battleship could react she darted off to join Naka's patrol rotation, leaving nothing but the quiet sounds of pois in the mist.

Jersey shook her head. Hanging around Yuudachi caused her sanity to plummet like the Soviet GDP, but she'd be dammed if she didn't find the little shit adorable. Not… not as adorable as her own destroyers, of course. But adorable. In an annoying… kinda-wanna-strangle-her sort of way.

She'd give Japan one thing. They knew cute. It seemed to be literally fucking all they knew, but not everybody could land on the moon.

Speaking of cute, a few thousand yards astern the gigantic form of converted carrier Shinano tried valiantly and unsuccessfully to hide behind Johnston's feathery headress.

Jersey had been a little bit worried that her favorite clutch of homicidal destroyers might cause a problem with the timid carrier. But they'd apparently decided that since Shinano claimed White for her momboat—an agreement that was happily reciprocated—Shinano was now their honorary little sister and needed to be protected as such.

It hadn't exactly gone well. Hoel and Heerman clustered close to the timid carrier with their bare arms crossed and their tiny faces contorted in exaggerated scowls like diminutive club bouncers. Meanwhile, Johnston zig-zagged off the carrier's bow, pointing her guns at any suspicions-looking wave and demanding to see it's ID. She'd also glued a construction paper mustache to her upper lip, for reasons Jersey thought best not to look into.

Shinano seemed to be taking the attention in stride though. She'd stopped squealing after the first hour and focused on fiddling with her wrought-iron bow and occasionally sending a recon plane up.

Jersey appreciated the carrier's efforts, but with the vast aluminum dome of JASDF P-3s filling the sky with a constant drone of turboprops and Naka's kiddos pulling picket duty, she felt about as close to safe from subs as she'd ever felt.

Even further astern, Jersey made out the tripod masts and fluttering flags of Frisco's cruiser division. Frisco herself steamed in the lead, with the much bigger—and as Frisco was fond of pointing out, _not_ treaty compliant—Prinz Eugen looming off her beam. Lou took up the rear, and seemed more interested in watching waves break against the shore than the furious argument the other two were in the middle of.

Jersey wasn't quite sure what they were talking about. The only words she could make was Prinz Eugen's increasingly frustrated Prussian accent sputtering "But _why_! Do they _not_! Have pants!"

The battleship though that was rich coming from someone wearing a skirt like Prinz Eugen's, but decided she'd best stay out of the conversation. Besides, she had something far more pressing to deal with just off her beam.

"Yo," Jersey pulled up alongside the quietly sniffling form of Kongou with what she hoped was a tender smile. She really wasn't good at subtley when it came to… anything, really. But dammit… she'd do her best. She wouldn't hold back a thing in her quest to be subtle.

"Oh," Kongou sniffed and smiled back. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were a little glassier than usual. "Hello."

"Uh…" Jersey bit her lip. "Fuck."

Kongou glanced at the water with a sigh.

"Look," Jersey scuffed her heel against her deck. "I'm not fucking good at this shit, and I get if you want me to leave you alone. But… fucking… I'm here if you want me."

"That's," Kongou gave Jersey a weak smile. "That's very nice, Dess."

Jersey scowled. "Fuck, after what you did for me? Fucking 'least I can do." The big american crossed her thick arms and scowled at the horizon. "'sides, I'm a commander now. I'm supposed to be all officerly and shit."

"An officer and a gentleman, dess?"

Jersey glanced down at her shorts. "Well, I don't have a dick. So the fucking gentleman part's off the table," she said. "But I can listen, and fucking help if I can."

"Well…" Kongou brushed a strand of chestnut brown hair past her ear and smiled despite herself. "I… I want to have teitoku, dess!"

"Don't we all," chuckled Jersey.

Kongou, meanwhile, was too caught up in what seemed to be a prepared speech to bother responding to the American. "I… I want to love him! And make him tea! And scones! And have his babies, dess!"

Jersey blinked. "That went zero to a hundred real damn fast."

"Don't tell me," Kongou sighed wistfully and cradled her belly in her hands. "You haven't dreamed of children, dess."

"Fucking—" Jersey bit off the rest of her retort. Now that she thought of it, she _did_ feel a little something whenever she was with Crowning—or her destroyers for that matter. She'd assumed it was just her belly grumbling that she wasn't currently eating pie—mixed with a healthy dose of headache and hatred when the destroyers were involved. But… maybe it was something… _other_ that her tummy.

"De~ny it, dess!" teased Kongou.

Jersey scowled. Now that the mental image of her with a belly full of Jersey-spawn and a few more little shits playing on her lap had entered her mind, she was finding it impossible to drive out. In fact, she was finding it impossible to even try. "So fucking what, I want kids!"

Kongou giggled for a moment, then her face fell into a melancholy sigh. "I hope… someday…"

Jersey watched her for a moment, then carefully put an arm around the battleship's shoulder. "Uh… how many do you want?"

"Hmm?"

"Kids," said Jersey. "How many do you want?"

Kongou blinked. "I… I'm not sure, dess."

"Well. I get five for every three of yours," said Jersey.

"W-what?" Kongou brought a finger to her chin and tilted her head to the side.

"Washington treaty, bitch," said the American.

"I… don't think that applies here," said Kongou, smiling in spite of herself.

"Doesn't matter," said Jersey. "Don't try to out-build American Industry. You'll fucking loose."

"This isn't a contest, dess!"

"I'm American," Jersey threw her head back with a smirk. "Everything's a contest and we always fucking win! U! S! A!"

"USA!" chorused the taffies. "USA! USA! USA!" Now Frisco, Lou, and eventually even Prinz Eugen joined in.

Kongou blinked. She didn't know how or why, but she somehow felt a lot better after her brief chat with the American. That alone scared her. But also… she couldn't stop smiling.

"What's going on, poi?" asked Yuudachi.

For the first time in her life, Kongou was at a loss for words.

—|—|—

After what felt like hours on the ice, Alaska and her would-be boyfriend glided to a stop near the bench. The large cruiser never quite grasped the concept of "steering", and spent the whole time coasting in whatever direction she happened to be facing at that particular instant in time.

It hadn't dampened her spirits though, the cruiser's smile was positively incandescent as she fumbled with the laces on her skates. Somehow, she seemed at home aimlessly coasting over the ice, content to go wherever her skates took her. It was almost as endearing at her lopsided smile and glittering snowy hair.

"'laska?" Cameron glanced up from his skates.

"Hmm?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're really pretty?"

The cruiser blushed, and squeaked out a tiny noise of thanks before furiously turning back to her skates. For a warship, she was hilariously easy to fluster.

Cameron chuckled. "'cause you are. Hey, you hungry?"

"No," Alaska shook her head. Instants later, her tummy let out a loud rumble, and the cruiser instantly clutched at her slender waist with an apologetic wince. "r-really, no."

"'Laska," Cameron reached around the cruiser's narrow—though quite well muscled—shoulders to hug her. "It's okay, Admiral Raleigh said he'd expense any food I got you if I brought him a receipt."

"Oh," Alaska stopped clutching her stomach and leaned into the hug. "He's really nice."

"Yeah," Cameron let his arm slide down to rest on the crook of her hip. "Like you."

Alaska let out a tiny squeal and shuffled closer. So close he could _feel_ the grumpy vibrations coming off her tummy.

"You know," said Cameron, "there's this really great burger place just across the lot."

"Mmm," Alaska nodded. "Let's go there."

Cameron smiled. Then for a few minutes he stared at her. "You know you have to stand up first."

"Mmm…" Alaska scooted closer. "Don't wanna."

—|—|—

Battleship Arizona stood as rigid and tall as her squat figure would allow, and struggled to keep her face even as the little flotilla steamed in from Yokosuka.

One would imagine that after weeks of having to endure the comically tiny assemblage of cloth and steel Mutsu mockingly claimed was a "skirt", after weeks of watching the abbreviated fabric flutter with every gust of wind, always threatening to lay bare what little dignity the Japansese battleship had left, but never _quite_ showing anything below the waterline, after weeks of chasing aviation-cruiser Chikuma around in a fruitless attempt to force her into something even the slightest bit more modest than her sideless skirt… and the less said about Shimakaze, the better.

After all that, one _might_ imagine Arizona would have built up some sort of tolerance to… unchaste, to be polite outfits.

One might think that, but they would be wrong. The moment she saw the towering figure of New Jersey, with her criminally short shorts clinging to only the barest vestige of modesty because of the slightly-less impossibly short—though so tight they may as well have been painted on—shorts she wore beneath, Arizona felt her blood start to boil.

The pudgy standard clawed at the thick fabric of her properly-ladylike skirt and bit down on her tongue. While she found the… minimalist clothing of her Japanese allies almost intolerable, they were her allies and her hosts. She could at least extend them a certain degree of latitude.

But to see a fellow American dressed so provocatively? Arizona had forced her feelings away the first time she'd met her towering compatriot, out of respect to Jersey's obviously wounded state. But at the same time, the standard had clung to the hope that the fast battleship state of undress was a mere artifact of her obviously battle-weary state, and that she'd change into more proper clothes once she was repaired.

But, as Arizona could plainly see, that was not the case. If anything, New Jersey's dress had got yet more revealing. The down vest she'd worn before—which at least concealed her chest—was gone. In its place was a fitted garment of shimmering navy blue that left nothing to the imagination, complete with armor plating of the same style she'd seen on Mutsu that lifted and framed the Iowa's chest, presenting her… womanly figure for all the world to see.

"Ufufufu~"A sultry giggle slipped past Mutsu's lips—was there really any other kind coming from her? "Arizona-chan, something bothering you?"

Arizona bristled at the nickname. Yes, she was significantly smaller than the Big Seven battleship, the tip of her pristine combination cover barely reached the base of Mutsu's porcelain chin. But _she_ was a good five years older than the Japanese super-dreadnought. "You know me well enough," said Arizona.

Mutsu giggled, and clasped her gloved hands to hold her minute skirt down as a brisk sea breeze washed off the calm ocean. "I think it's quite fetching on her."

Arizona smiled in spite of herself. "Yes, you would think so."

"Ufufufu~" Mutsu trailed off with a smile, then clicked her heels together with crisp precision. "Attenn-SHUN!" The swell of her chest wasn't just for show, the littlest Nagato had a powerful set of lungs on her, and her crisply snapped order echoed over the water.

Arizona snapped to, her chest thrown out with the cape of her heavy coat flapping off her back.

"Battleship," Mutsu puffed out her chest with each syllable, her face never totally loosing that smirking edge. "USS _New Jersey_ , arriving!" The battleship brought a gloved hand to her brow in a parade-ground perfect salute. Arizona might detest the bigger battleship's choice of outfit, but she could never find the tiniest flaw with her professionalism. At least… when Mutsu was _trying_ to be professional.

Arizona brought her own hand to her brow and watched the fleet file into the bay. The vast hulls of battleships, cruisers, and even a carrier she'd never seen before dwarfed the battered guided-missile destroyers standing watch. And then, in an instant, they were gone, and a neatly ordered row of girls stood on the far end of the pier.

Jersey snapped legs almost thicker than Arizona's waist together and brought a muscled arm up to her towering brow. The old Standard hadn't quite gotten over how enormous warships had grown while she was asleep. "Request permission to come ashore."

"Granted," Admiral Richardson returned her salute with a smile. "Pleasure to have you with us commander."

"Thank you, sir." Jersey closed the distance terrifyingly fast, her long legs sweeping out more ground at a lazy stroll than Arizona's stubby screws could at a dead sprint. She towered over the standard with the thickest part of her chest even with Arizona's scarred nose. She was… somewhat ashamed to admit it, but one of her boatcranes started to itch, and she hastily quashed the thought.

"You made Commander, hmm?" Mutsu trilled a teasing hum. "Congratulations!"

"Well…" It was hard to tell though the battleship's sunglasses, but Arizona swore she saw Jersey glace at Richardson for an instant. "You made wife."

"WHAT!" Richardson's face could have guided a sleigh though the fiercest storms the North Pacific had to offer. Jersey's sharp features contorted like a five-ton in a frontal collision as she fought back her laughter. Arizona felt faint, and the corners of her vision started to fade to black.

Mutsu, on the other hand, just covered her mouth with a glove and let a teasing, trilling "Ufufufuf~" slip past her teeth.

"I'm—" Jersey panted and fought back a howling laugh. "I'm sorry sir… I just…"

"You!" Richardson pivoted on his heel to stare at Mutsu. "You put her up to this!"

"Who?" Mutsu planted a hand on her chest and the look of scolded puppy on her face. "Me?"

"Yes, you!"

Mutsu giggled. It was the kind of gooey, teasing giggle that was at once as good as a signed confession of guilt and a dare that, no matter how hard Richardson tried, he'd _never_ be able to pin _anything_ on her. Arizona should know, she heard that giggle from Mutsu on an almost daily basis.

"I will get you for this, Mutsnail," said Richardson.

Without missing a beat, and without shifting her features even the slightest from deadpan disinterest, a shockingly pretty oriental cruiser Arizona recognized as _San Francisco_ said, "Lewd."

For a moment, the world froze. It was so quiet you could have heard a the voice of an honest politician.

And then Jersey doubled over howling in laughter, Mutsu started pounding her fist against a bollard and clutching her side as she shook with mirth, and Richardson just shifted into new shades of red never before discovered by man.

"T-that-" Jersey panted and hauled herself back onto her feet. "That one wasn't my fault."

"Mmm," said Richardson in a valiant attempt to retain some commanding bearing.

"Anyways," the toweringly huge battleship—Arizona could _not_ get over how much bigger than her Jersey was, especially this close—struggled back her laughter. "Should probably introduce everyone."

Richardson just nodded.

"You know Kongou—"

"Dess!" The oppressively cheerful battleship waved.

"—Naka—"

"Hai Hai! Naka-chan, Desu~~" Said Naka with a thrown-out hip and cute hand gesture.

"Goddammit," Jersey scowled. "I thought you said you were never gonna do that again."

"I lied."

"Motherfucker," Jersey scowled and swatted at one of the smiling cruiser's buns. "Oh, and Bucky—"

"Hello," A serious-looking destroyer with her hair in a tiny ponytail bowed from the waist.

"—And poi."

"Hello, poi!" A much less serious destroyer with her strawberry blond hair flapping like an excited puppy waved.

"Heavy cruisers 'Frisco—"

Frisco smiled. She looked just like how Arizona remembered, only she'd traded her crisp uniform for a grubbier tunic with the sleeves and midriff torn off. Arizona knew better than to inquire about the scars lacing her sinewy tummy.

"—And _USS_ Prinz Eugen—" Jersey put an awful lot of emphasis on the national prefix.

"Guten morgen." A tall blonde wearing a skirt that made even Mutsu's seem decent and an American flag bandanna awkwardly tied around the arm of her obviously German uniform. "It's a pleasure to meet—" her crisp Prussian accent halted, and Arizona could almost hear the girl's mind switch gears. "Um… ya'll."

Frisco flashed a thumbs up.

"—and this is Lou."

"Cee-ell forty-nine." The tanned redhead beamed a laid-back smile that stood at odds to the vast array of guns strapped over her lean figure. "Nice to meet ya!"

"—You already know the taffies…" Jersey waved to a gaggle of _Fletcher_ class destroyers with torn-off sleeves. And… what looked like imitation-gold chains from a costume shop draped around their tiny necks. And construction paper mustaches taped to their lips. For… some reason. "…are little shits."

The girl with the huge feathered headrests—Johnston, Arizona was pretty sure—beamed like she'd just been complimented by God himself.

"And that's Shinano," said Jersey, "Be nice."

The largest carrier Arizona had ever seen in her life was utterly failing to hide behind the three destroyers. She was bigger than even old Sara, as tall but… _thicker._ Comparing the two was like putting a ballet dancer next to an iron worker. Grace and poise traded for sheer brawn.

But, when Arizona eventually got past the sheer enormity of the gigantic carrier's body and the way her open-fronted skirt revealed legs thick with almost as much muscle as Jersey, she noticed something else.

The girl, amazonian build aside, looked young enough to be a destroyer. Her face was soft and round, and kind brown eyes cowered timidly behind the protective barricade of her eyeglasses. Even little Jane wasn't usually this timid and shy.

Arizona felt her maternal instincts go into overdrive as she crouched against the pier. "It's okay, sweetie."

"Hi" Shinano tried to stand up, but only overbalanced onto her bottom with a creak of wood. She might be young, but she was still straining the pier she stood on to its breaking point. "Hi, miss Arizona."

"Hello, Shinano." Arizona smiled at the girl with what she hoped with a reassuring grin. "It's nice to meet you."

"Y-you too," Shinano picked herself up, suddenly looming over Arizona like a very timid mountain. The big carrier nervously worried her heavy wrought-iron bow. "Um… you're really not mad?"

Arizona shook her head. _She_ wasn't… but she couldn't say the same for the tightly-caged ball of rage that was her big sister. And… from what Mutsu'd told her about the giant carrier, she felt more pity for the poor girl that hatred. "No, sweetie. You weren't even born when I died."

"Oh," Shinano's chubby cheeks slowly spread in a timid smile. "I… thank you."

"Told ya," said Jersey. And then her belly let out a grumpy rumble.

Shinano clutched her own stomach as it let out a sympathetic whimper. Even Kongou's tummy sounded less than content.

"Um," a nervous chuckle slipped past Jersey's lips. "Maybe we could continue over food?"

* * *

 **Omake - By MagisterAurelius**

Texas clicked her phone shut. "Well it looks like 'Laska is going to have a really nice time."

"So ripping her date's arms off and shoving them up his backside will probably not be necessary then?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Avery Mean! You will do no such thing to that nice young man. Besides, Atago is in main battery range and you wouldn't get there in time if he did try something naughty." The grizzled mountain of a Marine, somehow being competely intelligible while talking and chomping an unlit cigar simultaneously, muttered something about being able to make it to melee range in time if he was shot out of a cannon. Texas raised her eyebrow and replied, "And if you were to make Alaska cry as a result of that?"

"You really do not fight fair do you, my little battle barge o' delight?" He raised his head at the hearing of a ding in the kitchen. "Ah, the first batch is done. Care to assist me in the kitchen?"

"Sure thing dear." She did marvel at the dexterity a man 6'8" tall and at least 340 pounds of muscle was capable of. Especially in his hand made candies. "You are something though. How someone all the shipgirls call the "Candyman" is called by every Marine and ground pounder in the United States as the Meanest SOB in the Valley of Death or that angry bastard who hunts feral hogs with a sledgehammer..."

"Alright the hammer thing was once. And that was because the heavy bol- " He stopped and shook his finger. "Ah hot! - er Barrett jammed and it was charging me so. I hit it until it stopped moving." He shrugged. "Not the stupidest thing I've ever done before."


	151. Chapter 113: Food is Consumed

E/N: _As before, the omake at the end has not yet been ruled on by the author. It is currently being attached at the editor's discretion. Treat it as non-canon until further notice._

 **Chapter 113: Food is Consumed**

Arizona was well aware that her appetite was larger than normal for a woman of her diminutive stature, an artifact of her nature as the incarnation of a thirty-thousand ton floating castle of steel. She had long since made peace with her need to consume what would be for any other woman a gluttonous feast merely to feel satisfied.

Likewise, she'd grown used to the still-larger appetites of her comrades on the battle-line. Hiei, she knew, had a far more active metabolism and needed enormous meals to feed her turbines and maintain her blistering speed. Mutsu, on the other hand, was simply _bigger_ than Arizona in every way—save the length of her skirt, of course. Her meals _had_ to be larger to supply the Big Seven battleship with the shells, powder, and supplies she needed to prosecute this war.

But, now that Arizona was sharing a table with the Amazonian giantess that was _New Jersey_ , she realized she'd never really known what true gluttony looked like. The squat standard kneaded the squish of her stomach and stared at the vast array of plates Jersey gorged herself on.

Arizona felt sick just _watching_ Jersey shovel mountains of fried rice down her seemingly bottomless gullet. The standard felt sick just looking at her compatriot's meal, certain that her bunkers would explode before she was even half done were she to attempt to match Jersey's gluttony.

It did _not_ help that the fast battleship ate with seeming willful disregard for anything that could even loosely be described as "table manners."

"'Zona?" Jersey managed to slip a word past cheeks bulging with rice without loosing too much of her latest mouthful. "Sup?"

Arizona blanched, and clutched at her belly. "N-nothing." The scarred standard looked for anything else to rest her gaze upon, but no sooner had Jersey exited her vision than Shinano entered it. The enormous carrier sat hunkered down behind her mustachioed destroyer escort, timidly emptying bowl after bowl of rice and curry. Judging by the vast stacks of empty bowls, her appetite was as limitless as Jersey's.

"Yuh whan sum?" Jersey cocked her head and offered her bowl to Arizona.

Arizona shook her head, but kept her lips tightly pressed together. She'd never been seasick before, but she was starting to feel another kind of sick. How could _anyone_ eat so much! And maintain such a… not _slender_ , but perhaps _sleek_ figure!

"Yuh shuh?" Jersey waved the bowl under Arizona's increasingly green face.

"Yes," Arizona risked a word, and politely pushed the bowl away with a hand. For just an instant, she was again struck by how massive the fast-battleship was. _Her_ half-gloved hand dwarfed Arizona's far daintier appendage. Arizona hated to admit it… but Jersey truly was the way of the future.

Or of _a_ future. The future of the past, if you will. The true way of the future was the timid flattop sitting across the mess hall. "She's…" Arizona swallowed, forcing herself to think of anything _but_ her thoroughly stuffed stomach. "She's not what I expected."

Jersey swallowed, her throat pulsating as a wad of rice the size of Arizona's fist vanished behind her scarf. "Who, yamaflat?"

Arizona nodded. "Mmm."

"Well," Jersey scooped up another spoonful of rice, but this time carefully left just enough room to talk around. "What'da expect?"

Arizona pulled her skirt smooth. "I'm… not sure." She glanced back at Jersey. Even hunched over her dinner like a schoolboy, the fast battleship loomed over her. "More prideful I would say. She _was_ a battleship after all."

"You've met Kaga then?"

Arizona nodded.

"Hell," Jersey winced. "That's gotta be fucking awkward."

Arizona blushed. She was well aware of a typical sailor's vocabulary, but that didn't make Jersey's glib predilection to pepper her speech with the foulest of words any less annoying. The standard had to remind herself she was a generation older. She came from an age where Battleships were symbols of grace and poise, and prayed to avert war with their very existence.

Jersey was born into war, born on the very anniversary of her death. The fast battleship had known nothing but war, and the fires of battle had forged her in a way Arizona could never understand. "I… yes. I suspect it was worse for her?"

"Eh?" Jersey cocked an eyebrow. "She fucking killed you, 'zona.

Arizona pursed her lips and nodded. "And her nation suffered dearly for it," said the standard. "While mine exacted justice a hundred fold."

Jersey blinked. "That's fucking badass as shit. Hold on, I gotta write that down."

The standard stifled back a chuckle. Jersey was everything she grew up to think a battleship should not be. Brash, loud, uncouth… but there was something in her enthusiasm and sometimes foolish courage that Arizona couldn't help but be impressed by. She'd never want to have the Iowa over for dinner… but she'd steam into battle with her in a heartbeat. "Kaga's a warrior," said Arizona. A shiver passed down her keel as she thought back to the carrier's post-war offer to open her stomach at _her_ memorial, should Arizona wish it. "Proud… but honorable."

"Yeah, a _warrior_ ," Jersey nodded at Shinano. "Shinny ain't. She doesn't come from a powerful…ish country looking to take on the world." The fast battleship gulped down another spoonful of rice. "Shinny there… she's just a kid."

Arizona nodded. The gigantic carrier's youth was almost as shocking as her sheer massiveness.

"When she hit the water," said Jersey, "the Japs had already lost and they fucking knew it. They just wanted to make it as miserable as fucking possible for us." The fast battleship paused her feast to take a long gulp of chilled milk. "You know she wasn't even finished when she first sortied?"

Arizona shook her head quietly.

"And she didn't have a real air wing? Just fucking cruise missiles?"

The standard blinked. "Cruise missiles? You—" she stopped when she realized what Jersey meant. Her face drained of color and she hung her head. "That poor girl."

"Mmm," said Jersey. "She's a good girl, though. We'll make a badass outta her one day."

The standard smiled. "You have a way with words, commander."

"Ain't that fucking true!"

—|—|—

Cameron smiled as he walked hand-in-hand with Alaska though the quiet shopping center. He'd had a hamburger with bacon and fried onions, and a cool strawberry milkshake, and as delicious as it was, he was feeling stuffed.

Alaska, however, had had two salads, five hamburgers, three large orders of curly fries, two orders of onion rings, seven milkshakes, at least nine gallons of root beer, and about eighty percent of the ice cream sundae they had nominally shared. And her figure was still as sleek and slender as ever. He should know, that dress did a marvelous job of showing off every curve.

He was feeling happier than ever that the Admiral had offered to pay him back for anything Alaska ate. Her appetite wouldn't have been nearly as adorable if every bite came out of his pocket.

But since it wasn't he could just sit back and revel in the way her face beamed with undiluted joy every time a new plate was put in front of her. Alaska had a way of making even the tiniest of things seem like the greatest event in her life, it was impossible to be unhappy when she was around.

"Thank you," Alaska smiled, and scooted closer so her hip just touched his. She was just a hair taller than him, but she still found a way to rest her head against his. "That was really good."

"Heh," Cameron chuckled and put his arm around her slender waist. Even after her feast, he couldn't feel anything other than corded muscle with just the slightest hint of feminine softness. "Thank your Admiral."

"My Admiral," Alaska sighed, her snowy hair tickling at Cameron's ear, "Didn't take me out today. You did."

"Fair enough." Cameron gave her flat stomach a little pat. Lord above, she was cute. And then he noticed a white windowless van parked across the lot. Its windows were tinted and opaque in the low evening light, and it looked like the kind of windowless, unmarked van preferred for cliche villains attempting to carry out nefarious deeds while remaining inconspicuous.

Only it wasn't unmarked. The side had a lovingly stenciled logo that read "Not a surveillance van." With a subtitle that read, "Totally legitimate. Look somewhere else."

Cameron chuckled. "Friends of yours?"

Alaska blushed, and hung her pretty head. "Yeah."

—|—|—

"They're looking right at us," Hamakaze scowled and swished a lock of silvery hair over her eye.

"Yep!" Atago giggled and tossed a kernel of popcorn into her mouth.

" _Why_ did we let Isokaze decorate the van?"

"You try saying no to that face!"

Hamakaze sighed, and flipped back to her copy of PEOPLE.

—|—|—

Cameron laughed, and gave Alaska the warmest side-hug he dared. As much as he'd like to squeeze her in a hug… well… he'd be lying if he wasn't nervous. She was the cutest girl he'd ever seen, and she could snap him in half with a finger if she wanted too. "Hey."

"Hmm?" Alaska glanced over, her face that sweet mask of confused contentment she always wore.

"Wanna freak your friends out?" asked Cameron with a smirk.

Alaska flashed a smile as brilliantly white as fresh-fallen mountain snow.

—|—|—

"Hama-chan!" Atago swatted at the disinterested destroyer. "Hama-chan! Hama-chan!"

"What," Hamakaze flipped the page in her magazine with catlike disinterest.

"They're _kissing!_ "

"WHAT!" Hamakaze threw the magazine away and bolted to her feet. "D-does she like it?"

Atago waved at the cruiser and her date. Alaska's features were flush with pink, but her eyes were closed and her arms were wrapped around Cameron as her lips locked with his. His arms held her gently by her waist, his hands never even twitching south towards her shapely stern. "Look!"

"I think she does!" Hamakaze smiled. Alaska'd gone out of her way to make her feel comfortable in this unfamiliar country, she was like her big sister.

"Eeeee!" Atago squealed with glee. "It's so Romantic!"

—|—|—

Cameron's cheeks were bright red by the time he pulled his face away from Alaska's serene features. "T-think they bought it?"

"Hmm?" Alaska's eyes were groggy with glee as her face nuzzled against his. Her nose was warm like fresh-baked bread, and her breath was hot and wet against his neck.

"Think…" Cameron held her a little tighter. He could feel the waist of her tights though the fabric of her skirt. Ever twitch in her back sang to his fingers, and her stomach kissed his as she leaned into him. "Think they bought it?"

"Dunno," giggled Alaska. "Kiss me again."

Cameron blushed a deeper red, and a giddy rush tore through his system. "I-if the lady desires." And then his lips met hers again.

—|—|—

"Well…" Hamakaze glanced at where Atago lay passed out on the van floor. "That happened."

—|—|—

Alaska wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and let her head rest against Cameron's. A dopey smile was plastered on her face, and her eyes hung half-closed with happiness. "I like that."

"Mmm," said Cameron for lack of anything better to say. Her kisses were like everything else about her. Inelegant, unpracticed, but full of enthusiasm and enjoyment. They also tasted faintly of vanilla, which was a pleasant surprise. "So," he let his arm rest around her, his hand lightly playing with the crook of her hip. "I could take you home or… What do you want to do?"

"Heh," Alaska giggled. "I kinda wanna be kissed again."

Cameron blushed, and hastily looked away. "I, uh… maybe we should slow down for tonight?"

"Mmm," Alaska nuzzled his ear with her slender nose. "okay."

The two walked in silence for a moment. Even with Alaska's long, sinewy legs, the pair barely moved faster than a crawl. And neither one seemed to mind.

Then Cameron noticed the inviting glow of a bookstore across the lot. It wasn't a big place, but judging from the bustle he saw though the windows, it wasn't empty either. A bookstore might not be the most conventional date location, but Alaska wasn't the most conventional girl.

In fact, if the reading he'd done on Wikipdia was anything to go by, Alaska wasn't even a very conventional _ship._ So, he decided, it was worth a shot. "'Laska?"

"Mmm?" she nuzzled his ear interrogatively.

"There's a book store over there," he cradled her waist a little closer. "Want to check it out?"

"Mmhm," Alaska nodded, and allowed herself to be lead off to the double-door entryway.

But the moment she set foot—or… propeller? It was hard to tell with shipgirls—inside the store itself, she froze. A life-size cardboard stand-up of a handsome man in a bomber jacket with a "USS SARATOGA (CV-3)" hat perched on his head. A Banner read, "Meet Daniel Stewart (Author of the best-selling _Changing Destiny_ series. noon-9.)"

The sound of Alaska's heavy breathing assaulted Cameron's ears, and he had to chuckle. "You know him?"

Alaska nodded. "I love his books!" She said. Her boilers built up steam as she broke out at flank speed. "I Have to go—" she froze, and slowly stepped back to form up with Cameron. "N-no."

"Hmm?" he shot her a confused look.

"T-this is our date," Alaska slipped her arm around him. " _Our_ , not mine. I should stay with you."

"'Laska," Cameron shook his head. "I brought you here because I thought you'd like it. Go ahead!"

"Really?" Alaska pivoted on her heel to beam at him.

"Of course!" Cameron mussed her snowy white hair. "Silly."

Alaska gave him a quick peck on the lips and bolted for the end of the line as fast as her willowy legs would carry her. Cameron chuckled and trotted along behind her. He wasn't quite as enthusiastic a fan, but _Changing Destiny_ had gotten him more interested in naval history than anything short of dating an astonishingly pretty warship had.

The large cruiser seemed to handle waiting in line rather well. In that her raspy hyperventilation wasn't _quite_ loud enough to knock Cameron's teeth out of their sockets. But she shuffled along in line without getting in anyone's way, and the way she protectively cradled her copy of the latest edition in the series to her chest was honestly adorable.

Things when downhill, however, when she finally pulled up next to the author of her favorite series. Her hyperventilation stopped and her face rapidly started turning blue.

Cameron put his head in his hand and sighed. "Breath, 'laska. Breath."

"eeeheeeheeeheeeheeeh," came a sound like a dying cat attempting to play a rusty harmonica.

Cameron blushed, and shot a nervous smile to the best-seller author sitting behind his table. "S-sorry, she's kinda star struck."

"No problem," came Stewart's kindly voice. "She can have all the time she wants."

As if on cue, Alaska started speaking. For… certain values of 'speaking.' "HiI'myourbiggestfan!Ilove _ChangingDestiny_!IreaditallthetimewhenI'minthebathorwaitingbetweenmissionsandTexasreaditandshesaidyougotSaraspotonandI'msuchabigfanandwouldyoupleasepleasepleasesign my copy?" The large cruiser finally stopped and gulped down a screeching breath of air.

Stewart blinked. "Did you catch _any_ of that?"

Cameron shook his head. "Sorry, sir. I… think it was some form of English though."

Alaska pouted.

"Would you like to try again, miss Alaska?" asked Stewart with a patient grin.

Alaska opened her mouth to speak, then paused. "Wait… how do you know I'm Alaska?"

Cameron's other hand met his face.

"Well," there wasn't a shred of exasperation in Stewart's voice. Just gentle interest. The man would have made an excellent teacher. "There's not many girls your age with hair that white."

Alaska blinked. "I'm seventy-two."

"Then I guess there's a _lot_ of girls your age with hair that white," chuckled Stewart.

"Heh," said Alaska with that timid laugh she reserved for when someone told her a joke that she didn't get, but she didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings by admitting it. "Um… yeah. I'm a huge fan!"

"Really?" Stewart beamed, and happily took her book in hand. "That means a lot coming from you."

Alaska squealed with glee. "Yeah! Uh… I… I always read them when I'm in the bath, or waiting between missions or something."

"Well, I'm glad you like them!"

Alaska nodded. "Texas, um… she met Saratoga you know."

Stewart nodded.

"R-right," Alaska blushed. "Um. She said you got Sister Sara spot-on."

"Did she?" Stewart was suddenly utterly focused on the nervous large cruiser. "That… _that_ is a great honor."

Alaska giggled nervously and made herself a little smaller. "Y-your welcome."

"Alaska?" Stewart stopped, and glanced at Cameron. "I'm sorry… I'm monopolizing your date, aren't I?"

Cameron shook his head. "She's enjoying it, sir. That's enough for me."

Stewart smiled. "You've got a good man there, Alaska."

The cruiser smiled, and nodded. "Mmm!"

"Anyways," the author handed her book back. "I know your Admiral must be busy. But if he's got a few minutes, could you have him call me?"

Alaska nodded. "What for?"

"Well…" now it was Stewart's turn to blush. "I've been doing my homework on Sara. And… I think I know how to ask her back."

—|—|—

"Jane?" Light Cruiser Jintsuu walked the halls at slightly above her max-economy cruise speed. With the winter holidays still upon then, Jane didn't have school to go to, nor a terribly pressing reason to be in her bed at a reasonable hour. And the cruiser knew Jane was far to smart to go snooping around parts of the base she was forbidden from entering, but still…

It would do the cruiser's heart good to know where the little gremlin had gotten away too. Ever since she'd befriended Albacore, Jane had gotten increasingly slippery, and Jintsuu's latent Samurui code of honor and order was tingling in the back of her mind. "Jane, where are you?"

The cruiser pivoted into the mess hall. It this hour, it was as deserted as it ever was. Save for a few sleepy destroyers lazily pawing at peanut butter sandwiches, there didn't seem to be anyone around. But then she heard a voice coming from the kitchen.

It was a deep, sonorous contralto she'd only heard a few times before. But a voice like that—combined with the woman it was attached too—could make an impression in precious few words.

"Now," said the unmistakable American accent of battleship New Jersey, "Nuke that motherfucker like it's nineteen forty five."

"Okay!" The higher pitched voice of Jane Richardson let out a typically Janeish giggle, and soon the electric hum of a microwave washed over Jintsuu's hydrophones.

The light cruiser huffed, and trotted back into the kitchen eager to find out what the two Americans could be doing at this hour.

The two were staring intently into the glowing microwave door. Jane was dressed her the shark pajamas Albacore had given her for Christmas, while Jersey was… shirtless with nothing but a navy blue sports bra covering her chest.

Jintsuu was momentarily startled by the sheer mass of muscle displayed on the battleship's broad back. She hadn't thought it possible for a battleship to be so toned even the American's arm was as big around as Jintsuu's slender leg.

But her surprise lasted only a moment, and Jintsuu hastily bowed with a polite cough to mark her presence. "Jane," she said, "Miss Jersey."

"Hey, Jintsu-mama!" Jane scooted over to give the cruiser a hug.

"Sup," Jersey waved.

"Hello, Jane." Jintsuu couldn't resist tousling the girl's hair a little. "What are you two up to?"

"We're making nachos!" said Jane with a giggle.

"Delicious!" Jitsuu chuckled, and glanced over at Jersey. "But… why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

The battleship stared at her with utter bewilderment. "Because," she said, "We're fucking making nachos."

Jintsuu failed to grasp the logical chain connecting "melting cheese over tortilla chips" with "remove one's clothing." Although she had to admit, Jersey had _quite_ a nice body.

Thankfully, Jane explained the reason for Jersey's state of undress. "We had to grate the cheese!"

Jintsuu chuckled, and glanced at Jersey's inhumanly toned belly. While she would admit the American's stomach looked like it'd been machined from alloy steel by a renaissance artist with a CNC mill, she was quite certain nobody could _literally_ grate cheese on those abs. "Jane, I don't think thats—"

Jersey waved a plate of grated cheese at the cruiser, and Jintsuu had to concede that she saw no cheese-grating apparatus beyond the aforementioned Iowa-class abdominals. "Oh."

For a while, the kitchen was silent except for the hum of the microwave.

Jane blinked.

Jersey smirked.

Jintsuu hung her head.

The microwave dinged.

"Awesome!" Jane bounced over to receive her gooey melted-cheese-covered bounty from the shirtless American Amazon.

"Hey," Jersey fished a paper plate out of the microwave and dumped chopped green onions onto the melting cheese. "Jintsuu, you want some?"

"Yeah," said Jane. "We made lots."

"Like…" Jersey stuffed another plate in the microwave. "A fucking metric _shitton_ of nachos."

Jintsuu sighed, then a smile crossed her demure features. "Don't mind if I do."

—|—|—

Arizona's eyes flew open with a start, and her pulse skyrockted into numbers never before seen by man. The last vestiges of her dream—a nice, albeit strange one. Not one of the nightmare she'd battled before—vanished like spray off her deck as reality came crashing into place.

She was in her room, tucked into her bed. It was—the battleship checked her on board chronometer in a blind panic—fifteen minutes past midnight. Her crew scrambled to main their stations as alert sirens screeched on every deck.

The battleship's eye's whipped around, getting a firm fix on her surroundings. The room was as dark as it always was at this hour, her growing library sat undisturbed next to the unopened model kit she'd bought for her Admiral all those days ago.

Her vast armada of escorting plushies were scattered around her, still holding their silent vigil in the nightly patrol against bad dreams. But…

But there was something else.

Arizona felt it.

She wasn't alone.

The Standard felt her mouth go dry as she slowly craned her neck, trying to identify the vast dark shape resting against her stomach. Her shaking hands balled into fists as she frantically leafed though her recognition manuals to try and identify the inky shape.

And then she smiled. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she realized what it was.

In fact, 'it' wasn't one thing at all. In the darkness, the silhouettes of four ships had run together into one vast blob of masts, guns, and stacks. But she knew better now.

Three destroyers, three _Fletchers_ lay contentedly against her, each laying claim to a portion of her ample Standard bosom for a pillow. Each wore a blissful smile on her tiny face and, and one was even slowly drooling onto Arizona's fleece blouse.

And the fourth ship… the fourth ship was the titanic bulk of Shinano cradled against her belly. The big carrier's glasses were squished into the fat of Arizona's soft tummy, and her face was half-lost in the soft folds. But even in the dark Arizona could see a happy smile on the big carrier's face.

Arizona leaned back and closed her eyes.

She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

* * *

 **Omake - By MagisterAurelius**

After dropping Alaska off, Cameron was almost floating on air. With a jaunty step he walked to the sidewalk when the realization that the 10 ton truck was already gone and he had taken the bus here. And he had missed the last bus. Oh well. A perfect mood and night to walk all the way home wasn't too bad.

"Hey kid." A low voice, somewhere between Sam Elliott, Dirty Harry Callahan and the Wolverine, full of the promise of glorious angry violence, nearly assaulted his hearing despite its conversational volume. "Texas said you might need a ride home."

Cameron turned around to behold the speaker and the ancient car behind him. He did a double take at the sheer amount of chrome and hood ornamentation on some relic from the 50s, he thought, but most of all at the license plate. MRMEAN. And then he took in the speaker. And as short as Cameron was compared to Alaska... this was a man... that made Alaska look _dainty_. "Umm... I guess?"

"Gunnery Sergeant." The mountain rotated an unlit cigar in his clenched teeth and opened the passenger side door. "If you were to refuse, Texas would not look kindly upon me. Therefore, I must insist. _Sir._ "

Cameron gulped. Everything about this screamed "Imminent Death" to him. Hell, the car's grill even looked like a frown. But then again, if Texas did send him that meant that he was going to be okay right? He got into the car. The mountain shut the passenger door and then got into the drivers seat, shut the door, put on his seatbelt and glared over at Cameron.

"Well?" At Cameron's jump, he sighed. "Seat belt kid."

"Oh." Cameron put on the seat belt. "I've never seen a car like this before. I didn't even know they made them NFL sized."

That got a dry humorless chuckle from the Gunnery Sergeant. "Had to reweld the seat rails myself when I rebuilt her so my knees weren't up to my ears. That was a bitch. This is a 1952 Packard Patrician. And this is what a luxury car should be. So where am I dropping you off kid?"

After a period of silent driving, Cameron felt the need to speak as he could swear he felt anger just radiate off his driver. "So, um... is this where Atago and the destroyers take their vengeance on me?"

"Huh?"

"For kissing Alaska! I assumed this is the intimidation plan 2.0 or something."

"Sounds like you did have a nice evening then. Texas just assumed you lost track of time and missed your bus. And kid, you're dating a shipgirl now. You're in it up to your neck and there's no way out. Because if you somehow screw this up, I'm not what you have to worry about. You hurt Alaska or something like that... her friends will feed you to the Abyssals. Oh look, here's your stop."

The car glided to a stop in front of Cameron's home. The driver put the car in park, got out, and opened Cameron's door.

"Have a nice night kid."

Cameron got out and started towards his front door before turning back, "Thanks for the ride...?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Mean. And you're welcome." With that he got back in the car and drove off. Cameron shivered and went inside.


	152. Chapter 114: Spectrum of Civility

**Chapter 114: Spectrum of Civility**

After the _appalling_ display of crass gluttony devoid of even the barest hint of proper table manner that was New Jersey's dinner last night, standard battleship Arizona resolved to eat _her_ breakfast with ladylike grace. While the old standard could admit her Amazonian compatriot was hobbled by her necessarily vast appetite, she saw no reason that Jane should fall into the graceless consumption Jersey so recklessly displayed.

Her admiral might not have given Arizona the honor of being Jane's mother, but that didn't mean the plump standard couldn't do everything in her power to set a good example for the admiral's daughter. After all, Jane wanted to be an Admiral someday—something which Arizona dearly hoped she'd live to see. And what admiral could rise the ranks while eating with her mouth open.

So Arizona took small morsels of her rice and beans, and chewed each one thoroughly before swallowing and dabbing her lips with a napkin where needed. Occasionally, she'd eat some of the fresh broccoli resting on the side of her plate.

Arizona was quite sure she needn't expend any effort to maintain her—rather plump, if she was being honest—figure. But she wanted to set a good example for her Admiral's daughter.

One couldn't grow as big and strong as Jersey on Jersey's diet of… what seemed to be exclusively meat or syrup-laden breakfast products with a light garnishing of pie. "Jersey?"

The fast battleship glanced up. A stack of pankcakes the size of Arizona's fist hung from her open jaw, and a little rivulet of Syrup—the terrible corn-syrup kind that Jersey insisted was the "good stuff"—ran down the corner of her mouth and trickled off the point of her chin. "Whuzzhu?"

Arizona's lips tensed, and she fought back the urge to whack the bigger battleship's knuckles with a ruler. She was quite aware that Jersey _had_ to eat like a slob if she was going to sate her endless hunger in anything like a reasonable time. And for all her seeming immaturity, the Iowa _was_ Arizona's superior officer by quite a few grades. "When was the last time you ate a vegetable?"

The big Iowa shot Arizona a sideways glance as she swallowed. "What do I look like, a fucking communist?"

Jane giggled, and almost choked on her breakfast of frosted flakes and orange juice.

"Vegetables," Jersey waved a skinny piece of bacon around like a field-marshal's swagger stick. "are what _food_ eats."

Arizona scowled, but Jane just giggled. "But I wanna grow up big 'n strong!"

Jersey shrugged. "I'm already a big motherfucker, no reason to get even huger."

"Jersey, language please."

The big battleship blinked. Then her stern features twisted into a scowl. "Oh, _Fuck!_ Sorry!" She reached over the table to rustle Jane's hair. "Don't say any of the fucking words I say, okay, kiddo?"

"Okay!" Jane smiled and took a long drink of juice. "Miss Shinano?"

The giant carrier who had up until this point been as quiet and still as a fly on the wall—a very, very _very_ large fly attempting to ineffectually hide behind her small glass of milk, but a fly nevertheless—let out a tiny squeak of surprise. She offered a closed-lip smile to the little girl who almost looked older.

"How are you liking the sandwich?" Jane fished out her notebook and one of the only gel pens Albacore hadn't 'borrowed' yet.

Shinano offered a tiny thumbs up. "'s guh," she said. Which might have been "it's good" or "Sugoi", it hard to tell with her voice muffled.

"Shinny," Jersey poked the carrier in the ribs, "Are you chewing? Or did your teeth just get glued together."

"Gluhw tufetha."

"Goddammit," Jersey scowled. "Why the fuck did we give her nutella."

"Becuse you said that nutella sandwich I gave you was good!" said Jane.

"Yeah!" The Iowa waved her syrup-coated fork in a way that would be threatening if it were't for the massive chunk of fluffy pancake stuck to the end. That Jersey was unable to keep from eyeing hungrily. "Fucking… because _I_ wanted more."

"Shouldn't I share then?" said Jane.

"Not with fucking _Yamaflat_!" Jersey scoffed.

Shinano muttered something too garbled for Arizona to understand.

"Shut the fuck up, Shinny," Jersey rolled her eyes. "Your opinion is not relevant, you got outsmarted by a fucking sandwich."

Shinano shrugged, and went back to happily mashing her nutella-covered teeth like a pensioner mashing his gums.

"I think she likes it though," said Jane.

"It's fucking chocolate in spread form," said Jersey. "Everyone with a soul fucking likes it."

"Ooh!" Jane perked up, and frantically scribbled something down in her notebook. Judging by how long she spent bent over with flying pen in hand, she'd had some sort of brilliant idea or revelation.

Jersey blinked. "I preemptively state that whatever happens is not my fault."

Arizona huffed, and chewed a head of broccoli as angrily as she could. But after barely four bites, she felt something warm and slightly sticky squish against her cheek. Whatever it was, it pulled away a moment later, leaving a few flakes of sticky glazing stuck to the old standard's cheek. But the next second it was back, squishing what felt like warm jelly against her skin.

"Jersey," Arizona sighed, and glanced over at the towering battleship. "What is this?"

"Jelly donut." Jersey grinned like an over sized child. Arizona knew it was a childish grin because Jane had the exact same look on her chubby face.

"I shouldn't," Arizona pushed Jersey's hand away with a little smile. The plump standard wasn't exactly fat… but she certainly wasn't svelte either, and her soft tummy sat like an oven-fresh muffin over the waist of her long skirt.

"But you _shooooould_ ," teased Jersey. It wasn't a bad imitation of Mutsu's teasing lilt, but the American clearly had much to learn before she could wield a tease as artfully as the big-seven battleship. "We're battleships. One donut won't do shit to your waistline."

Arizona started to protest, but the pleading look in Jane's eyes was enough to quell any dissent before it'd even reached the battleship's lips. Jane might not be an Admiral _yet_ , but her pleading stares carried every bit as much authority. "Very well," Arizona daintily took the squashed pastry in her hand, "But only one."

"She says _now_ ," smirked Jersey.

Arizona ignored the fast battleship's impropriety and took a carefully measured bite.

Then another.

Then yet another.

Then, when the little delight had vanished down her gullet like a bowl of rice presented to Akagi, the old standard turned to Jersey. "Commander," said Arizona's voice was shaken, and the old standard practically tripped over her words in her haste. "Would you perhaps happen to know where I could get several dozen more?"

Jersey laughed, and offered her massive hand to Jane for a crisp high-five. "Base bakery. There's a fucking krispy kreme on-base too. Their donuts are shit, but the _best fucking kind_ of shit."

"Mmm," Arizona licked bits of jelly off her fingers. "I'll… keep that in mind."

"Sure you will." Jersey chuckled speared a pile of soggy pancakes the size of Arizona's fist with her fork and somehow managed to fit them all into her maw.

But before Arizona had time to bristle at the fast-battleship's unladylike behavior,she felt a chill run down her keel.

Her _sister_ had just stepped though the doors. rage radiating off her like a mirage off hot tarmac. Arizona's pulse skyrocketed as she saw Pennsy's short form turn squarely towards her table and accelerate to flank.

"Shinano," Pennsylvania's voice was harsh and forced, each word slipping out with a groan like a buckling pressure cooker.

Shinano whimpered in surprise and shrank back against Jersey's flank.

"Eat somewhere else," there wasn't an inch of give in the furious Standard's voice.

Shinano was too terrified to do anything, but Jane was quick to react.

"Why?" asked the Admiral's Daughter. "She's just eating breakfast."

"Right," said Pennsy. "And the next thing you know she'll be handing us all bloody, screaming deaths and laughing all the while."

"She's _not_ like that!" Jane puffed out her cheeks defiantly.

"Jane…" Pennsy dropped to one knee, her fury suddenly tempered by deep, honest tenderness. "She's a carrier. A _nip_ carrier—"

Quiet tears trickled down Shinano's smooth face. Jersey froze. Then the big fast-battleship quietly placed her fork down and wiped her face clean with utter calm.

Pennsy didn't seem to notice. "—I know you think she's nice, but you _can't_ trust her." Her eyes drifted from Jane to Shinano, and every scrap of tenderness vanished into pure hateful rage. "If _anything_ happened to you," she said, her words as much a threat to Shinano as they were an assurance to Jane, "I'd never forgive myself."

"Pennsy," Jersey's voice was cold and calm, but Arizona saw every muscle in the towering battleship tense. Her temples pulsed as Jersey clenched her jaw, and her pointed eyebrows crouched low over her terrifyingly blue eyes like football players getting ready for a play. "Hallway. Now."

Pennsylvania stood, but dug her heel in to stand her ground. "Commander, I was just—"

" _Hallway_ ," said the amazonian battleship. Jersey pushed her half-finished breakfast away and stood to her full height, effortlessly towering over the diminutive standard. "And that's an order."

The comparatively tiny stood her ground even as Jersey's vast shadow loomed over her. Her hands balled into even tighter fists than usual, and her feet were planed firmly on the deck. For the barest fraction of an instant, Arizona thought her big sister was about to summon her guns—in a tight brawl, even an Iowa couldn't trounce a mad enough Standard.

But while Pennsy's features burned with barely-constrained rage, Jersey's face was as cold as the ice in her eyes.

The two battle wagons stared at each other, neither titan willing to bend before the other. Then, with the Herculean effort of a man bending steel beams with his bare hands, Pennsylvania slowly snapped to. "Sir."

With the soft shuffle of Pennsy's flats and the oiled creak of Jersey's leather gunbelt, the two made for the doorway, leaving a twisting wake of burning anger and ice-cold fury in their wake.

Jersey waited until the door swung shut behind her to corner the shorter, slower standard against the wall and slip the mirrored aviators attenuating her terrifyingly intense blue eyes. "What the fuck was that, Lieutenant?"

"Sir," Pennsy thrust our her chin and scowled almost straight up at the towering Iowa. "I was merely attempting to ensure the safety of those under my charge sir. As should we all, _sir._ "

Jersey growled, but her unearthly, unblinking blue gaze never wavered from the standard. "By reducing the third most powerful fleet carrier in our arsenal to a crying wreck?" Jersey's neck tensed with corded muscle as she forced each word past her gritted teeth. "Fucking explain to me how that make sense, _Lieutenant._ "

"She's a _ni-_ "

"So help me god," Jersey leveled her gaze at Pennsy, "If you finish that word, I'll fucking end you."

The standard scowled. "Fine. A _Jap._ Her comrades _butchered_ mine… _ours_ at Pearl!"

"You know damn well she wasn't there for that."

"Right!" Pennsy threw up her hands like she'd just realized something. "Because she only sailed to ferry _suicide planes!_ To murder _our sailors_ because the goddamn slant-eyed bastards had run out of any _other_ way to make us bleed!"

Her chest heaved as hot breath hissed though her bared teeth. "They _knew_ they'd lost. The fucking _knew_ it. Her people were willing to _throw their lives away_ not for victory, but for just a chance to make us _bleed._ "

"That was seventy-five years ago," said Jersey. "Re-fucking-mind me, what happened seventy five years before pearl?"

"It's not the same!" spat Pennsy. "You weren't _there._ You were born into victory! I have the image of my _little sister_ blowing sky-high _seared_ into my mind! Every time I close my eyes I see her, body torn asunder. I won't— I _can't_ let that happen again!"

"Pennsy…" Jersey shook her head. "I don't give a single rotten fuck. Okay? I don't. You know what I do care about?"

The standard just scowled.

"Shidens," said Jersey. "Three-hundred-fifty knots in a straight line. Armored to the gills, but a climb rate almost a mile a minute. They are, bar none, the best fighters in our arsenal. And we have _exactly one fucking deck_ that can spot them. And you just made her cry."

Pennsy stared at Jersey, too angry to do anything else.

"You love your sister, right?" asked Jersey. "I assume you at least fucking tolerate me and Lou. Maybe the taffies too."

The standard slowly nodded.

"Thanks to you," said Jersey, "They're steaming into battle without air cover." She leaned over until her nose was mere inches from Pennsy's. "You're gonna watch your sister die to a bomb all over again. Only this time it'll be all your fault."

The fire in Pennsy's gaze dimmed, and she glanced down at her toes. "I…"

"Lieutenant!" Jersey barked. "You are _speaking_ to a superior officer!"

"Sir," Pennsy muttered and squared her shoulders again. But this time, she couldn't quite bring herself to meet the towering Iowa's gaze.

"Go back in there," said Jersey, "And apologize to Shinano."

"S-sir," Pennsy nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And then apologize to your sister," said Jersey. "And to Jane, and I want you to explain to her why what you did was wrong."

"Sir." The standard stiffened, but didn't quite spit the word out like she had before.

"And when you're done," said Jersey. "Report to the Admiral. And pray you get there before my report does."

—|—|—

Sarah Gale woke with a start. The last thing she could remember was passing out into the warm an inexplicably nutmeggy embrace of Wash's soft breasts. Now she was lying on a couch, and neither Wash nor her delightfully full chest was anywhere to be seen.

"Ugh," Gale grunted as she hauled herself up on her elbows. She couldn't have been asleep for too long, her stomach still creaked with the vast bounty her mother's Southern Hospitably had produced. She smiled, and gave her belly a contented pat. Base food wasn't _horrible_ , and the odd dishes Lou or Tenryuu's kids baked were a welcome treat. But it just couldn't compare with home cooking from a tiny little woman who loved her so.

"Ma?" Gale hooked her thumbs over her belt loops and lazily waded though the Christmasy debris of shredded paper and wadded-up ribbons. The muffled sounds of explosions and cheers wafted in from the family room, clearly her dad was still completing the Christmas tradition of watching _Die Hard_ and _Commando_ back-to-back. No wonder his old ship was so enthusiastic about that movie.

But Gale was inexorably drawn towards the kitchen. She was sure she was so stuffed she couldn't fit another bite in with a sledgehammer and a pack of angry marines. But she smelled her mother's fudge. And her mother's fudge was worth exploding over. "Ma, do I smell fudge?"

"You do, dear!" Gale's mother's voice wafted over from the kitchen on warm chocolaty air that set Gale drooling. She'd worked her ass off all year to slim down and tone up… she could afford a few pieces of fudge for Christmas. Wash would understand, right? She could always work the weight back off.

But as it turned out, Wash didn't need the concept to be explained to her. The serene battleship sat happily on a table with a little plate of fudge cradled close to her soft chest. Her queenly features glowed with glee as she slowly chewed, and Gale couldn't help but notice the bottom few buttons of her uniform were undone.

Even the battleship's superhuman appetite fell before a little southern mother intent on fattening up her daughter-in-law and becoming a little southern grandmother. It was good to know that even shipgirl magic crumbled in the face of good old-fashioned southern hospitality. And… if Gale was being really honest with herself, Wash looked _adorable_ cheerfully nomming on fudge.

"Sarah!" Gale's mother wheeled around from the stove with a beaming smile on her face. "You didn't tell me your girlfriend liked fudge!"

Gale blinked. "I… I didn't know she did." Whenever Gale saw the battleship eating, she tried to look anywhere _but_ her overflowing plate, as an ultimately futile attempt to cling to at least some tiny shred of her rapidly depleting sanity.

"I do," Wash smiled and popped another cube of fudge in her mouth with a happy purring moan.

"She's a good girl, you know that?" Gale's mother smiled. "Came in here _insisting_ she help with the dishes."

"I just thought it was proper," mumbled Wash.

"It was very nice, sweetie," Gale's mother smiled at the battleship. "But you're my guest, and I won't have you wearing yourself out."

Wash smiled.

"That's my daughter's job."

"MA!" Gale's face glowed a brilliant red.

Wash smiled, but Gale got the sneaking suspicion that this smile wasn't totally fudge related.

"I've made up a bed for you two in the boys' room," said Gale's mother.

Gale frantically shook her head. "No, Ma… we…"

"It would hardly be kind," said Wash. "To ask the marines to drive all the way out to pick us up again."

"You're not helping," scowled Gale.

"So it's settled then!" Gale's mother smiled and planted both hands on Gale's waist. Then with a gentle but firm shove, she pushed the suffering sailor into Wash's warm softness.

"Ma!" Gale shook her head and veered away just before she smashed into Wash's chest for the second time today. "It's… I'll just sleep on the couch."

"Nonsense!" Gale's mother waved a frying pan at her. "I will not have my prettiest daughter—"

"Your _only_ daughter."

"—sleeping on couch catching cold. You've got a country to protect, missie!"

Gale was about to mount a resistance—one that she suspected would be ultimately futile anyway, but a resistance—when she noticed something in Wash's face. The quiet battleship was as serene as ever, but there was a desperate plea in her honey-brown eyes, and she shuffled her hips a tiny bit to be closer to the sailor. "Fine."

Wash smiled slightly, and Gale's mother flashed a catlike smirk. "Excellent!"

Gale shook her head, her cheeks burning from a combination of scarlet blush and painfully wide smile. Her mother always did drive her up the wall, but in a good sort of way. And then Wash nuzzled her in the cheek with that slightly misshapen nose of hers.

"Sarah?" Wash's voice purred in Gale's ear.

"Yeah?"

"I… have a spot of fudge on my cheek," said the battleship. True to her word, there was a little spec of chocolate right at the corner of her mouth.

"Okay…" said Gale.

Wash blushed. "We shouldn't let it go to waste, should we?"

Gale stared at the battleship, and slowly raised her hand to her face. "You want me to kiss it off, don't you?"

"Very much, yes," said Wash with businesslike calm.

"Well," Gale smirked, and put one hand around Wash's slender waist. "I guess I could…" She stopped.

Her mother stood less than a foot away, phone poised to capture the event from every angle. "Continue."

"MA!"

—|—|—

"Attention on deck!" Jersey's barking contralto was suddenly lost in the rumble of several hundred thousand tons of seagoing war machines snapping to—and the comparatively silent rustle of four naval officers and one Marine doing the same.

"As you were," Admiral Richardson waved them down as he made his way to the podium. Jersey happily relinquished it to him, stepping back to the side of the screen with a nod. He wasn't sure how much that helped. Something about the massive battleship made her presence larger than life, and she as _already_ pretty huge.

After a moment's fiddling with HDMI cables—during which time Jersey looked unbearably smug—Richardson tapped a key and the ceiling-mounted projector threw a satellite image on the wall behind him.

It was an island. A tiny, misshapen island dominated by an airstrip that stretched almost to the coral wave-breaks. An island that seemed to bulge around the concrete runway like some bizarre form of geological cancer, with spiky growths of artificial harbors on one end and an even tinier clubfooted peninsula stretching out the other on a narrow sandbar.

"This," he tapped two fingers against the island's center. "Is Woody Island in the Paracels. People have been squabbling over it for decades. The Nationalist Chinese took it, the French-Vietnamese took it, the PLAN took it—"

Jersey let out a guttural growl of disgust, then hastily clamped her mouth shut. "Sorry."

Richardson ignored it. "And most recently the Abyssals took it." He paused, switching to a slide showing the tiny island's crucial location at the mouth of the South China Sea. "It's one of three that command the theater, but it's the only one basing capital ships."

He paused for a moment. "We're going to take it, and we're going to _hold_ it, understood?"

A chorus in the affirmative echoed from the assembled crowd.

"Mogami and Australia will lead their task-forces to clean out the torpedo-boat infestation at the Spratly and Riau islands." Richardson tapped the relevant islands. "But we _have_ to secure Woody if we're going to hold the sea. We do that, and we've punched a safe corridor from Sunda all the way to Taiwan."

"Colonel Granger," Richardson waved to the uniformed Marine sitting in the back of the room, "Will lead the thirty-first MEU off the _Bonhomme Richard_ and secure that rock. But first we need to get him there." The admiral stopped, and motioned to the towering battleship beside him to take over.

"Right," Jersey coughed, and straightened a pile of papers. "That's where we come in, bitches."

Arizona bristled, but kept her focus on her notes.

"According to recon photos from Shioi—" the battleship paused, and bit the corner of her lip. "Don't fucking ask me why the Japs put planes on a sub, but it seems to fucking work out nicely for us. Any-fucking-way, our primary surface threat is three _Derfflinger_ -type Abyssal battlecruisers."

Jersey flailed madly at the keyboard until she brought up a grainy photo-recon slide. "Pringles was kind enough to help me with the research."

Prinz Eugen coughed, and nodded slightly. "I do not know where that nickname came from," she added.

Jersey ignored the cruiser. "Judging by the superstructure alterations, we're assuming each ship carries a full late-war anti-aircraft suite." She skipped to a telephoto photograph showing one of the ships' mast. The metal looked almost scorched into the film, but the obvious latticework of a radar mast stood proud over the decks. "And a surface-search radar, _possibly_ linked into the fire-control system, so don't put too much faith in your smoke."

"But," Prinz Eugen spoke up again. "It is at most radar- _assisted_. Those… _things_ do not have true blind-fire capacity."

"That's the fucking truth." Jersey smirked. "Moving on, there's no evidence of U-boat pens on the island, and the near-total lack of submarine activity in the theater probably means we won't need to worry about any of those sneaky motherfuckers."

"That said," Jersey squared her shoulders and tried to look professional. "Once we run the straight of Taiwan, the Chinese navy—" she caught herself for a moment. "The _real_ Chinese navy—won't be able to screen us. So DDs, keep one ear on the fucking sets, okay?"

Akizuki, Naka, and Hoel all nodded.

"That brings us to the big fucking elephant in the room," said Jersey.

Shinano squeaked in shy right.

"No…" The battleship hung her head and tried to hide her smile. "Not fucking you, flatayam. Airborne fucking threats." The battleship switched to a fuzzy off-angle shot of the island's airstrip.

The shadowy images of planes dotted the tarmac. Long, slender planes like winged sharks with swept-back wings pointed noses and streamlined pods hanging off their wings. Arizona couldn't believe her eyes, the didn't have propellers. They couldn't have, there wasn't any room! For those to be Jets meant…

"Yup," said Jersey. "You're all thinking it. Those are ME two-six-twos and Ar two-three-fours." The battleship tabbed over to another slide of recognition diagrams.

"The Messerschmitts," she waved at a line drawing of the shark-shaped jet, "look like a mixed bag of your standard fighter variant and the bomber-killer ones with a fucking fifty mike-mike in the nose. We're unsure if they're fitted for underwing ordy, but given the number of munitions carts Shioi spotted—and our godawful luck—assume every one of those fascist bastards could have a bomb with your name on it."

The air-defense destroyers frantically scribbled notes on their pads.

"The Arados," Jersey waved in the general direction of the cigar-shaped bombers with their razor sharp wings. "Are the four-engine Charlie model, might have fucking Fritz-Xs for all we fucking know, so stay alert."

Richardson stepped forwards. "Seventh Fleet's lent us four Burkes to round our our air defenses."

Jersey flashed a grin that somehow consisted only of shining canines. "Fucking Nazis won't know what hit 'em."

Equally venomous chuckles sounded from the handful of uniformed sailors attending the briefing. Arizona felt her blood chill in a comforting sort of way.

"Assignments are as follows," Jersey flipped to an organizational chart. "Task Force Shield consists of Shinano and _Bonhomme Richard_ with Naka and her DesRon as attached escort. USS _Mustin_ will provide supplemental air-defense. Captain Ward will lead shield from the _Richard._ "

Naka and her kiddos furiously scribbled down notes while Captain Ward idly tousled Yuudachi's flappy hair tufts. Shinano pushed her glasses up her nose and scratched even more furious notes.

"Sorry, kiddo." Jersey shrugged at the enormous battleship. "You're gonna need all your focus just covering _Richard's_ harriers."

The carrier smiled, then nodded resolutely.

"Task force Sledge," said Jersey. "Consists of Arizona and Pennsylvania, with Hoel's DesRon and _McCambell_ attached as air-defense. Arizona?"

"Yes?" the proper Standard stood a little straighter in her chair.

"You're in command. Three Derfs shouldn't be anything you can't handle."

"Understood," Arizona nodded.

"Get some practice in, both of you."

The two standards nodded with businesslike calm. They were relics of a bygone age and they knew it. They took no pleasure in battle on the high seas, only in the satisfaction of a job well done, and a country well protected.

"Task Force Razor," Jersey motioned to the three cruisers hanging out in a loose puddle in the back of the briefing room. "Consists of Frisco, Lou, and Prinz Eugen, with _Fitzgerald_ attached to watch the sky."

"Jersey?" Lou's hand shot up. "I thought task forces had numbers."

"I'm a commander," said Jersey. "I can name things cool shit if I want."

"I think it sounds very cool," said Frisco with a smile on her face.

"Good," said Jersey. "'cause you're taskforce lead."

Prinz Eugen beamed and clapped her gloved hands with a giggle while Lou just jostled the little _New Orleans_ with a lopsided grin.

"Which brings us to task force Sword." said Jersey. "Me and Kongou as heavy-hitters, with duckies and the _Evans_ as air-defense."

The battleship tugged at the armor plating supporting her bust and yielded the podium to Richardson.

"Jersey has overall command of the surface element," said Richarson. "Ari?"

"Sir?" Arizona straightened her back as much as she could.

"You and your sister _desperately_ need surface action experience, and these battlecruisers should be just the ticket." Richardson smirked. "Sword and Razor fleet will heard the abyssal fleet into your guns. I trust you can take it from there?"

"Sir!" Arizona and Pennsylvania responded in harmony. The standard sisters might be slow relics of a bygone era, but they had almost an inch and a half on Jersey's belt, and their rifles could punch though the abyssal battle-cruisers at anything inside twenty-eight-thousand yards. They might not be able to _get_ to the fight, but if the fight came to them it would be a brawl for the history books.

"That's what I like to hear," Richardson said with a smile.


	153. Chapter 115: Dockwork

**Chapter 115: Dockwork**

On the one hand, Gale was happy her mother had made up a bed for her. Her dinner was still digesting, and the tired sailor wanted little more than to curl up under heavy blankets and sleep until hours even Jersey's lazy ass would consider excessively late.

On the other hand, the bed her mother had made up for her was _barely_ big enough for her and Wash to share. If they snuggled real tight. And even then, Gale wasn't sure there would be enough room for her to avoid using the battleship's bosom as a pillow.

At least Wash seemed to be enjoying herself. The battleship's face barely flickered from its usual supernaturally beautiful serenity, but Gale'd known her long enough to tell the tiny twitches of her lips were her version of a beaming smile. Her miniskirt swished against the tantalizing strip of bare skin between her barely-visible spats and the navy blue thigh-highs that puckered the soft flesh of her legs.

The room might not have much space to sleep, but there were plenty of things to catch Wash's interest. Gale's mother always kept a selection of legos, barbie dolls, and Lincoln logs around for the grandkids—plus a collection of models Gale and her siblings had built over the years that the sailor desperately hoped Wash wouldn't read too much into.

Gale couldn't quite motivate herself to speak as Wash flowed from thing to thing with the grace of a seagoing titan. There was something adorable about the way her gentle face beamed with all the soft gentleness of the moon every time she saw something new. And one of the battleship's hands never left the gentle swell over her stomach her fudge binge had given her.

The sailor knew the battleship was just displaying the aftereffects of a Gale family dinner, but she couldn't shake the thought that Wash looked like an expectant mother. And from the contently happy look on Wash's face, the battleship was indulging in a little bit of fantasy herself.

"Uh," Gale coughed. There was no way in hell they were both fitting on that bed. Not without getting _really_ squished. "I'll sleep on the floor."

Wash closed the book she was browsing—Macaulay's _The Way Things Work_ , a childhood favorite of Gale's—and smiled. "Why?"

"Well…" Gale blushed, and tried to look anywhere but the smiling battleship's… anything, really. Every inch of her glowed with the kind of artful beauty that made renaissance sculptures look like a three year old's doodles. "Uh… the bed…"

"Yes?" Wash set the book on a table and took a few tender steps towards the brilliantly blushing sailor.

"There's no way we're both…" Gale stopped abruptly. Without saying a word or shifting her expression in the slightest, Wash had put her hands on the sailor's hips and tugged her close, until their bodies were almost touching.

"Gale," Wash beamed, her slightly misshapen nose just kissing the tip of Gale's. "I'm a battleship."

Gale blushed, and tried to think of anything but the very full, soft, and warm breasts with their slightly nutmeggy aroma that squished against her chest. "I'm… aware."

"I don't like," Wash's eyes narrowed, and she leaned in to touch her nose to Gale's again. "To be unescorted."

"We're ashore," Gale bit her lip and tried to stifle a happy purr.

"And I'd _still_ rather have someone I love watching over me," said Gale. "Someone I'd trust with my life."

"Uh…" Gale smiled, and leaned in to plant a quick kiss on Wash's lips. Mmm, there was still a bit of fudge on her creamy skin. Or maybe that was just how the big battleship tasted? Fudge with a hint of vanilla and cordite?

Wash's eyes closed the rest of the way, and her hips slowly swayed against Gale's. "I don't lie."

Gale blinked, her mind thrown for a hormone-addled spin at that. "S-sorry?"

"I don't lie," said Wash. "What I said earlier, it was true."

Gale stared with utter uncomprehension.

Until Wash's hands moved from her waist to grab two very full handfuls of her rear. "You have a very nice butt."

With her already confused mind swimming in enough hormones to drown a small country, the only intelligent thing Gale could think of to do in response was grab the battleship's much curvier stern.

Wash seemed to enjoy it though, judging by the way her tongue danced when they kissed.

—|—|—

Alaska knew, on an intellectual level, that she was back at base. The truck had groaned to a stop, and the panting gasp of an overworked diesel engine had faded to nothing, leaving only the quiet sounds of a coastal breeze. She knew it, but she didn't want to believe it.

The large cruiser scooted a tiny bit closer to her date and nuzzled at the hints of stubble gracing his jaw. She didn't bother to open her eyes as a happy purr slipped past her lips. She was content to just drink in the smell of her boyfriend, to feel his warmth against her skin, and to have his arm wrapped gently around her slender waist.

"Like you," mumbled Alaska as she prodded his cheek with her nose, lazily trying to coax another kiss out of him.

"Hmm?" Cameron smiled at her, but she could feel his heart beating a hundred miles a minute. She was pressed so close she could sense everything he did even with her eyes blissfully shut. His grip tightened on her waist, his fingers digging into the tiny bit of softness padding out her wiry belly.

Alaska just nuzzled him again and pursed her lips. A faerie darted out onto the crown of her head with a string of signal flags in tow and frantically waved them at Cameron. "K-I-S-S-H-E-R" it read.

Cameron chuckled, and twisted in his seat so he could face the dreamy cruiser. "You're beautiful, 'laska." His free hand wrapped around her, slipping under her arm to grasp her right where her bra strap would be if she had enough of a bust to need one.

"Heheh," Alaska giggled and shifted her hips to be a bit closer to her boyfriend. She would say something more coherent, but she was too swamped with bliss to put together a coherent sentence.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" Cameron nuzzled her nose with his, and took a second to admire how stunningly pretty the girl's face looked with her shimmering snow-white hair framing it. Alaska's smile was as derpy as ever, but somehow that just made her prettier.

Alaska just giggled.

Cameron moved his hand to cradle the back of her head. Her hair glittered like new-fallen snow, and it was impossibly soft against his skin. "I… we're back at base. I have to let you go now."

"Okay," Alaska nodded.

"You, uh…" Cameron was thankful her eyes were still blissfully shut. He didn't think it was possible to blush this red. "You want a parting kiss?"

"Mmmhm," Alaska nodded.

Cameron closed his eyes and leaned in. She might not be as busty as Atago, but when her chest kissed his, he wouldn't have traded the feeling for anything in the world. Her lips were cool starkly calm when they touched his. It was like kissing a quiet winter evening, but with the tiniest hint of warm marshmallow.

The cruiser's hands wrapped around his waist as she held him close. She nibbled at his lip for a moment, then pulled away. "Mmm…" she purred and let her head rest against his.

"Uh…" Cameron gulped. "I… yeah."

"Heh," Alaska's sea-blue eyes flickered open and she smiled at him. "I liked that."

"Me too."

Alaska smiled blissfully.

"We should, uh…" Cameron bit his lip and tried to fight down the brilliant blush tinting his features. Alaska's normally snow-white face had taken on its own crimson hue, but she didn't seem to know or care. "We're here."

"Yeah," Alaska sighed.

"Wouldn't…." Cameron smoothed his shirt, then smoothed it again for good measure. "Uh, want to keep anyone waiting."

"Right." Alaska's shoulders slumped, and she let go of his waist. "Thanks."

"It was my pleasure," Cameron smiled at her, and ruffled her hair a bit, momentarily reducing the large cruiser to giggling bliss.

He ducked back to the cab door and swung it open. The marine driver stood silent at parade rest. But the smirk on his face and the nonstop bouncing of his eyebrows made Cameron's blush only intensify.

"It was just a kiss," he felt compelled to explain.

"No comment, sir." Said the marine with a smirk that was most certainly a comment.

"I…" Cameron glanced back as Alaska exited the truck. For a moment, he was so captured by how beautiful she looked in her dress that he didn't realize he was staring squarely at her amply-rounded stern. His pulse rocketed and he tore his gaze away. "I wasn't—"

"I know how it is, kid," the Marine smiled. "I'm sure she does too."

Cameron glanced at the pretty girl stepping down on the blacktop parking lot. The girl who's soul was—essentially—made up of a thousand-odd men not much older than him. "Y-yeah."

"You give her a kiss goodbye?"

"Yes, sir." said Cameron.

"C'mon," the Marine patted Cameron on the back. "Let's get you to the Admiral, pay you back for that dinner of hers."

Cameron gave Alaska a long look.

"Trust me, kid," said the Marine, "you do _not_ want to visit her dorms."

Something about the stern look on his face made Cameron trust the Marine without needing any further explanation. "Okay." He turned to the cruiser and gave her a hug. "See you around, 'laska."

Alaska smiled. "See you, Cameron."

And then the two parted ways, Cameron heading to admiral Raleigh's office to get Alaska's gluttonous dinner expensed, while Alaska did… Whatever she did. Even the large cruiser wasn't quite sure where the rest of the evening would lead her.

Even on a normal day, the cruiser's social life just followed along with the twin currents that were Texas and Atago. And her date had depleted Alaska's already feeble ability to girl. So she decided she'd head back to her room and try to find her best friend.

Alaska was still new to this whole 'date' thing. As well as the 'being a girl' thing. And if she was being honest, she'd never quite gotten the hang of the 'being a ship' thing either. But Atago knew everything about romance and love, she'd be able to help Alaska get her thoughts in order.

And she was _really_ cuddly, which made Alaska happy.

But before the cruiser had even made it to the dormitory building, she spotted someone she didn't recognize strolling the base grounds.

She was a woman—not a shipgirl, but an actual woman. Alaska didn't see any rigging. A very short woman, as short as a standard. But she didn't have the soft, comfortable plumpness of a Standard. She was slender and lithe and playful like a cat, and her face that radiated equal parts coyish playfulness and wholesome love.

Alaska decided she would hug that woman. Which, as it turned out, was entirely a moot point. By the time she'd made up her mind, her body was already moving. Her arms were outstretched, and her feet almost dragged behind her as she closed the distance.

The large cruiser happily wrapped her arms around the tiny newcomer and smiled. "You're so tiny!"

The woman sighed, and glanced up at the taller shipgirl. "Alaska, I presume?"

Alaska shot the woman a confused look. "How did you know?"

The woman just rolled her eyes. "Why are you hugging me?"

Alaska blinked.

The woman blinked.

Alaska glanced down at her embrace. "I don't really know."

"So the stories are true," the woman smiled, and slipped out of Alaska's grasp. "Katherine Solette."

"Oh!" Alaska beamed. "Docboat's wife!"

Katherine sighed, then chuckled at the innocent cruiser. "Yes, that's me."

"Nice to meet you!" Alaska beamed, and pounced on Kat for another hug. "Hi. Imma call you Kat."

Kat laughed. "Nice to meet you too, miss Alaska."

"You can call me 'laska," said the cruiser. "Um… if you want, ma'am."

Kat smirked like her namesake and planted a hand on her hip. "You're just as cute as they say."

Alaska giggled with a blush.

"So," Kat stifled a yawn. "Think you could show me to my quarters?" She handed the cruiser a note with her room number. "Was a long flight down from Washington."

"Oh, sure!" Alaska nodded. After a moment, she stopped and pivoted back at the woman. "Um.. Kat?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh…" Alaska shuffled her feet and blushed. "Y-you're married, right?"

Kat smiled and flashed the ring on her finger.

"Um…" The large cruiser blushed. "How do I wife?"

—|—|—

Jane Richardson was not an Admiral. She wanted to be one when she grew up though. She'd been keeping a very close eye on her dad, and the notebook hidden under her pillow had exhaustive notes on everything an Admiral did.

There was a whole section devoted to naval tactics—with a few excerpts she'd lovingly copied down from her dad's thick, picture less books. There were annotated transcripts of the interviews she'd gotten from every ship and sailor she managed to corner. Her Japanese wasn't the best, but it was good enough to communicate with a few SDF captains about their ships.

There was even a whole appendix dedicated to figuring out the future of her dad's little fleet. Jane had picked out a really pretty wedding dress for Mutsu-mama (a strapless dress with a fitted bodice in the classic white. With a matching headband, because Mutsu-mama just didn't look like herself without a headband.) She'd even drawn a few sketches of what her sisters-to-be would look like. (Mutsu would have twins, and they would be _adorable_. No, it wasn't up for discussion.)

But, taped to the very front of the notebook and written in extra-big glitter-pen letters was a list of an Admiral's responsibilities. And right there at the top was the most important of all. "Keep the ships happy."

Jane knew she couldn't do most of her dad's job _quite_ yet. But she could try her best to keep all her big sisters and mamas happy. So she'd do that.

"Miss Jersey?" Jane beamed up at the big battleship. She was used to being around taller people, anyone above destroyer tonnage could beat her in the height department, and even the duckies—Jane had invented that term, she was quite proud of how popular it'd gotten—stood taller than her.

But Jersey wasn't just tall. She was… _big._ She seemed even bigger than she really was with the way she carried herself. She didn't stand, she _loomed._ And to make things even more complicated, Jane still hadn't quite decided of Jersey was a bigsister-boat or a mama-boat.

She didn't act like any mama Jane had ever met, but she was too protective to be a sister.

"Sup?" The battleship glanced up from the frosty nickle plating of her gun with a lopsided smile. It was a very rough smile, like the one you'd find on some of Jane's more… vintage drawings. But the comfy roughness just made Jane feel happier.

"I baked you cookies!" Jane beamed and presented a plate full of gooey chocolate-chip goodness.

Jersey's gun was instantly forgotten as she stuffed a handful into her waiting mouth. That was something else that made her special. Ari-mama always ate like a lady. So did Mutsu, except something about the way she ate her noodles always made the Admiral blush, Jane wasn't sure why. But Jersey devoured her food like the cookie monster, only _she_ made sure every crumb eventually made its way back into her mouth.

"'s fucking good!" Jersey beamed and reached over to tousle Jane's hair with her half-gloved hand.

Jane beamed. Jersey cussed a lot too. Jane wasn't a newcomer to the world of bad words, she'd spent most of her life on a navy base. But Jersey cussed as easily as she breathed. Jane wasn't sure what to think about that, it was a question that could wait until she actually _made_ Admiral. "Thank you!"

Jersey gobbled down another few cookies. "Yuh wehcum."

Jane giggled. If _she_ ever tried to talk with her mouth full like that, Ari-mama would… Jane wasn't actually sure, but she knew it would be stern and disciplinaryish. Of course, Jane didn't have the appetite of Jersey, either.

"Hey," Jersey swallowed, and absentmindedly drummed her fingers against her flat belly—her tummy was about the only part of her that _wasn't_ comically huge. "You're a good kid, you know that?"

Jane just smiled and nodded.

"Richardson knows his shit," said the big battleship. "He's a fucking awesome dad."

"I think so too!" Jane pulled herself up onto a chair next to Jersey and crawled onto her lap. She wasn't as soft and cuddly as Ari-mama. But her bare legs were warm like Mutsu-mama's, and her chest was just soft enough to snuggle.

The battleship blinked, then slowly wrapped her arms around the little admiral-in-training and purred. Actually purred. Like a cat. With her head pressed against the battleship's firm chest, Jane felt it more than she heard it. The Iowa was definitely purring. "Hey, Jane?"

"Hmm?"

"I gotta ship out soon," Jersey cradled Jane in her arms and gently rocked her side to side. "Mind passing a message to your dad for me?"

"Sure!" Jane peeled her face off Jersey's chest just long enough to smile at the battleship.

"Tell him…" Jersey's lips split in a wicked grin. "If he doesn't lay his keel in Mutsu's slipway, the poor girl's gonna blow. Again."

Jane giggled. She knew enough about ships to know what that meant. Her little sister was on the way! Hopefully her dad would be able to figure out his part. He was a people, not a ship. Jane was pretty sure he didn't have a keel. "Okay!"


	154. A Certain Lady Part 30

**A Certain Lady Part 30**

It was a much subdued Pennsylvania who approached the door leading to Admiral Richardson's office.

The encounter with Commander New Jersey had been bad enough. To have her values and her fears so effectively neutralized. Her concerns for everyone's well being trampled. They did not see the Japanese as she did.

Few could, or would.

But it was the apology ordered that had burned far more than any rebuke from the towering Iowa-Class.

That overgrown missile launcher had accepted her forced and textbook perfect unapologetic apology with a timid and fearful expression. It was enough to make her stomach turn. But it felt wrong in a way she did not expect. Like kicking an innocent child might.

The notion that their most powerful shield against enemy planes was this same ship further confounded her anger.

But then she had turned so she could apologize to Arizona and Jane.

And her heart skipped a beat.

The look of irritation and indignation of a child she could handle. Jane's displeasure was to be expected given her age and inexperience. She didn't need to be loved to protect her charges. She only needed to be capable. Capable beyond a doubt with what arms and armor she had.

That's what she continued to tell herself even as she raised a fist to rap her knuckles against the door.

The look of angry disappointment on her sister's scarred face remained burned into her vision.

"Lieutenant Pennsylvania, requesting permission to enter."

"Permission granted."

The door opened with a slight creak, a sign the hinges were in need of some care.

Pennsylvania entered the spacious, but chaos laden office. Papers and reports littered the furniture. A large couch supported a sizable map adorned with pins, scribbles, and sticky notes of all colors imaginable while writing implements lay scattered wherever they could find purchase. About the only surfaces not being consumed were a few patches of wall and some chairs off in a corner.

"You should have seen this place before the battle against Battleship Princess. It was far worse."

Pennsylvania snapped from her stupor and laid a crimson gaze upon the speaker. It was Lieutenant Hiei. The normally energetic and borderline mad battleship had already been placed firmly on the list of individuals she would be more than pleased to never interact with so long as she lived. However there was the glint in the warship's eyes that gave her pause. A spark that she had never seen before. It didn't matter to her how short a time she'd known the warship, but there was still something ticking the back of her neck. Something telling her such an expression was not commonplace.

It hinted to her of a well restrained anger. Absolutely nothing like her own which was merely a few degrees away from boiling over at any given moment under normal circumstances. This was something nearly her entire crew all but demanded she not trifle with. Much akin to Jintsuu, only not nearly so ominous.

She would remain silent and not approach further until ordered.

The Kongou had already bested her once even missing half her main armament. A part of her was not eager to see what could be done when whole.

"Do you need anything else, sir?" queried Hiei as she turned her full attention back to Sasebo's commander.

"No, that will be all. You're dismissed." Richardson nodded Hiei and set to writing what had to be his signature on countless forms. There was nothing odd or telling of his voice. It was as matter-of-factly as she had ever heard it. Almost casual if she were to really reach for it.

There was none of the snark or irritated resignation she had come to expect of the Admiral, nor was there any hint of silliness or excessive vigor from the Japanese warship. Just an efficient and businesslike execution of work. It would have been commendable if it didn't set her on edge. But she would not allow it to show. She could not. Not here.

Hiei took her leave with little more than a salute to Admiral Richardson and a brisk stride, walking past Pennsylvania with little more than a glance from those flinty blue eyes.

Pennsylvania did not like the way the click of the door shutting sounded infinitely louder than it should have. Not helping was the following sound of Richardson's pen scratching away on paper. The ticking of a wall clock. The slug creation on his desk which vaguely resembled the trollop with the sorry excuse for a skirt. And the dismissal of her presence to top it all off. Each passing moment and each irrationally irritating element served to stoke the fires of her anger.

Before she could throw caution to the wind and speak up, Richardson cut her off.

"Lieutenant Pennsylvania, front and center."

That tone should not have felt so chilling. But regardless she did so, coming to stand at attention directly in front of his desk. Still he did not look up from his work. She felt she would not be wrong in assuming dealing with her actions was merely an afterthought right now.

"Sir!" Pennsylvania gave a crisp salute, holding it for a few seconds before returning to attention. She ignored the clinking sound of shells from her pockets.

"I'm going to give you a choice." Richardson only glanced up at her as he continued. "You can take this chance to explain yourself or you can remain silent and let me take Commander New Jersey's report at face value."

Pennsylvania's eyes widened. She had hauled over here as quickly as she could. There had been no dawdling. And yet the Commander's report was already on the Admiral's desk? On his desk, read, and reviewed? She hadn't intended to hide anything, but still.

"Well?"

Pennsylvania frowned even more than normally, almost turning the expression into one of disgust.

"I will explain myself, sir."

Richardson made a gesture with one hand and set down the pen he'd been using with the other, finally giving her his undivided attention.

"This morning I encountered Commander New Jersey, Lieutenant Arizona, one Jane Richardson, and Japanese Carrier Shinano at the mess hall." She nearly spit out the last name given, but managed to put up some semblance of decorum for the sake of the brass before her. "I-"

"Stop." Richardson made no motion. All he did was order the standard to cease. A frown of his own crossed his features as he narrowed his eyes at her.

Pennsylvania snapped her jaw shut with a click of her teeth.

"An explanation, Lieutenant. I know what happened already. I am telling you to explain it. In your own words." Richardson tapped a folder on his desk, presumably the report of the incident in question.

His blunt words, clarifying the demand, caused her to bristle visibly.

"I have every reason and cause to have the book thrown at you hard enough to make everyone who ever served on you feel it. Assault. Disorderly conduct. Attempting to incite dissent amongst the ran-"

"I did no such thing!" roared Pennsylvania with enough force that the windows trembled.

Richardson did not appear to flinch in the face of her outburst.

"Then explain the incident and clarify your position."

"Yes... sir." Pennsylvania came just shy of growling out the words. Damn this man. Damn him to the deepest depths. He didn't understand. He couldn't. He wasn't there. And he was a human. A flesh and blood person. Not steel and oil. Not something like her.

She blinked away the angry mist in her crimson eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to lower her boiler pressure.

"I do not trust the Japanese. I can't." Her hands tightened into fists as fire and blood ekes their way into the corners of her vision. The room felt hotter. Everything felt heavier. She wanted to open her mouth to continue, but found her voice choked away by smoke that wasn't there.

And in a flash, it was gone.

"They're murderers. Backstabbers. Conniving and deceitful." Her voice rose with each word. She could see them burning, dying. The sounds of gunfire and the screams of the victims grew louder and louder. "Their smiles and friendship is all a lie. All a scam. They're just waiting for the right moment to kill us all in our sleep!"

Without pausing, she lurched forward and planted her hands on Richardson's desk with a loud bang. Papers went flying and myriad items were either knocked over or sent to the floor. With the red haze over her eyes, she was only dimly aware that the Admiral had been forced back against his chair.

"I accepted that cease-fire despite wanting nothing more than to pound that damn woman's face over and over until she was a smear on the ground! I only accepted your invitation and that damn cruiser's terms because it was for Ari's sake! But all of this training and this forced cooperation. I can't stand it. I can't protect my people, my fellow ships, my country while being forced to play nice and work with these monsters!"

"I saw one of the most powerful battleships ever made, an American battleship, chatting and having fun over a meal with a god-forsaken Japanese aircraft carrier. With my sister right there joining in! That's not right!" Pennsylvania's face screwed up in a depiction of hate and anguish, her bound red hair falling loose and making her already miserable self appear even more so. "And that innocent child was treating that Jap like a friend. She treats them like family!"

"It's going to get her killed. It doesn't matter how powerful I am, I can't protect anyone if they put their head in the lion's maw. If they play house with these vile predators! I wanted that ship gone. Gone and far away from anyone it could ever possibly hurt. I want them all gone! Even if it's only from the damn mess hall, I want them as far away from everyone as possible!"

Pennsylvania slammed her fist against the desk as the frustration boiled over.

"And you're no better than those blind fools. If anything, you're worse! Trusting your child to them. Surrounding yourself with those two-faced monsters. You break bread with them and sleep peacefully beside them. I can't stand it! You can do something about this whole farce and instead you play along!"

"I'm sick of watching them die. Watching Ari die. Over and over and over again. I hate it. I hate them all!"

There was only silence that followed.

A dull, heavy silence interrupted only by the sound of the clock on the wall and heaving breaths of the hateful warship.

"Is that all?"

"H-huh?"

"Do you have anything else to say?"

"I-No. No, sir. I don't." Truthfully, she wasn't sure if she did or not. But the bland, almost dismissive question had thrown her off balance.

"Then wipe your face and get back to attention." Richardson reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief.

Pennsylvania took the offered cloth and stared dumbly at for a few moments. It wasn't anything special. Just a generic piece of cloth with a naval theme. She could probably find dozens more at any store. So... why?

"Sir?"

"You heard me, Lieutenant." He leaned forward and steepled his fingers, keeping his eyes firmly on Pennsylvania's. "You look terrible right now."

"Why do you care?" she managed to snarl half heartedly despite doing as she was told.

"I don't." There wasn't any mirth in his eyes or in the tone of his voice.

Pennsylvania found she didn't really have a good response to that.

"Lieutenant, are you or are you not aware that the second world war ended seventy years ago?" questioned Richardson. However the manner in which he spoke it made the words sound more like a statement than any kind of actual query.

"...Ye-"

"You are also then aware that for every loss we suffered, we repaid them two, ten, twenty, a hundred fold?"

"Y-!"

"That we smashed their war machine so completely that they were forced to resort to some of the most desperate tactics seen in recent history to even make us bleed for our domination over them?"

Pennsylvania had been about to speak a pitiful acknowledgement, but was silenced by Richardson's furious gaze.

"That you are fully aware that the Japanese are of absolutely no threat to anyone but the Abyssal Fleet and your own desperate hatred."

"I know that, you loathsome man!"

And with those words, Pennsylvania felt herself break.

A twist sound of grief tore its way from her throat as she collapsed to her knees, the admission of truth too heavy to bear. The supports of a hatred so potent buckled and were pulled away.

"I know that!"

Richardson stood from his desk and walked around it to where Pennsylvania lay.

"But the screams. The burning. Being struck by debris that was once a pair of destroyers just resting there peacefully." She drew a ragged breath and cradled her head in her hands. She did not dare try to look away from a point in the distance only she could see. "Ari was safe and sound one moment. And then the next, she's gone. A giant ball of fire where she used to be."

"They killed her. They killed everyone."

She froze when a hand rested upon her shoulder. But she couldn't see beyond the fire to hurl it away.

"I swear, you two are so alike it's frightening." Richardson's voice eked its way through the smoke, blood, and fires consuming Pennsylvania's world. Just enough for her to recognize it, but little more. "And I'm not just talking about your looks."

Pennsylvania blinked, but did not look away from the carnage playing in her mind.

"Ari's an angry woman. Angry and hurt. She couldn't get more than five minutes of sleep before the nightmares started up when she returned. You want to know what demons haunt her, then ask her. I won't betray what I know." Richardson paused before tightening his grip on the battleship's shoulder.

"But she's never stopped thinking about that morning. Not even once. Those scars aren't ever going away."

Pennsylvania turned and slapped away Richardson's hand. How dare he. How dare this ignorant-!

"She had the life of Kaga in her hands and no one would have blinked if she'd told her kill to herself. She could have left Hiei to die instead of pulling out every stop she could to save her."

"I know that! You did something. You had to have! There's no way..." Her hollow accusations died on her tongue as she thought back to what she had seen. Seen and tried to ignore. Ignore so she could continue feeding the beast.

Arizona smiling and laughing.

Working alongside others with ease.

Raging about inappropriate dress.

Her dear little sister, scarred and tormented, living the new life she had been given.

"But... how?"

"How, what?"

"How does she deal with it?" Pennsylvania turned a pathetic and broken face to the Admiral. And in that moment, she hated him more than anything in the world. But still, she awaited an answer.

"Dunno. One step at a time? The fleet of stuffed warships she sleeps with? The teasing from Mutsu or one of Jane's crazy ideas?" Richardson shrugged as if he knew the answer but refused to spill.

"I hate you."

"You and so many others, Pennsy."

"Don't call me that."

"Too bad. Now get out of my office. I have work to do." Pennsylvania glared at him with everything she could muster as she stood from the floor.

"Am I to understand I am going to be punished, sir?" asked the warship when she had managed to regain her footing. She could have simply walked out and left it at that, but she did not want to leave any loose ends. At least no more than there already were.

"Unquestionably." The man smiled in a dark manner that was eerily fitting on him. "Upon completion of this mission or prior to deployment, whichever is doable, you are to provide snacks for all personnel being deployed."

"You cannot be serious."

"Homemade. And don't even think about making separate batches for the Japanese girls."

"How is that a punishment!?"

Richardson's smile turned into a grin.

"What better punishment for hate is there than to do something kind?"

Pennsylvania, once more, had no good response for that.


	155. Chapter 116: Trollbote

**Chapter 116: Trollbote**

Sarah Gale fell asleep with the most beautiful battleship-who-was-also-a-girl cradled protectively in her arms.

It was a very strange feeling, Wash was a hair taller than her, significantly curvier, and in noticeably better shape. And was also the living incarnation of thirty-five thousand tons of fighting American steel. She could kill everyone in the house—hell, probably everyone in the whole damn _city_ —without breaking a sweat if she wanted. And she'd snuggled up in Gale's embrace like a puppy, completely content to put her entire well-being in Gale's hands.

The sailor knew the battleship didn't like being alone, shipgirls of her weight class were notorious for sleeping in clumps. But still… _she_ was just a human. Flesh and blood next to fire and steel. And the battleship had trusted _her_ to watch over her dreams. To escort her through her most vulnerable hours.

It was a truly humbling experience. Of course, it didn't hurt that Wash was _really_ soft. And that her hair smelled faintly of teak and saltwater. And that her breasts felt even softer without a bra in the way. And that she'd spent the whole night slowly grinding that rounded American aft against Gale. The sailor wasn't sure if Wash was doing it on purpose, or if it was a natural consequence of the tiny bed and Wash's shipgirl nature and excessive curviness.

She just knew that she liked it.

But, when Gale slipped from sleep into the walking dream she was living in, Wash had left. The battleship had probably gone to help fix breakfast, or maybe just watch the rain. She liked watching rain. Gale didn't really know why, but there was something adorable about the contented little smile on those regal features when she watched a Washington drizzle.

The sailor wasn't alone though.

A tiny figure, barely a few inches tall, with stumpy limbs barely more than nubs and a minute face dominated by two beady black eyes stood on her collarbone. He—she assumed it was a he, but the little faerie's figure was so squished it was impossible to be sure—wore itty-bitty khaki fatigues, and what looked like an overweight Garand was cradled in his equally miniature arms.

"Um…" Gale blinked. "Hi."

The faerie brought up a hand—or what she assumed was a hand. His tiny arm just kinda… ended in a little nub. Didn't seem to have any problem holding his rifle though—to his ill-fitting helmet in a salute.

"Okay," Gale coughed, and felt something poke her in the chest. Someone had apparently setup machine gun emplacements on her breasts. Tiny sandbags surrounded chibi-versions of browning Machine guns, inadvertently doing a better job of stuffing her bra than Gale'd ever done, which annoyed her more than it should. There was even a flagpole stuck into her belly button with a few miniature mortars setup around it..

Another dozen or so Marine faeries milled around on her body. Some manned the machine-gun emplacements on her chest, while others cleaned their itty-bitty rifles, smoked cigarettes the size of a pencil lead, or brewed up miniature carafes of coffee.

Gale blinked.

Yup, still there.

"Guys?" Gale inched up onto her elbows, careful not to send the machine gunners toppling. As far as anyone knew, it was impossible to actually _kill_ these guys. But they had a lot of (miniature) firepower, and Gale'd learned to respect Marines of all sizes. "What're you doing?"

The first Marine—who Gale could only assume was some kind of officer. If he wore _any_ rank it was too tiny to see—glared at her, then waved a stumpy arm at the fortifications.

"I know _that_ ," Gale sighed. "But… Wash put you up to this, didn't she."

A teeny tiny noise in the affirmative wafted up from the little Marine.

Gale smirked. Even when Wash wasn't around, the battleship was looking out for her. Although what felt like an ammo cache stuffed into her left bra cup was sort of overkill. "Guys?"

The marines looked over with mute acknowledgement.

"My tits are not an ammo dump."

She'd never _seen_ anyone look quite so crestfallen. The officer waved his tiny little arms, and a handful of grunts slung their squished little Garands and trudged up her tummy to retrieve their cached munitions. Gale tried not to laugh as two of them lifted up her shirt while the rest ducked under the thin gray fabric and pried crates of itty-bitty 30-06, pineapple grenades, and mortar rounds the size of thumb tacks out of her bra. It ticked something fierce, but… at the same time it was something she could get used to.

They _were_ Wash's Marines after all. According to Colonel Solette, faeries were an extension of the shipgirl's body, like an immune system. The battleship was essentially feeling her up.

It might not make total medical sense, but Gale was too happy to really care. "Guys?"

The Marines halted their efforts and pivoted their squished little faces towards her.

"You, uh…" Gale blushed. "Are gonna give Wash a full report, right?"

The officer nodded.

"Good." Gale giggled, and let Wash's Marines finish their work while trying very hard not to think of all the interesting things they could be used for. They'd almost finished when a loud growl from her stomach almost sent the flagpole tumbling down, luckily one of the quicker Marines managed to retrieve it instants before the tiny fabric would've touched her skin.

"Nice save."

The Marine saluted, and his comrades quickly folded up the flag and stowed it with the rest of their gear in a little pile on the bedside table.

"You guys hungry?" Gale idly drummed her fingers against her belly. She might have stuffed herself on Christmas, but she could smell her mother's trademark cinnamon rolls from her bed. And bacon. And sausage. And warm pancakes. And Wash. All things which made her mouth water—although in the case of Wash, for totally different reasons.

The Marines stared back at her with inscrutable little faces.

Gale blinked. "Do you guys even eat?"

Another round of quiet stares.

"Well…" Gale coughed, and pulled herself to her feet. "I do."

After a moment to police a few flyaway hairs and make sure her bra was on straight—Wash wasn't the only one who'd gotten some close torpedo-bulge inspection last night—she grabbed a mostly-empty box of Lego. She wadded a folded-up blanket into the bottom to give them some padding. "Hop in, I'll take you to Wash."

The Marines silently discussed among themselves, then allowed Gale to pluck each up by his tiny webbing and place him gently in the box. It was just shallow enough for them to peek over, and by the time she had them all in they'd already setup a few machine guns. It seemed unnecessary, but she couldn't fault their devotion to duty.

And it was _really_ damn cute.

Gale smirked, tucked the box under her arm, and set course for breakfast at flank speed. The smell of fresh, home cooked food was so overpowering Gale almost didn't notice Wash sitting happily in front of a mountain of pancakes the size of her own sizable chest. Almost.

"Hey Wash," Gale smiled a sleepy, blissful simle at the battleship. "Found something of yours."

Wash smiled back, and dipped that queenly face of hers in polite recognition. "I hope they kept you safe."

Gale nodded, and giggled as the Marines dismounted and started hauling a pancake towards their box. It took a solid dozen of them working together, Mama Gale considered any pancake less than a foot in diameter to be basically communist. And that's before she stuffed them with chocolate chips and blueberries.

"You guys need help?" Gale smirked and helped herself to a few.

The Marine officer glared at her, then tore a chunk off the pancake with his tiny K-BAR and scarfed it down defiantly.

"Whatever you say," the sailor held her hands up in mock surrender.

"Sarah."

Gale's heart leaped. She still hadn't quite gotten used to Wash calling her by her first name. It was really nice though. Wash's voice wasn't quiet, but the smooth way her words flowed was like watching glassblowers. Elegant and smooth, but burning with a brilliant heat all the same. "E-eh?"

Wash didn't say anything. She just leaned over and snuggled against the sailor's shoulder.

It would've been a picture-perfect moment, one Gale wouldn't have minded living the rest of her life in. So, naturally, her mother had to run it.

"You two are so cute together!" Gale's mother shoved a smartphone under their noses and snapped off a flurry of photographs.

"MA!"

Wash just smirked.

"You know, she insisted on helping make dinner," said Gale's mother. "Wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Uh…" Gale blushed. She was amazed someone had beaten down her mother's need to be the perfect host. Even battleships quivered in fear of a Southern mother's hospitality. But she knew, she just _knew_ something embarrassing was coming.

"Said she wanted practice," said Gale's mother.

Wash nodded.

"For when you're knocked up with my grandkids."

Wash smirked, and ducked down to nuzzle Gale's belly with her nose.

"MAAAA!" Gale's blush reached levels never before thought possible. Her mother just howled with laughter, and even Wash's normally serene visage was split with a hearty giggle. Good lord, they'd learned to work together. "I hate all of you," mumbled the sailor.

"You too, dear," Gale's mother kissed the sailor's head and shoved a wad of apple-smoked bacon in her mouth. "Now eat up! Both of you."

The marines glanced up.

"You too, dearies."

The marines nodded, and went back to slowly nibbling the pancake away.

—|—|—

On a normal day, working aboard the floating museum that was the USS _Iowa_ was a dream given form. She was an old ship—one of the oldest still around, now that Big T'd shown up—but she's aged with the grace of a grand old lady. Her lines were still long and sleek, her hull looked lighting-fast even sitting at anchor, and her compartments didn't show a hint of her age.

They were cramped, of course. And dingy. And often poorly lit. And had a pungent smell of salt, fuel oil, and sweat. But they didn't show a hint of the decades _Iowa_ 'd spent napping in the LA sun. Even deep in her bilges, there wasn't a spec of rust on her ancient steel, nor a drop of corrosion or degradation in the miles of wire spun though her hull like a corset's boning.

She was a grand old lady, but she could've been half her age. She looked just as good as the day she first slipped into mothballs. Better, if some of the older docents were telling the truth.

Even now, with most of her machinery and electronics given to her little sisters, she was beautiful. And she always found ways to give just a little bit more. Caches of crucial repair parts—fuses that hadn't been built in half a century, fire-control gearing from the age of the mechanical computer, even boiler parts for her eight mighty fireboxes—that'd slipped though the cracks of decades of bureaucracy kept cropping up in forgotten storerooms just when they were needed most.

Documents pointing to whole warehouses of shells, unmixed powder, and barrel liners were found tucked away in the backs of office drawers and wedged between desks. And every so often, when the sun had _just_ gone down, you might catch a glimpse of a woman standing on the fantail, looking wistfully at the twilight glow.

Jake Ryan knew it was _Iowa_ herself. No human woman was that tall or that… built. But he never saw her for more than an instant, and never from closer than a few hundred feet away. Iowa was still bound to her hull, but she was still fighting in spirit.

Of course, things on the Big Stick weren't always great. Ever since the rally last year, he'd started noticing _hats_ cropping up in the weirdest of places.

At first, he assumed it'd just been leftovers from the rally. Someone must've brought a case of the simple red caps to hand out, and a gust of wind or something had blown a few away or something. Simple.

And then he found one perched jauntily on the captain's chair for three days in a row.

And _then_ , Iowa had apparently decided to start trolling him like the mischievous little imp she was. Every day there'd be another hat sitting happily in some hard-to-reach but easy-to-see place.

And Ryan, as the youngest and spriest volunteer aboard, was _always_ the one who had to go fetch them. Which would be fine, except he wasn't a huge fan of heights.

And Iowa had decided today's hat would be perched at the very top of her mast, right where one of her radars had been before it'd been donated to _Missouri._

"Iowa," Ryan huffed, and stared up—and up. And up. And uuuuup—at the battleship. "Why you do this?"

The quiet sound of water lapping against the battlewagon's slender hull was his response. Ryan swore it sounded like mocking laughter.

* * *

 **Omake by Nicholas**

"Hello, folks! Welcome to the battleship _Iowa_. Is this your first time visiting? Well then, thanks for coming to see us."

Jake Ryan listened with only half an ear to his fellow volunteer welcoming new guests onto the ship. He finally got that last damn hat down and collapsed exhausted on a bench by the quarterdeck. At least the canopy gave him some shade, even if he had to listen to whomever was on quarterdeck watch welcome all the guests to the ship.

"Yeah, he's just a little tired; we've got a very dedicated group of volunteers on this ship always hard at work to make your visit enjoyable, but even they need some rest once in a while."

Jake snorted in amusement and pulled his hat down over his eyes. _Make their visit enjoyable_ —yeah right. Making their visit hat-free was more like it.

"You're going to be on a self-guided tour. Just follow the yellow arrows and they'll take you all around the ship. Watch your head and watch your step, especially when going through the hatches and on the ladders. The ship does like to reach out and trip people sometimes; we think she finds it funny."

The idea that Iowa herself thought it funny to trip people had gained a lot of traction as of late, especially as the people falling were the least in danger of permanent damage. A ninety-year-old veteran with a wobbly gait and bad hip could make his way through the whole tour—up six flights of stairs and down six flights of stairs—no problem, but a pair of twenty-year-olds would inevitably trip on something and go sprawling. At first some made the argument that it was because the older guest, more aware of the danger, would be more careful than the younger. No one made that argument anymore.

"If you have a camera, take all the pictures you want. We have a little intro video here to tell you a bit about who we are and why we're so awesome, and enjoy!"

The volunteer manning quarterdeck sat back down with a huff. "Sorry," he said, as though he had to apologize for interrupting Jake so he could do his job. "You were saying?"

"Yeah, it was all the way up on Spot _One_ ," Jake picked his story up right where he left off. Those damned hats popped up a lot of places, but for one to suddenly appear on the O-12 level was a bit much.

The other volunteer shook his head. He may have been newish to the ship, but he was throwing himself in as much as he could. "That's all the way up there, isn't it?" he asked, leaning out from the awning to look up at the highest point on the ship. Jake got a glimpse of the volunteer's name badge as he did so. How did someone with a first name as simple as _Nick_ get a last name that was so unpronounceable? "How did you get it down from there?"

" _I_ didn't, thankfully. I'm one of Gunny's Junior Jarheads; there's no way they'd let me up that high." Nick nodded. One of the tour leads, a retired gunnery sergeant, helped run a junior Marine ROTC at the local high school, and many of the cadets also volunteered on the ship. But no matter how trusted Jake was, there was no anyone would let a high schooler climb twelve stories above the main deck to retrieve a hat. "Ops took care of it. They're the main ones on hat patrol—the hard to reach ones, anyway."

"Seems like that has become almost the only thing they do," Nick replied. "It's not like the ship seems to need much upkeep."

"You've noticed that too?"

Nick pointed to the salmon-colored building just two berths away from _Iowa_ 's bow, on the other side of the fireboat station. "I used to volunteer at the L.A. Maritime Museum, and I watched from that dock as they towed _Iowa_ into the harbor. I was one of the first tourists to come on board; I remember how it looked then. So much of this deck was rotted that much of the tour route was covered in plywood, and now it's all brand-new teak? That and the curator always seems to be finding documents everywhere; ship's plans here, an overlooked warehouse there. Either this museum has unlimited funding and volunteers, or something weird is going on."

Jake blinked. It was only Nick's fifth day on the ship and he just joined two weeks ago; he watched it come into the harbor years ago? "You were here when it first arrived? Why did you wait until now to join up?"

"I grew up here, but went to college in Virginia. After I got my masters the wife and I decided to move back here and I started volunteering." The other volunteer shrugged, then continued, "But stop changing the subject; just what is going on on this ship?"

Jake hesitated; dare he share his suspicions? "You know those 'spirits' in the news lately," he said cautiously, "the ones that are apparently ships manifesting as women?"

Nick nodded. "You think _Iowa_ is manifesting as well?"

Jake hesitated again. "You ever see a woman just hanging around? Tall, well built—"

"Sunglasses and big blond hair?" Nick smiled at the look on Jake's face. "Yeah, I've seen her around. The first time, I was sweeping the ship at the end of the day and I thought she was a guest still on board. Wound up chasing her around the entire ship, but finally gave up when I saw a painting of her and figured it was Iowa's spirit."

Now Jake really sputtered. "A painting?! What painting?"

"You know that painting in the damage control berthing? The one that says 'Repairing and Daring'?"

"R-Division? Yeah, but that's a big flag."

"But there's a picture next to it, of what it looked like before we had to paint the flag over it. Sure below the waist is a mermaid, but everything else was a spitting image."

Jake blinked and then slowly started shaking his head. "I'll be darned, it was here all along…"

"Excuse me!" Nick and Jake looked up and turned to the guest who had called to them. "Did someone lose their hat?"

Both volunteers followed the guest's pointed finger, and saw the bright red hat sitting jauntily atop Mount 51. As one, the two muttered in frustration, "Iowa."

As Jake stood up and as Nick picked up the radio, the sound of the ship straining at the ropes tying her to the dock was Iowa's only reply.


	156. Chapter 117: Reunion

**Chapter 117: Reunion**

Everyone had their pre-battle rituals. From steelhull sailors, to Marines, to ships who were also nominally girls, despite a frankly terrifying inability to girl properly, everyone was trying to sooth the pre-mission jitters as best they could.

Sailors aboard _Mustin_ , _Fitzgerald_ , and _Evens_ were double-, tripe-, and quadruple-checking every weapon, system, and weld aboard.

Buck-toothed ratings in coke-bottle glasses squinted at their consoles, coaxing function out of magic-jammed electronics with computer-wizardry of their own. Deep in the magazines, ordnance techs lavished every missile with the kind of in-depth attention every girl dreams of.

On the _Bonnie Dick_ , Marines zeroed rifles and boresighted tank canons. Helo drivers went over every inch of their whirlybirds with a fine toothed comb, and Harrier pilots poured over recognition charts and armor diagrams. Nobody had ever fought the Abyssals on land and lived to tell the tale. Nobody knew what the monsters could do. Once again, the United States Marine Corps would be charging valiantly where no man had gone before, to seek out new live and smite it.

Back ashore, the taffies, plus Poi and Fubuki and the Duckies—although apparently _they_ had to be coerced at gunpoint into participating—had consumed their own bodyweight in sugar products, and passed-out in a hallway halfway though some stupid-ass Jap cartoon about drills or something. There _was_ a reasonably attractive sniper chick that Jersey idly considered asking Bowers to help her cosplay as, but that was a thought for another time.

Arizona and Pennsylvania were running laps around the base to work their boilers up and loosen up their ancient turbines a bit. Jersey couldn't quite blame them. Arizona at least had next to no combat time at sea, and even Pennsy spent most of the war hating islands into oblivion.

But the Iowa couldn't get over how cute the short, plump little standards looked when they ran. They looked like fat corgis with those tiny little legs flailing in a desperate attempt to move faster than a gentle stroll. It wasn't graceful, but it _was_ adorable as fuck. And… the standards' slow gait did _interesting_ things to their overbuilt upperworks.

Jersey knew Arizona was the single most sacred ship—probably the single most sacred _thing_ —ever built by human hands. But she also knew the plump Standard had an _amazing_ rack that did… _amazing_ things when she ran.

Yes, Jersey was fully aware of how desperately she needed to get laid, but hopefully kicking the everliving shit out of some Nazis would make her feel better. Jersey's only knowledge of sex came from hazy memories her blushing crew struggled to hide from her, but she couldn't imagine it felt better than beating fascists/communists into a bloody pulp.

Frisco and the other cruisers had gotten takeout—ah, the benefits of having a cruiser-sized metabolism. It was _just barely possible_ for the three of them to order out—and cuddled under a Kotatsu to watch a _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ - _The Last Crusate_ double feature. Jersey'd been worried Prinz Eugen wouldn't handle brawling against the Nazi abyssal very well. She needn't have bothered, judging by the adorably excited giggles, Prinz Eugen hated Nazis even more than she did, and enjoyed watching them die like any red-blooded American should.

Kongou had gone off to do… something with her sister. Jersey was pretty sure it involved tea, or some sort of tea-related activity. Kongou was the most damn British battleship to ever British, but Jersey wasn't going to look too closely into the matter. After she'd lost her own sister, she knew how important time alone with Hiei would be to Kongou. And… Jersey had learned the best way to preserve what sanity she had left was to was to not think about whatever Kongou was up to too much.

The base smelled of scones and colonialism, which was all Jersey cared to know.

Even girls not taking part in the operation were wound tighter than Musashi's tiddybandages. Shimakaze had been zipping around the base so fast she started to red-shift, Jintsuu was frantically making sure everyone had enough snacks and suntan lotion to endure the subtropical sun, and even normally even-keeled Mutsu was twitchier than Nagato in a hamster shop.

When she wasn't in Richardson's office, clutching armfuls of recon photos to her annoyingly-filled-out pagodas and nervously swishing her microskirt, she was touring the base defenses and inspecting every last shore battery and missile emplacement.

Jersey's considered opinion that Richardson needed to fuck the jitters clear out of her—and yes, she was aware of how hypocritical that sounded. It was a matter of operational readiness, though, nothing more. That she had fifty bucks riding on Mutsu winning Richardson's ring had nothing whatsoever to do with it. They would make an adorable-as-fuck couple though. And Nagato melting down over her sister's kids would be _priceless._

But Jersey pushed that thought to the back of her mind where such errant thoughts as her own desire to have babies/get the jitters fucked out of her/eat pie lived. She had her own preparations to finish. She was commander in the United States Navy now. She had an entire fleet resting on her shoulders, she had duties beyond her own petty desires. And she'd be dammed if she screwed up again.

The big battleship lazily bit off a hunk of donut. She'd dropped by Krispy Kreme with Ari, intending to buy six dozen each. But Ari ate all of hers on the ride back, and Jersey couldn't say no those eyes and let the standard have half of hers.

Luckily, she had enough stale coffee to sustain her though an hours-long intel binge. Spy satellites steadfastly refused to work over China—or almost anywhere else for that matter. At best you'd get a grainy, blurry mess. At worst, nothing at all.

But the CIA had supplied a few aerial recon photos taken by an aircraft they steadfastly refused to identify, and several thousand pages of explanatory analysis. The latter of which Jersey was very thankful for, because some of the pictures looked more like the moon than the Chinese coast.

There was an almost perfect twenty-mile scar stretching from the beaches inland. Everything living had been burned away, and everything left had been scoured into a burning hellscape by what Jersey could only _hope_ was shell fire.

"M-miss Jersey?" A quiet, timid voice squeaked out from the door behind her. A voice too shy and weak to be the ever-cheery Jane Richardson. A voice that could only belong to one ship Jersey knew.

"Yeah?" Jersey sipped her rancid coffee. "sup, Shinny?"

"Can I come in?" said the carrier.

"Yeah," Jersey glanced over. "What u— Shinny, what the _fuck!_ "

Shinano was dressed for bed—which seemed reasonable given the hour—in purple footie pajamas with little cat ears on the hood. Which was exactly as fucking adorable as it sounded, but that wasn't what startled fifty-eight-thousand tons of mobile American diplomacy. No, what sent Jersey's mind to a crashing halt was the generous bulge straining the fabric around Shinano's bustline.

"S-sorry," Shinano shuffled her feet and tried to make herself as small as her enormous frame would allow.

"Yamaflat…" Jersey's mouth never quite closed as she stared at the carrier's bulging chest. "You're… stacked!"

"'know," mumbled Shinano.

"Why the _fuck_ did you never tell me?" Jersey planted her hands on her own chest, mentally sizing up the massively chesty Japanese warship against herself. Yet another Jap who beat out her humble double-Ds. Asians were supposed to be fucking flat, this wasn't fucking fair at all!

Shinano mumbled something into her pajamas and blushed a bright red.

"Eh?" Jersey cocked her head to the side. "Hit me with that again, Shinny."

The carrier gulped, and struggled to pull her face out of the protective softness of her fleece pajamas. "'s… 's not carrierly," she mumbled."

Jersey gave Shinano a flat look. "Well no fucking _shit_. You're not a carrier."

Shinano froze. Her gaze locked on the battleship's, and behind her thick glasses her eyes started to tear up. "B-bu… Bu…"

"Shinny…" Jersey sighed, and wrapped her arm around the carrier's surprisingly stout shoulder. "You got cables on both ends."

The littlest Yamato blinked. "S-so?"

"There's _precious fucking few_ carriers who can even _survive_ taking an AP bomb to the deck," said Jersey. "White tells me you tanked a blow that would've sent Lil' E to the bottom."

"W-well," Shinano blushed, and started crying into Jersey's chest for lack of anything better to do.

"And," Jersey smirked. "You fucking got a strike off regardless. You ain't a carrier, you're a goddamn fortress."

"Y-you," Shinano sniffed. "Really think so?"

"Shinny," Jersey rolled her eyes. "I'd sink a fucking island before I knocked you outta the fight."

"T-tha's…" Shinano blushed, and cried some more.

"You wanna donut?"

Shinano didn't get to answer. The moment she opened her mouth, a donut was inserted with some force. So instead, the carrier contented herself with nomming quietly.

"There," Jersey ruffled Shinano's raven black hair. "Better?"

"Yuhsh," Shinano nodded, then swallowed. "What're you working on?"

"Intel shit," said Jersey. "Nobody fucking knows what's going on in mainland China."

Shinano glanced over the recon photos and paled. "O-oh," she cradled what was left of her donuts close to her chest. "W-what happened?"

"That?" Jersey glanced at the picture Shinao was staring at. "Oil fire. Probably. Wisky saw something like that in the gulf, only not nearly so bad."

"The rest? I don't fucking know." Jersey sighed, and hooked her thumbs over the wide leather of her gunbelt. "Not really, after the war started it was chaos. We lost three decks in four hours… we were reeling."

"Mmm?" Shinano nodded.

"But the ChiComs…" Jersey made sure to clarify. She hated Chinese _Communists_. Regular Chinese people were okay in her book. Their food was _delicious_ , and Bruce Lee was the fucking Iowa-class of people. "They fought like hell."

"We had oceans between us and the Abyss," said Jersey, "Even Japan was relatively isolated. But the PRC was in the thick of it from the first shot." She let a growling sigh slip past her lips. "The PLAN's gone you know. Dead. to a man."

Shinano nodded solemnly.

"Hell, most of the PLAAF's gone too." The battleship scowled. "Fucking… fought a delaying action all the way to the shore. Traded destroyers for minutes… frigates for seconds… Got everyone inland they could."

For a moment, the two warships stared quietly at the recon photos. Then Jersey found her voice again.

"Goddamn, I hate communists," she said. "I hate the godless bastards with every fucking bulkhead in my body and I always will. But that…" she pointed angrily at the table. "That was fucking _magnificent._ I can't fucking believe I'm saying it, but… I'm gonna avenge those commie bastards."

Shinano stiffened her spine, and with a still, small voice so quiet Jersey could barely hear it, said a single word. "We."

Jersey smiled, and ruffled the carrier's hair. "So you are a Yamato after all."

—|—|—

Battleship Musahsi tapped a pencil to her pursed lips and stared at her notebook. Convoy duty in the North Pacific was cold, and—for her—monotonous work.

There were precious few surface ships afloat that could tangle with a battleship of her caliber, and no admiral would be foolish enough to commit such a mighty force to mere convoy raiding. As long as Musashi was attached to the convoy, it was safe from the surface. But Musashi was humble enough to admit she was useless at best when it came to fighting off threats from above or below the ocean.

That was the job of the destroyers and escort carriers, and Musashi was proud to be able to watch the little hellions tear into even threatening-looking echos. Musashi was unbeatable on the surface, but her skills were niche at best. These little destroyer-escorts and miniature carrier did the unglamours work that fueled the engine of war. Musashi was humbled to be in their presence.

And, while she'd be the first to admit her presence in the convoy fleet was incredibly boring, it gave her a good opportunity to study, and she intended to seize that opportunity like it was an Iowa's quad-shafted stern.

Battleship Musashi had sunken once. She would not sink again.

"White?" Musashi pursed her lips and squinted at her notes. "Are you busy?"

"Nu-uh," White shook her little head with a sunny smile. "What's up?"

"Um," Musashi felt her tongue dry in her mouth. She was a battleship of the first order. She was built to shrug off immense punishment and continue the fight. But she wasn't _American._ She had limits to what she could do. "Are you _sure_ I shouldn't counter-flood?"

"Are you going to capsize if you don't?" asked White with a cheery smile.

Musashi crossed her arms and tensed the muscles sliding under her chocolate skin. "No," she admitted.

"Then no," White nodded. "Reserve buoyancy is _really_ important. Pump _out_ , don't suck _in._ "

"Out…" Musashi scribbled down the little carrier's wise words, "Not… in… Are you sure?"

"Mmm!" White nodded.

"But—" Musashi bit back the urge to thunder with rage. This went contrary to everything she was taught, everything she _knew_ was true. But… but she was talking to an American. The nation that'd squeezed two weeks of repair work into two days, the nation that'd birthed _Enterprise_ , the carrier who simply refused to die. What _she_ knew about damage control was the tiniest thimble compared to the limitless ocean of American knowledge.

But still, Musashi had questions. She wanted to learn. "But… without a stable gunnery platform, I won't be able to fight as well."

"So?" White shrugged.

Musashi blinked. "W-white. If I can't use my rifles… It's the only thing I'm good at."

White nodded. "Yeah, you're good at it. A little list on the surface is better than an even keel on the bottom."

Musashi opened her mouth to respond, then quickly closed it again. The little carrier had a point. Musashi hadn't thought of it like that before. In her mind, damage control was something done only to retain combat effectiveness. Then again… her nation had _lost_ the first time around.

The battleship fought back her temper, and bowed to the tiny carrier. "Thank you, White."

—|—|—

Doctor Crowning was deep into an incredibly thick, incredibly musty book written in incredibly fine print when he heard a knock on his door. It wasn't a knock he recognized, either. It wasn't the brief musical tap of Kongou, the lazy rap of Gale, or the frantic hammering of the destroyers. He had to admit, it intrigued him far more than reading yet another account of a half-forgotten myth in the hopes that it'd spark some connection.

Besides, he'd been working for hours. A little break to refresh his mind couldn't hurt. "Come in."

The door swung open to reveal a study in contradictions. Kirishima, a pretty girl who was also the living incarnation of a titanic battleship stood smiling in the doorway. Her face wore bright smile, but her cheeks were streaked with tears and a full carton of ice cream was cradled under each arm. "Um. Hi."

"Kirishima," Crowning smiled at her, and motioned for her to take a sit. "Haven't seen you come by before."

"Yes," Kirishima reached to push her glasses up, then remembered both hands were occupied with her chilly desert and settled on repeatedly scrunching her nose. "Right. You haven't."

"Something I can do for you?" asked Crowning. The professor could tell something was wrong with the littlest Kongou, even if her class _was_ notoriously hard to read. But she _was_ a battleship, she needed support to be at her best, weather that meant a screening destroyer flotilla or a shoulder to cry on.

"Well…" Kirishima sized up an unoccupied chair for a moment, then settled into it. "I've been… My data states you give very good head pats."

Crowning chuckled. At least he was known for something in the battleship world. "Would you like some?"

"Yes please." Kirishima leaned towards him, and he obliging started scratching her startlingly soft hair. The battleship smiled, and a quiet noise of contentment slipped though her pursed lips. It wasn't quite the gentle purr that Jersey gave him, but it was clear the battleship was happier. Which made him happy.

"What's on your mind?"

"N-nothing," said Kirishima as she carved out a huge scoop of cookie-dough ice cream.

Crowning rolled his eyes. "You came in here with two cartons of ice cream."

Kirishima's gaze went slack, and Crowning almost heard the woosh and click of mechanical computer gearing and slide rules. "Right," she blushed. "I… I did."

"So," Crowning scooted his chair closer to get a better angle on the battleship's hair. "What happened?"

"S-something wonderful," Kirishima scooped herself a massive helping of ice cream with her bare hand and smashed it into her face. "W-wash ah' Gale ah lovahs."

The professor found a spoon hiding in the forgotten corners of his desk and handed it to her. His own opinion on the yeoman's romantic exploits tended along the lines of 'about damn time'. But he swallowed any comment before it could find a voice. Kirishima was obviously upset, and he'd rather not make her any worse.

Luckily, Kirishima took his silence as permission to continue her tale. "I— I'm really happy for them. I really am." "And yet…" Crowning waved to the carton Kirishima was cradling protectively against her chest.

Kirishima straightened her glasses, took in a deep breath, and promptly started bawling into his lap. "Why couldn't it be _meeeee_!" she cried. "She's so pretty and I wanted it to be us!"

The professor sighed, and gently ran a hand though the battleship's short hair. "Kirishima… I'm… I don't really know what to say." He'd picked up on the littlest's Kongou's infatuation with the serene American, but that was nothing but subtext next to the obvious love Gale had for her.

"I… I know she loves Gale," said Kirishima. "But… but… our babies would've been _so cute!_ " The battleship sniffed. "H-have you seen the way her stern shakes when she puts on her skirt?"

"I…" Crowning tried not to think about the way Jersey's stern swooshed when she did _anything._ "I can't say I have."

"It's so pretty," moaned Kirishima. "But… but I'm…" she sniffed. "I'm so happy for her. I just… I don't know what to do."

Crowning bit his lip. Watching the littlest Kongou's conundrum felt eerily like watching himself in small Japanese girl form. He hadn't been _that_ head-over-heels for Jersey, had it? "Kirishima?"

"Hmm?"

"I…" Crowning sighed. "I don't know either. There's been thousands of pages by thousands of poets written about this, but not one's found the answer. What you're feeling hurts… but it's normal."

"Mmm," Kirishima scooted closer. "I… thanks."

Crowning moved his hand from the girl's head to cradle her bare shoulder. For such a massive engine of seagoing destruction, she was almost startlingly fragile. But very soft, and warm, and tinged with the smell of the open ocean. "I try."

She giggled. "So…" she wiped her eyes on her billowing sleeve. "W-what are you working on?"

"Honestly…" Crowning glanced at the books littering his desk. "I don't really know."

"Hmm?"

"Something…" The professor sighed. "Something when I was talking about Gale."

Kirishima pushed her glasses up and stared at him. "What?"

"I think the Abyss has an Admiral… or… something. It's more than just a _force_."

"And…" Kirishima glanced at the pile of books. "You're trying to find references?"

"Yeah," Crowning nodded. "Shipgirls are recorded in history as far back as the first century. I can't shake the feeling that there's something I'm missing, but I can't… I can't figure out what it is."

—|—|—

Destroyer _Chin-Yang_ —just 'Yang' to her friends—of the Republic of China Navy—though nowadays, she wasn't sure if she still need the 'republic of' qualifier—couldn't be happier as she steamed up the Taiwanese coast with a pair of _Kee Lung_ -class destroyers in tow.

Her name had been Chin-Yang for three decades before she was finally laid to rest as an artificial reef. It was a name she was proud of, just like she was proud of the country she defended and the people she patrolled the islands with. But it wasn't the name she was born with.

Seventy years ago, she'd been born as _Mullany_. She was one of the vast sisterhood of _Fletcher_ -class destroyers. She'd served the United States with pride for thirty years, and while she'd grown fond of her adoptive Chinese home… she did kinda miss steaming under the stars and stripes. But that wasn't the only reason she was so happy.

She was going to meet two of her sisters. Her _twins._ Hoel and Heermann came from the same yard as Yang. They weren't just sisters, they'd been worked on by the same men, launched from the same slipways. They were closer than any two ships could be.

Well… except Zubian. But that was neither here nor there.

Yang couldn't wait to see them again! Even if they couldn't stop over in Taipei for some milkfish and bubble tea—which tastes _so much better_ than it sounds—just getting to escort them through the strait of Taiwan would be a privilege.

The little Fletcher had to hug herself to keep from squealing in delight. She was _so_ excited!

 _"Yang,"_ Captain Laau, Yang's boss and skipper of the ROCS _Ma Kong_ , chuckled over the radio.

"Yes?" Yang tapped her fingers to her ears, the twin antennas threaded through her ponytail like chopsticks twitching as her radars strained for any sight of the Joint American-Japanese fleet.

 _"They should be just over the horizon,"_ came Laau's easygoing voice. _"You wanna run ahead and say hi?"_

"YES!" squealed Yang. "YESYESYESYES, CAN I?"

 _"Go for it, kid. You've earned it."_

"Thank you, boss!" Yang waved back at the _Ma Kong_ and bolted for the horizon as fast as her turbines could carry her. It was amazing, she felt young and spritely again. After sixty years at sea, she'd almost forgotten what it was like to have fresh new turbines just begging to be put through their paces.

It took her a few seconds to close to visual range, but her smile only got wider when she saw tall masts flying Old Glory proud. Very tall masts. On very… _very_ big ships. After decades with _Kee Lung_ -class ships as the biggest around, Yang had all but forgotten what it was like to steam next to a _real_ monster of the sea.

"Jersey!" Yang waved her little hands for all they were worth as she sprinted towards the massive allied battlegroup. "Jersey! Hoel! Heerman!"

"Holy _Fuck!_ " Jersey's thundering voice was just as rough and rich as Yang remembered, and it made her feel all fuzzing inside just hearing it again. "Mullany! Kiddos, get'er!"

Yang swore she saw rooster tails as Hoel and Heerman slammed their throttles to the firewall and furiously closed the distance. But she couldn't tell for sure because she was crying too hard. The little Fletcher laughed as tears flowed down her smiling face.

It was so, _so_ good to see her twins again. The destroyer threw her rudder hard over, pulling around to form up with Hoel and Heermann and grab them both in a tight hug.

"Mullany!" Hoel beamed, and wrapped her sleeveless arms around Yang's well-tanned little body. "I can't believe it's you!"

"It's good to see you again." Heermann threw herself into the hug.

"T-thanks!" Yang stammered though tears. "B-but… my name's Yang now." She pointed to the bandanna tied around her arm, "I serve the Chinese navy now."

Hoel looked at Heerman.

Heerman looked at Hoel.

"Yeah, I don't care," said Hoel.

"You're our sister," said Heerman.

"You'll _always_ be our sister," said Hoel.

"HUUUUUUUUUGS!" screamed Johnston as she slammed into the little destroyer puddle at flank.

Yang broke down crying again, tears flowing down her chubby cheeks as laughter shook her to the keel. It was so… _so_ nice to have her friends with her again. "T-thanks, Johnston."

Johnston just giggled.

"I know you guys are busy," said Yang. "But you _have_ to come by for lunch sometime."

"Okay!" said Hoel.

"Chinese food's _amazing_ ," said Heermann.

Johnston was too busy squeezing Yang to say anything.

Yang smiled. She'd made lots of friends back in Taiwan. But… none of them were her _family._ "I love you guys."

* * *

 **Omake: One Day Part 1**

 **By LadyPearl**

 _As though securing supplies for Shinano was the only thing Albacore got up to._

 _While "shopping" in Akhibura, Albacore makes a new friend._

It was a sub's heaven. After all the hard work securing Admiral Goto's requested items for Shinano, it was nice for Albacore to have a chance to relax. Her activities with Shinano had been a wonderful practice run but Akhibura was the perfect place to really test her skills. She stepped out of the military transport, offering a grateful wave to the driver before turning to face the building she was dropped off at. A massive shopping mall complex. She rubbed her hands together. Oh this was going to be fun!

3 toy stores and 2 candy shops later, Albacore found herself entering the model section of the mall. She was happily sucking away at her "borrowed" lollipop as she browsed the isles. Ever since the world found out about the existence of kanmusu the sales for these things had gone through the roof, particularly for ships of some historical significance and somewhat not historical as well. So Albacore was quite surprised to see that models of a certain all-black galleon were still present. Mind you, there was only one left and it was in the largest size which made snatching it all the more difficult. But Albacore's hands twitched with longing.

"I do hope for your sake you're actually going to buy that trinket, darling."

Albacore whirled around at said voice, seeing another kanmusu standing there. She was leaning against the wall, one hand resting on the left leg of her blue jeans the other curled under her chin as she gazed at the sub in a thoughtful manner. A white laced blouse and a pair of heeled riding boots completed the picture. The bangs of her light blonde hair was partially held back with a pin, the rest free to fall about her shoulders. A pair of sparkling emerald eyes completed the picture. Albacore could also see her true form. A three masted Dutch-fluyt, swift and heavily armed. But no match for her in a battle.

"Shut your mouth sub or you'll catch bugs in it." She laughed, and held out a hand. "Call me Fly."

"USS Albacore SS-218, call me Albie." Albacore replied, shaking on it.

"Albie it is then." As Fly let go, her other hand came up and ruffled her fauxet. She squawked but the headpatts were nice.

"So admiring the merchandise eh?"

"Just a bit." Albacore admitted.

Fly sighed. "Hand it over." She ordered.

"Wha-?"

"The model set that you have hidden in your pocket. Don't deny it."

Somewhat impressed she had caught that, Albacore sighed and did she was told, pressing the kit into Fly's hand. "Thank you." The Dutch ship sighed. "It's my first time ashore in quite some time and I'd hate for my one day's shore leave to be ruined by some subthief's underhanded trickery."

"I swear to behave myself then." Albacore promised.

"Then can you be a lady and show me around lass. I've never been to Akhibura before."

"Neither have I." Albacore replied.

"Then I guess we'll just have to explore together. Two's better they one they say." She said.

"Aye." Albacore agreed.

Fly offered her hand and Albacore took it, admiring the jewel encrusted rings on three of the fingers. "Don't even think about taking those." Her companion warned without looking down at her.

Despite herself, Albacore shuddered. She was good, she decided. Very good. Her knowledge of where and how the inner subthief would strike suggested she knew a thing or two about such things herself. Maybe with just a little bit of sway, she could, well... Old habits die hard you know.

The two browsed the endless shelves. Albacore turned from her selection of workout gear to see Fly pick out a Star Wars saber from a bucket. She turned it over in her hands, utterly fascinated. She jumped, dropping the weapon in surprise as the blade came out, lighting up. Albacore chuckled. She hesitantly bent down and picked it up again, waving it in front of her as though it was a real sword.

"It's called a lightsaber." Albacore offered. "Though nothing like the real thing it makes for great cosplay."

"What's it based on?" Fly asked.

"A wonderful series known as Star Wars."

Fly's look of confusion only deepened and Albacore pitied her all the more. Good thing momboat New Jersey was having a Star Wars marathon tonight. Speaking of, Albacore grinned. "You need to come back to base with me. We can explore more there and I don't know about you but I'm ready for some grub."

Fly grunted. "Sure that's a good idea lass?" She asked. "When I said I've been away for a while I didn't mean just as a "kanmusu" you call it? Your Admiral doesn't know who I am."

"He won't mind, I'm sure of it." Albacore grinned and Fly thanked Calypso that submarines had no sense of right or wrong. At least she knew Albacore wouldn't turn her in to Admiral Goto for being suspicious.

Another round through the shops and this time all the items taken were paid for. Albacore had no money so Fly offered to pick up the tab. The fluyt came up to the registrar with an armful of trinkets ranging from model sets to Star Wars toy figurines. "Everything on me." She told the cashier.

He began ringing the items up. "Will that be all today ma'am?" He asked.

"I believe so. Albie?"

"I'm good." The sub chirped beside her.

"Yep, that's all lad."

"Then it'll be $450.90."

That was more money than Albacore could make in a week but Fly merely sighed and reached into her pocket, pulling out a single gold coin. She tossed it to him. "Ma'am, I hardly think this is..."

Fly leaned over, a dark aura surrounding her. "It'll suffice and you will let us go with this merchandise, savvy?"

"Y-yes ma'am. H-here you are ma'am." He handed her the goods, wrapped in shopping bags.

"Thanks mate, come along Albie!" Fly called, already walking towards the door. Albacore half-skipped, half-ran to keep up.


	157. Chapter 118: Implying Implications

**Chapter 118: Implying Implications**

Arizona buried her nose in the thick red fabric of her neckerchief and gasped down a breath of the tainted air. Ever since the fleet had pulled up alongside the battered no-mans-land that'd once been the Chinese Coast, the air had taken a turn for the malevolent. Each lungful felt like having ground glass forced down her throat, and the gentle breeze felt like frozen iron against her skin.

The standard hugged herself under her bust, trying to hide her shaking hands from her division mates. She was scared, terrified even. She had been ever since the fleet left the protective umbrella of Chinese F-16s. She kept looking up at the stone-gray sky, bracing herself for a bomb that hadn't—yet—come.

It didn't help that—to minimize the chance of detection on the final dash to the Paracels—the fleet had accelerated to a sixteen knot cruise. Arizona knew that was nothing more than a lazy stroll to her comrades. But to her, it was a stiff jog. Every wave was a bracing reminder of how unsuited her short, plump figure was to maintaining the speeds modern warfare demanded. Every breath drove home how weak and limited her power plant was next to the massive turbines that purred beneath Kongou's toned figure—and the less said about Jersey's truly amazonian build, the better.

Arizona keep at it for some time. She'd left Sasebo with her bunkers filled to the brim with donuts—the standard had decided maintaining her already-pump figure was less important than steaming into battle in good supply. But every knot she pushed past the ten her designed cruise allotted her was a yet greater struggle.

Her bunkers were draining worryingly fast. Her turbines were purring along, but they were working harder for longer than she'd asked of them before. Her short legs were already starting to burn as she pushed herself to keep up with Jersey's lazy stroll.

She was little more than a relic, a monument to a vanished era steaming along ships that could outrun her best possible speed without a second thought. And she felt… alone.

Pennsy was by her side, but beyond hull-form and armament, the two battleships had nothing in common. Arizona was a peace-time warrior. She'd lived her days as a quiet promise that the ravages of war would never again blight the earth, and she'd died in an instant of fire and steel that'd shattered the idly image of American isolationism and forged it anew into resolute fury.

But Pennsy… the standard was less battleship and more incarnation of anger and loss. She'd shot herself to pieces in a vain attempt to avenge Arizona's loss, but every round burning though her rifles only stoked the fire of her desperate hate. Arizona wouldn't—couldn't bring herself to open herself to Pennsy. She wanted to, but she couldn't treat the standard as anything more than a fellow ship under the stars and stripes.

"'Zona?" A rough contralto as friendly as it was uncivilized cut though Arizona's morose introspection.

"Yes?" Arizona tugged her uniform smooth out of habit, and glanced up at the towering Iowa steaming a scant few dozen yards off her beam.

"You doing alright?" Jersey's eyes were hidden by the mirrored lenses of her aviators, but the concern in her voice was all Arizona needed to hear.

"I…" The standard bit her lip and straighten her cover. Or tried to, at least. Her hands were too shaky for her to do it properly, and she scowled as a strand of coppery red hair fell from her bun into her eyes. "No," she admitted.

"Scared?" Jersey hooked her thumbs over the chunky buckle of her thick gunbelt and gave the whole assemblage of tug. Leather and nickel-plated steel jousted over her hips as the battleship settled her revolvers low near her thighs.

Arizona couldn't bring herself to vocalize her answer, it felt like a betrayal to all who'd served aboard her. So she contented herself with a small nod. She expected the big Iowa to snap back with some suitably profane version of "get over it." Or to demand that Arizona live up to her battleship heritage and face the oncoming threat with cool aplomb.

What she didn't expect was for Jersey to put on a melancholy smile and nod slightly. "Believe it or not, I know how you feel."

Arizona raked her gaze past the big Iowa's massive main battery and along the veritable fortress of secondaries and point-defense flak guns strapped to her hips. "You?" was all she could manage to say.

"Mmm," Jersey nodded. "I spent most of my life in the age of the missile, you know." The battleship tugged at her belt again. "You ever hear about the Russian Alfa class?"

Arizona shook her head. The name sounded faintly familiar, but she could tell her towering companion had a story to tell.

"Russian nuke boat," said Jersey. "Hit the water a few years before I joined the six-hundred ship navy. Little commie bitch can do forty-one knots submerged. And it's got wake-homing fish that'll do forty-five."

"That's…" Arizona's voice died in her throat. She'd known technology had advanced since her time. But _Forty knots!_

"And that's not even fucking _considering_ the Shkvals." Jersey growled and tacked a few degrees to port. "Pointy bastards'll do two-hundred with a four-hundred pound nuke in the tip." She scowled. "Or the Mays… or the Bears… or the Moskits… fucking point is, I know what it's like to be scared."

"Jersey," Arizona fought to keep her face at least reasonably impassive. She'd never considered the big Iowas to be so… fallible. Young and immature, yes. Boisterous and lacking in all decorum, of course. But not scared. Never scared. "I… I didn't know."

"Should fucking hope so," said Jersey. "Look, I'm not gonna say you're being stupid or irrational or some shit. 'cause…" The battleship rolled her thick neck with a groan of stressed metal. "You of all people have good reason to be scared of planes."

A tiny, mirthless smile graced the standard's face. "Thank you."

"Look, I know it ain't gonna make your fear go away," said Jersey. "But… you gotta trust we're looking out for ya. You see flatayam over there?" The battleship waved a half-gloved hand at the distant figure of the titanic carrier.

Shinano's gauntleted hand hung by her side, and Arizona couldn't help but notice the carrier wore her breastplate a little looser over her swollen chest. But in contrast to her usual timid nature, her chin was held high and proud. Her shoulders were thrown back and her face wore the milky-eyed stare of a carrier focusing on her planes.

"Yes." Arizona nodded.

"She's spotting Shidens," said Jersey. "Never went up against jets, but they _could_ give Corsairs and 'stangs a run for their money. And _those_ things murdered jets by the fucking hundreds. Mostly when they were low and slow, which…" Jersey gestured angrily at the ocean surface under her sneakers.

"Jersey," Arizona blushed, but her fellow American had gotten too worked up to stop.

"And," said the Iowa. "You've got three murder-happy _Fletchers_ with absolutely no sense of self-preservation whatsoever pulling escort. These stupid fucking shitballs—"

Johnston beamed at the compliment.

"—charged head-first into the biggest fucking guns ever put afloat," Jersey couldn't help but smirk in pride, "on the off chance that they might, fucking _might_ , buy a few minutes for the escort carriers. If Davy Jones wants to add you to his collection, he better bring a fucking _fleet_."

Arizona blushed, and buried her nose in her neckerchief again. "Jersey, that's—"

"Ah!" Jersey waggled a finger at the standard. "Commander, yo. I'm not done yet. You see that lil' steel hull?" The big Iowa waved at the imposing knife-edged silhouette of the USS _McCampell_ with her hastily-applied splinter camouflage.

The _Burke_ was bigger than any destroyer Arizona had ever seen, yet she was still _dwarfed_ by the twin titans of Jersey and Shinano. But her bridge rose like a castle over her sleek hull, and bow sliced though the waves with determination and grit.

"She's a flight-two-alpha boat," said Jersey. "Ninety-fucking-six cells in her VLS. Packed to the fucking _brim_ with RIM-Sixty-sixes, -one-seventy-one ERAMs, and you don't even wanna fucking _know_ how many fucking ESSMs she's got coming out of her ass."

The Iowa wore the kind of cockily bloodthirsty smirk that consisted of nothing but razor-sharp canines that bragging about her fellow comrades under the stars and stripes always elicited. That, and being presented with pie. "Arizona?"

"Hmm?" Arizona forced herself to be the very model of calm grace. Jersey surely wasn't going to rise to the occasion.

"God himself cannot enter our airspace without that destroyer's permission." Said the Iowa. "You are gonna steam right up to that island under a sky of American Iron, and you and your sister are gonna do what you do best and _murder_ those Nazi bastards."

And then, the big Iowa's bombast vanished with a melancholy sigh. Her massive shoulders slumped, and her bloodthirsty smile dropped to a tired slack-jawed stare. "Which doesn't matter, does it?"

Arizona allowed herself a moment to find her composure. It wasn't that she failed to appreciate the Iowa's efforts—nor did she wish to denigrate her escorts, she knew they'd do their jobs to the best of their ability—but… Like Jersey had said, it didn't matter. Arizona still found the very thought of balkenkreuz-bearing planes above her terrifying.

She'd made the mistake of reading her own wikipedia page once. She'd slammed the laptop closed so hard she'd shattered the screen, but it wasn't fast enough. That… image was permanently burned into her brain.

"No," said the standard quietly.

"I know." Jersey's voice was just as quiet, and strangely tender. Arizona found the bigger American abrasive at the best of times. Jersey didn't have a shred of proper manners or decorum in her massive body, she had the social graces of an untamed gorilla, and the demure manners of a rough-cut two-by-four.

But that raw unfinished state cut both ways. When Jersey was being loud and aggressive, she was all but intolerable to be around. But it gave her kinder moments a raw, genuine honesty that Arizona couldn't help but feel comforted by.

Jersey was the least ladylike person Arizona could imagine. Which was all well and good, the standard didn't need a _lady_ , she needed a friend.

"Thank you," Arizona nodded, and quickly glanced away to hide the wetness glassing over her eyes.

"Yeah," Jersey suddenly found one of the thunderheads looming above to be fascinating. "And… fucking… it sucks fucking horsecock to deal with this shit. It sucks even more to deal with it alone."

The big Iowa fished a crumpled up piece of paper from her pocket and thrust it at the standard. "If you ever… fucking…" She scowled. "Just call me, okay? I'm here… uh, if you need me."

Arizona glanced at the paper. Jersey's messy handwriting was all but illegible, but the standard could just make out a phone number scrawled on the back of what looked like a Ramen shop receipt. "Thank you."

"'s least I can do," mumbled Jersey.

"And I appreciate it," said Arizona. "And if ever… you wish to talk…" the standard fished her phone out of her blouse and handed it over. Jane had been very kind and showed her how to enter contact info. "I'm not often asleep."

Jersey fished yet another crumpled receipt from her pocket and scratched down Arizona's number. The older battleship bristled internally at her younger companion's utterly atrocious handwriting, but she managed to contain herself. Jersey might be _younger_ , but she had far more years of active service under her thick gunbelt.

She knew how to _fight_ , where Arizona knew only how to look pretty during peacetime. And while the standard was loathe to admit it… for all her crass impropriety, Jersey was smarter than she looked. She was certainly more experienced, and… Arizona was forced to concede that her pride may perhaps have gotten the better of her.

"Jersey?"

"Whattup?"

Arizona glanced at her sister for an instant. Pennsy was positively smoldering, and her gaze kept flicking back to the cratered slagpile that'd once been China. Arizona wasn't sure if her sister was enraged by the destruction, or just mad that she'd been shown-upped. "Might I ask you for advice."

The massive fast battleship blinked. "Fucking _why_?"

"Because," Arizona struggled to keep an even face at the big Iowa's confusion. "Because I value your opinion."

Jersey's ego swelled until it threatened to burst the already-snug fabric of her tight-fitting vest. If it wasn't for the heavy steel reinforcement riding under her bust, it probably _would_ have. "Heh," she giggled, "Shoot."

"I…" Arizona stopped to gather her words. "How should I deal with someone… with whom I can't relate." She cut herself of just before adding "anymore."

But if Jersey knew who she was talking about, she didn't show it. "Ari, you're a fucking _battleship._ A fucking _standard_ battleship."

"Yes?" Arizona gave her a look. "and?"

"You… we… fucking…" Jersey sighed. "Battleships don't fucking back down. Ever. You find what's right, and you plunk your over-armored ass down on it and fucking _dare_ everyone else to move you."

"Right," Arizona nodded. It was the answer she'd expected—more or less. She didn't consider her derriere to be over-anything. She had exactly the right level of plump in her aft, thank you very much. Unfortunately, it didn't exactly bode well when the subject of her query was another, equally stubborn battleship.

"And get some pie," added Jersey.

"Pardon?"

"Pie." Jersey waved her hands in a circle. "Get some pie in her fucking belly. Literally fucking _no one_ can be _that_ mad with a belly full of apple pie."

Arizona smiled. She wouldn't have thought of that. But she _did_ happen to know of a certain Admiral's daughter who loved to bake. "Of course. Thank you, commander."

—|—|—

The moment Sarah Gale stepped into the base mess, she noticed something very strange. Vestal was staring at her.

At first, she thought it'd just been a coincidence. The old repair ship looked even more dead on her feet than usual, and since the only motion her wiry body exhibited was the gentle curl of smoke coming from her pipe, Gale had assumed she'd just fallen asleep with her eyes open. Or at least as open as they ever got.

It was a little weird, but Gale had woken up the other morning to find a fire base emplaced on her tummy. She'd seen Wash walk around with neither a bra nor the slightest hit of back pain, which _should not be possible_ with a main battery like that. An exhausted shipgirl sleeping with her eyes half-open didn't even register.

But when Gale started loading up her tray—with a nice chicken salad this time. She'd murdered her waistline enough at her mother's—the repair ship's eyes followed. Gale never actually saw them move, of course. But every time she looked in Vestal's direction the repairship's lidded stare was focused squarely on her.

Gale tried to brush it off as nothing. But she felt Vestal's stare boring into the back of her head as she helped herself to a few cucumber slices and some orange juice. When she turned around, she realized Vestal wasn't staring at her.

Not quite.

She was staring at her belly.

Gale grumbled under her breath. She was perfectly aware that the trim and tone she'd been working so hard on had vanished under the unyielding might of her mother's southern-fried hospitality. So what, she wasn't _fat_ , her fatigues were just fitting a bit snugger than they had been. She'd work it all off, just like she had before.

The sailor couldn't help but scowl as she walked over to the repair ship's table. If Vestal was going to… insinuate things with that wordless stare of hers, Gale was going to mount a defense of her own!

She refused to let herself go now that she'd won the love of the most beautiful woman to ever sail the seven seas. And she resented the unspoken implication that she was turning into a land going whale.

"Well?" Gale glared at Vestal and slammed her tray down with a huff.

Vestal's eyes lazily rolled up to meet Gale's and she let a single puff slip from her pipe.

"I was at my parents, alright!" said Gale.

Vestal shrugged.

"Over the holidays." Gale sat and took defiant bite of her breakfast. "Over _Christmas_."

"Mmm," Vestal couldn't have looked more bored if she tried. But she was back to staring at Gale's waist.

"It's _perfectly_ normal to gain a _little_ over the holidays!" Gale brandished her fork menacingly. "I'm not fat! This'll all work off."

"Never thought you were fat," Vestal glanced up at Gale. Then she winked.

"I…" Gale felt her train of thought derail in a most cinematic manner. "Then… what… why are you staring at my belly?"

Vestal just stared at the sailor and rolled her eyes.

Gale was confused for a moment. Then in a moment of horrified realization, she put the pieces together. "No," she said. "No no… this… I'm _just_ fat. It's fat. I'm… we're…"

Vestal pointed to the sliced cucumber on Gale's plate. "Cravings?"

"No!" Gale grabbed her tray and cradled it protectively against her chest. "I eat this for breakfast every day!"

Vestal's response was an unconvinced smirk.

"I'm _not_ pregnant!" thundered Gale.

The mess fell silent, and every head slowly pivoted to look at the brilliantly blushing sailor.

Vestal's smirk widened, and Gale sank low in her chair and tried to hide her crimson face in her blouse. "I hate you."

"Hmm," Vestal fished a notebook from her battered welding jacket and ticked a box. "That'd be the mood swings."

Gale took the angriest bite of chicken salad ever witnessed by mankind. Vestal just smirked.

—|—|—

Meanwhile, in an altogether different part of the naval base, two battleships from two countries born more than two decades apart huddled over a pregnancy test.

Wash stared at the little plastic sliver she'd just used with calm aplomb. Only the tiniest glimmer of a smile on her serene features hinted at the glee threatening to explode though her inclined belt.

Kirishima, however, was not nearly so calm. The Japanese battleship found it impossible to sit still. Shallow, nervous breaths hissed though clenched teeth as she impatiently waited for the test to reveal its result.

"Why isn't it changing!" demanded Kirishima. She might have rather had Wash to herself, but she loved the queenly American. And she loved her as a _friend_ too. She wanted Wash to be happy, and the mere _thought_ of Wash with a little keel or two on the slips made her squeal with glee.

"Relax," Wash put a hand on Kirishima's shoulder, slowing the battleship's frantic oscillation to non-quantum levels. "It needs to think."

"It needs to think faster!" Kirishima scrunched up her nose and tried to intimidate the test.

"In time."

"No!" Kirishima slammed her fist against the floor with a pout. "Wash, you could have _babies!_ I need to know if my friend's pregnant _Right NOW!_ "

Wash just smiled, and cradled her belly. She'd figured it's slightly more rounded shape was merely due to her dinner at Gale's—at _Sarah's_ —mother's house. But if it was more… If Kirishima was _right_ …

"Wash?"

"Hmm?"

"Um…" Kirishima blushed. "C-can I be her aunt?"

Wash smiled at the battleship. "Kirishima, it would be my honor."

Kirishima was about to say something, but then she noticed the test start to change. "It's happening! LOOK LOOOK!"

"I'm looking!" Wash beamed and squinted at the little test window. Only she didn't see two lines show up. She didn't even see _one_ line show up.

"Does it say you're pregnant!" half-asked, half-demanded Kirishima.

"Um…" Wash turned the test over. Inside the little window was a stylized drawing of a boat. "It says I'm a boat."

For a minute, Kirishima did nothing. Then her good mood soured and she slumped back onto her bed with a huff. "I want a refund."


	158. Chapter 119: Just Follow the Recipe

**Chapter 119: Just Follow The Recipe**

Yeoman Gale wasn't pregnant. She knew she wasn't pregnant, and she knew she _couldn't_ be pregnant.

For one thing, Wash was a woman. A stunningly beautiful woman with a rack that seemingly never had the laws of gravity properly explained to it and hips that could kill from twenty miles away, yes. A woman who was the risen spirit of a warship, yes. But still, a _Woman._ Gale was a sailor, and as such she knew everything there was to know about sodomy. And she knew there was no possible scenario where two women could get one pregnant.

But even if, somehow, though some sparkly shipgirl magic Wash _could_ have knocked her up, it hadn't happened. Gale hadn't done _anything_ with the warship beyond some somewhat intensive cuddling. And while she had given the battleship's main battery a pretty through white-glove inspection… that was it. Wash had never even taken her skirt off.

They'd _made out_ at best.

There was no sex.

Ergo, Wash _couldn't_ have gotten her pregnant. Even shipgirl magic couldn't make babies without sex happen.

Besides, what seemed like every sonar-equipped ship in the western hemisphere had listened to her belly—some, like sweet little England had even asked permission. And all of them confirmed she wasn't pregnant.

Well…

The confirmed they _couldn't_ confirm that she _was_ pregnant. Which in Gale's opinion was essentially the same thing. It gave her some sliver of hope and sanity to cling to in the living sanity-draining hell that was living with shipgirls.

Of course, that didn't make standing before her Admiral's desk any less heart-attack inducing.

"Yeoman," Williams leaned back in his chair, his face an unreadable mask nestled behind a palisade of knit fingers. "Have a seat."

Gale gulped, and tired to ignore the way her belt bit into her stomach. It was _just_ post-holiday fat. That was _all_. "I'd… I'd rather stand, sir."

"In your condition?" William's eyebrow arched up a fraction.

Gale stared to grin, but her Admiral's face was as stony as ever. It wasn't a joke. Or… or was it? Maybe? Gale's heart rate reached levels never before conceived by human thought, and her mouth was suddenly as dry as month-old beef jerky. "S-sir?" she stammered.

Williams just nodded at the sailor's belly.

"N-no," Gale blushed. "I'm… sir," she bit her lip and clenched her hands to keep them from shaking. "I'm _not_ pregnant."

"Really?" Williams sighed. Without so much as a glimmer of emotion entering his stoic visage, the admiral pivoted to his computer and typed away.

"S-sir?" Gale's curiosity got the better of her. Besides, she couldn't exactly dig herself any _deeper_.

"Telling Goto the bet's still on." Williams gave Gale the tiniest of smirks.

"Bet?" said Gale meekly.

"Above your paygrade," said the Admiral. "Which brings me to this situation with you and the lieutenant commander."

Gale had a thousand excuses. Wash was a vital naval asset, and maintaining her morale was paramount to national security. The battleship _had_ come onto her first, and Gale wasn't exactly in position to turn her down. Not without breaking the poor girl's heart, and who _knows_ what that could do to her fighting performance.

But she voiced none of them. Whatever the excuse… Gale trusted her Admiral. He was an honest man, he always had been. Trying to shirk her failings would only earn his ire. "Sir."

"CNO's waived all shipgirl relations unless, in the base CO's opinion, they start causing problems." Williams recited the prophet of SECNAV's order from memory. "This…" he motioned vaguely at Gale, "Isn't causing a problem, is it?"

Gale shook her head. "No, sir."

"I don't care," said Williams. "Relations between officers and enlisted are against regs for a reason, and I won't have them on my base."

"Sir," Gale nodded. It'd be a lie to say she wasn't upset. She'd spent one perfect weekend with the battleship, having to go back to being nothing more than friends… It would hurt, Gale knew that.

But upset as she was, the sailor wasn't quite mad. She knew her Admiral, respected him. He had his own, very good reasons for his decision. He was a good man, and she was proud to serve under him.

Williams stared at her for a moment, then a smirk crossed his craggy features. "On an entirely unrelated note," he said. "You've been pulling far beyond your weight, I think it's past time that was recognized."

"Sir?" Gale blinked.

"Chief Warrant Officer two," Williams tossed her a folder. "You've earned it, Gale."

The sailor beamed as she skimmed though the paperwork. "S-sir… thank you."

"Gale."

"Sir?"

"With your promotion comes a commensurate increase in pay," said the Admiral. "I expect you to take Wash somewhere nice."

Gale squealed in a most undignified way. "Thank you, sir."

"That _was_ an order," Williams smiled at her.

"Understood sir," Gale couldn't keep a dopey grin off her face.

"Dismissed."

—|—|—

Alaska hummed to herself as she piled the placid waters of the Mexican Gulf. She couldn't remember most of the words—other than something about cashews and fruit—and it was too beautiful of a day to go fishing for her phone to check. She just knew that she liked the melody, and she couldn't wait to share it with Akron.

She only saw the Airship for a few hours every couple of patrols, but there was something about the enormous airgoing carrier that never failed to make Alaska smile. Akron spent all of her time in the air alone, and Alaska could tell she was hurting for someone to talk to. But… she was also just _that_ nice to chat with.

Also, part of Alaska _really_ wanted to hug her, but her arms weren't long enough to reach. Which was a shame, because she looked _soooo_ cuddly. Like a living plushie with little kitty ears.

Maybe someday, after the war'd ended, she could have a sleep over with the carrier. But for now, Alaska had to content herself with chatting and swapping internet songs.

"'Laska?" Atago pulled up abreast with a sunny smile almost as radiant as the beaming midday sun.

"Hey, 'tago." Alaska smiled back, and lazily tacked a few degrees to port.

"So…" Atago closed her eyes and let the sea breeze wash though her blonde hair. She had really pretty hair, Alaska thought she was really lucky to be friends with someone as pretty—not to mention kind and huggable—as Atago. "You made plans for a second date?"

"Uh…" Alaska blushed, and tried desperately to deflect. "Look!" she pointed at something at the horizon.

Atago squinted. Then scowled. "'laska, that's a cloud."

"But it looks like a…" Alaska's eyes went wide as she flailed for something she could use. But nothing came, and all she could say was "Um… cloud."

Atago giggled one of those high-pitched giggles that always made Alaska smile. "So that's a no."

Alaska blushed even brighter and scuffed her shoe against the back of her calve. "Mmmhm."

"You want _want_ a second date?" asked Atago with a glint of a smirk in her smile.

Alaska nodded. She did. She really really did. Every time she closed her eyes all she could think about was Cameron's arms around her waist, his laugh making the air sing, his smile warming her like the morning sun after running a typhoon, and… the way his shirt fit around his arms that always made her feel _feelings._

She was in love, and she wanted little more than another kiss. But… "Um…" she coughed. "I… I don't wanna… be clingy."

Atago laughed, and stood on tiptoes to ruffle the large cruiser's snowy hair. "'laska, you're in love. And he loves you."

"Y-you think?"

Atago nodded. "I saw the way you kissed."

Alaska was reduced to giggles at the memory.

"You should take him to the beach!" Atago thrust her hand in the air with a joyful "PanPakaPan!" to trumpet her brilliant idea.

"The beach?" Alaska tilted her head to the side.

"Mmm," Atago nodded. "It's supposed to be in the twenties!"

Alaska blinked.

"Sorry, seventies."

Alaska smiled.

"Besides," Atago flashed her best friend a conspiratorial grin, "You'd look cute in a bikini."

Alaska blushed a new and interesting shade of red. The large cruiser was distantly aware that she was singlehandedly keeping an entire sector of red-paint manufacturing businesses afloat with her shyness. But mostly, she was thinking about what Cameron might do when he saw her in a swimsuit. She wasn't sure if it'd be good—compared to her best friend, she might as well not have breasts at all, or bad—compared to _her_ , Atago might as well not have a _stern_ at all. "Bu- But… I don't own—"

"We can fix that!" Atago was already plotting the cutest possible bit of swimwear to fit her American friend into. Alaska's figure was as rare as it was adorable. "Besides, there's this _really_ cute blue number I've been _dying_ to wear."

Alaska said nothing. She just looked from the heavy cruiser's vast fuel bunkerage to her own much less developed tanks.

"'Laska…" Atago shook her head. "Don't worry 'bout a thing."

"But…" Alaska pointed at the gently swaying bulge of Atago's infamous panpakapans.

"I've seen the way he looks at you," said Atago with a beaming smile. "He's into you for your aft."

Alaska's eyes went wide as her rifles, and she clapped both hands to her stern. Her whole life, she'd always been the second pick. She wasn't as big and strong as a battleship, but anything she could do, a cheaper cruiser could do just as well. Even now, in her second life, she was surrounded by people _more_ than her. Atago's chest was huge next to her, the Kagerous made her look like a boy, and even Nachi was more filled out than she'd ever be.

But… but if the good workers at the New York Shipbuilding Corporation had done one thing right, it was her aft. Alaska didn't like to brag, but… her aft was quite nice. It was quite possibly her best feature. And the idea that someone liked her _for_ it… that someone liked her for the one feature she had that made her _more_ than her friends… That someone liked her because they _liked_ her, not because they didn't have any other option…

And that that someone was _Cameron_ , the kindest, sweetest person Alaska'd ever met… It made her feel things she wasn't at all prepared to feel. "'TAAAGGGOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Atago doubled over in a fit of giggles, while Alaska angrily tried to hide. She loved Alaska like her own sister, she really did. But the big American was just _too_ easy to fluster.


	159. A Certain Lady Part 31

**A Certain Lady Part 31**

Hiei hummed a happy tune as she finished pouring out a piping hot cup of water. It wasn't the most elegant or steady of displays, but she was in far too good a mood to care.

The reason for her chipper self could be attributed to two things.

The first was the fact she had two fully functional arms again. Sure, the newly repaired appendage was still plenty sore. But she was officially seaworthy again. It would just take some proper stretching and a nice regime of target practice to get her battery up to par again.

The second, and vastly more important reason, was that she was having a tea party with her dear elder sister. As she felt was appropriate, she had pulled out all the stops.

She'd broken out the nice tablecloth and its matching accessories. Her special silverware and tea set sat on the table in an orderly and pleasing arrangement. The centerpiece was shared between a steaming pot of water under a cozy that sported a pleasant plaid pattern and a tiered cake stand filled to the brim with all manner of fresh snacks. Near the two sat an arrangement of tins containing different teas just waiting for their chance.

Having the tea already steeping simply wouldn't do. Everyone took theirs a little different and her sisters were no exception. She liked hers a bit stronger, too strong for Haruna, and Kirishima preferred hers a little more textbook. And Kongou? Well, she tended to let hers steep more or less depending on her mood and proximity to Admiral Goto.

And that wasn't even getting into the choice of tea!

Their chances to sit together had been slim to none, but Hiei memorized everything to the letter when the did. She refused to let anything slip by and wonder about maybes or what-ifs should the worst come to pass.

Now considering Admiral Goto was still in Yokosuka and Kongou was getting ready to set sail for battle, she had been almost certain it would be jasmine with a long steep. Probably a drip or two of honey and not a grain of sugar.

"Mhmhm~" Kongou giggled playfully as she stirred in one lump of sugar to her honey bereft earl grey. "You guessed the time to steep, but not the time of day."

"One out of... many isn't too bad?" countered Hiei weakly, albeit with her smile still firmly in place. She reached out and plucked a tin of breakfast tea from amongst the others as her choice of drink. It wasn't exactly breakfast time in the lest. However she was a battleship and, to quote a rather boisterous American, she did what she wanted.

Being a Kongou merely added to it.

"I'm just happy finally I get to have some time with my biggest little sister." Kongou took a lady-like sip of her drink and let out a content sigh. Her normally alert teitoku seeking radar was relaxed and bobbing in tune with her movements. "I'm looking forward to when Haruna and Kirishima can join us, but until then I have you all to myself."

"Maybe we can convince Haruna to bring Tiger along with her some day." Hiei hadn't heard much from Haruna unfortunately. But what little she had usually involved their British cousin. It'd be nice to meet her some day. The more the merrier!

"Oh, that would be fun! And Miss Amy as well."

"I'm sure she'd like to meet everyone."

"Dess!"

The two sisters each took a sip of their steaming teas before deciding to add a little bit of snack to their meal. Kongou took a warm scone and adorned it with a generous helping of blueberry preserves while Hiei helped herself a slice of cake.

Kongou raised an eyebrow when Hiei's plate clattered as she served herself.

"Hiei, how's your arm?"

She blinked before setting down the plate with a bit more care than was probably needed. Better safe than worry.

"It's still a bit sore, but it won't be much longer before I can get back into the fight." She laughed and tried to put her sister at ease. Few ships could be said to love as much as a Kongou did. And the name-ship was above all others without question in her eyes. "Don't you worry, oneesama. They got a lucky shot in and I had a lot of help recovering."

"I know, but I'm your sister. And I'm going to be worried no matter what you say." Kongou stood from her seat and took the few steps needed to place herself directly behind Hiei. With a flourish, she wrapped her arms around the seated warship and hugged her tightly. "So you get to put up with me being a worrywart about absolutely everything. It doesn't matter what it is. I want the absolute best for my precious imoutos."

Hiei could only lean into the embrace and close her eyes.

She was confident in her prowess in a great many things. Her drive and skill both on the battlefield and off were tremendous. Yet she would always be weak to the comforting presence of her sister. Maybe it was a ship thing. Or a sister ship thing. She wasn't really sure.

But she didn't really care.

"Now!" declared Kongou with a grin. "No more grim talk. I want to gossip and goof off and relax, dess!"

Before Hiei could open her mouth to reply, Kongou was already back in her seat with a bright-eyed expression and mirth on her lips.

Gossip, and fun, and all that silly jazz? Oh, she could do that. One didn't share a home with Mutsu and not pick up on a few things. Part of her was dreading the day Arizona decided she would get in on the fun. At least Jintsuu didn't seem too driven towards it.

"Then tell me, oneesama," began Hiei as she did her best to imitate the half-lidded gaze Mutsu tended to use when she was feeling in a particularly teasing mood. "When am I going to be an aunt~?"

Had Kongou been taking a drink of anything at the moment, it was almost guaranteed to have been used to create a spit-take suitable for legend.

"Where did you hear that!?"

"A little ship told me." Specifically Jintsuu with her access to the Light Cruiser Information Network. Jintsuu only allowed her a very, very limited amount of direct access. And only when it was either an emergency or it pertained to her sisters. One did not trifle in the affairs of or question the boons granted by the shipgirl equivalent of an NCO. Not without paying the penalty.

"Ooooh. It had better not have been Ashigara." Kongou pouted and crossed her arms as Hiei laughed. "And next time I'm going to use a ribbon that doesn't chafe so much."

"You did not!" exclaimed Hiei in an intentionally over the top manner.

"Goto was trying to be professional, but I know his resolve was cracking. One more push and..." She trailed off as her imagination began to run wild. Occasionally a giggle or a syrupy 'Goto~' would escape her lips. And then, like a flash, it was gone. "But we have a war to win. And then I'm going to make sure my beloved teitoku knows just how much I've been holding back."

"That's the first time I've ever heard you use his name like that." Hiei might have been lacking in contact, but she couldn't rightly recall ever hearing Kongou refer to Admiral Goto so familiarly. Even in comfortable settings like this there had always been some attachment of rank.

"Really? Hm, I suppose so." Kongou didn't seem too surprised at the realization. At least not beyond acknowledging it.

"You might win the bet yet." Hiei took a measure bite of the tasty cake. It was one of her more trusted recipes and she had not been about to attempt an experiment given what was soon approaching.

"You do not have faith in your oneesama to be the first to be a deliriously happy wife and mother with at least one in the slipway?" The exaggeration was so intentional that both women couldn't help but crack up.

"Weeeel..."

"Oh, how tragic this is. That my own sister does not believe in the power of BURNING LOVE! What have I done to warrant such a relation? How have I failed!?"

Hiei nearly fell from her chair laughing as Kongou continued her dessperate tirade of sorrow and indignation. Her sides hurt so much from laughing that she was fairly certain she was about to burst a bulkhead or crack her belt.

"You must believe, oh imouto! That love and spirit will see you through to victory!"

"Y-You're ha-hahha! Having too mu-much fun!" gasped the second Kongou as she tried to crawl back into her seat.

"Dess~!"

"But!"

"Is there more that my dear little sister knows that I do not?" questioned Kongou with a leering and plainly amused gaze. She was having too much fun indeed.

"Technically, I won the bet."

"What!?" Kongou recoiled as if struck by a full broadside, her arms snapping into a defensive position.

"I, Battleship Hiei of the Kongou-Class of fast battleships, am a mother!" Hiei struggled to retain her imperious persona, but Kongou's showy reactions of desspair and defeat were making it ludicrously difficult. Were it any other member of her household, they would have cracked in moments. Jintsuu would have broken down into a case of severe giggles before anyone else.

"This cannot be! It must be a lie!" cried Kongou as she clutched her head. With a dramatic flourish, she whirled about and fell to the floor. "By my own sister. How could I have been defeated so? Such tragedy. Such betrayal. It's desspicable!"

They paused to take a sip of their respective teas.

"You were defeated before the battle began, dear sister." Hiei stood from her chair and went to kneel before the fallen Kongou. With the gentle hand of an emperor, she stroked Kongou's cheek. "You never had any hope of being first."

"That's not true. That's impossible!"

"Search your feelings, you know it to be true!"

"Nooooo~!"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Jintsuu has been a terrible influence on you."

"I'm not an American, so I can't plead the fifth. But I will anyways."

"Oh, what has Admiral Richardson done to my dear sister? She's thinking like a Yankee now." Kongou giggled as she stood to her feet and was promptly hugged by a grinning Hiei.

"This, coming from a Japanese ship who smells of scones, black tea, and colonialism?"

"Dess."

Hiei guided Kongou back to her seat and promptly stuffed a scone into her sister's mouth. Kongou seemed happy regardless as she chewed on the pastry.

"You know... If you don't mind being third or fourth in line to win the bet, would you mind helping me with something?" Hiei polished off her cup while she waited for Kongou to finish off the scone.

"Hmm, I don't want to wait any longer than I have to. I want Goto's love so much I can barely stand it. But I think I can wait a little longer if you're planning what I think you're planning." Kongou's smile turned more warm and whimsical.

"I'm going to be making sure that John gets enough love letters and model kits that he'll need a forklift to move them all." She wasn't sure if she was exaggerating or not. But the intent was all the same. She would not let this fail.

"Are you building him a fleet, or does this involve... oh. Oh!" Kongou's violet eyes brightened as she realized what Hiei was plotting.

Hiei nodded resolutely.

"He'll always have us, no matter what happens or how he holds us in his heart. But he's more stubborn than Arizona and he only has one ring."

Hiei knew she held a part of Richardson's heart that no one living ever could or would. And there had been times she wasn't sure if even the late Mrs. Richardson had held some of what she did now. But she was not the one he should be giving his ring to. If anyone was going to hold his heart like that again, it would be the one who he held the heart of. And she would brook no quarter. She would see him happy come hell or high water.

That was her love for him.

Her love for her other half.

"So then, what's the plan?"

"Love letters forged in Mutsu's handwriting. Each delivered with a model kit and enough spirit to shake a mountain."

Kongou laughed merrily.

"If that doesn't get him to make a move, then we'll have to lock them in a room together." She placed a hand on her chest and smiled brilliantly. "For the realization of their burning love, I will gladly lend a hand. Not only mine, but I will unleash the full might of the combined American and Japanese Navies."

"And then we'll do the same to Goto."

" _Dess_!"


	160. Chapter 120: Attack the Island

**Chapter 120: Attack the Island**

The island princess slouched on her throne of burnt, twisted metal with a hateful scowl on her stone-gray face. Her heavy greatcoat hung like a shroud off her enormous thighs, and her rough leather jackboots were sprawled on the jagged concrete that formed her dias. Her hands were entombed in claw-tipped gauntlets of forged iron the size of a man's chest that erupted from her pallid flesh. Even if she had eyes, the crown of twisted metal tearing though her brow would've blocked her view.

One massive gauntlet rested on the hilt of her sword. Her claws tapped out an angry drumbeat as the princess tried to ignore the ravenous, insatiable hunger for blood she shared with the blade. She'd drunk her fill taking this place, gorged herself until she could barely move and birthed her mastered demons from her hate.

But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Every drop of blood the princess tasted only fanned the flames of her all-consuming hunger. She wanted nothing else, she could think of _nothing_ beyond appeasing her limitless need to gorge herself on the blood of the _traitors_.

The princess scowled, her stony features creaking like ice with even the slightest motion. She knew not who birthed her, she knew nothing before she broke the waves _but_ hunger. It had been her sole companion in life, until…

Until she took this island, and raised a fleet from the ashes.

The tiniest glimmer of a smile passed over her lips, and she glanced at the battlecruiser demon cradled at her breast. A tiny thing, barely a quarter of the Princess's enormous height, and not even a tenth of her vast bulk, the demon was the first of three triplets.

The princess stroked an ice-cold talon across the pallid skin of the demon's bare thigh, her claw leaving a faint scrape where it'd scratched away the scale. The demon didn't seem to care. Hair dyed wine-dark by oil and the faint crimson tint of freshly-spilled blood was matted against its sinewy body, covering the featureless void where its eyes would be.

The only interruption to its faceless mask was it's mouth. A ragged, crooked thing that cut across its ashen face like a tear full of crooked incisors and constantly oozing oil and freezing seawater.

Its talons—far smaller and weaker than the princess's, but no less wickedly sharp—clutched onto her body, digging into her skin as the demon held itself close to a breast engorged by the blood of the island's… former occupiers.

The princess scowled as she felt the demon's teeth bite into her, and let her own claws dig into it's slender thigh until she felt blood trickle through her talons. But… she couldn't bring herself to fault it.

This island had been occupied for far to long. Now… it had finally been liberated. Her demons were every bit servile to her sovereign will as her own flesh. But even they deserved a _little_ time for celebration.

Her scowl twisted into a mirthless smirk, and she slouched back on her throne. Her demon's body sat like a freezing rag on her chest as it slowly drank its fill. So much the better, she'd taken the island, but she did not intend to restrain herself to _solely_ it.

Then, a scuff of jackboots on the battered concrete floor drew her attention. A pair of heels clicked together, and a deferential bark demanded her attention.

The princess was blind, but that didn't mean she couldn't see. The island _was_ her, ever soldier, every plane, ever ship on and around it was an extension of her will. She could see though any pair of eyes she wished.

"Oberfurer," The princess gently stroked a talon along her demon's svelte stern, brushing aside its skirt of forged iron as it razor-sharp fangs suckled at her swollen, icy breast.

Her battle cruisers were fast, and more powerful than anything else in the South China sea. But that might came with a healthy appetite. She'd let the demon feed while she attended to her daily business. "Report."

The princess watched herself though the panzergrenadier eyeless gaze at it gave her the daily report. She knew this all of course, every eye, every ship on this island was an extension of her will. But it was so very much to keep track of, especially when her demons demanded constant affection.

At first, it was the same story she heard day in and day out. Her imps were working tirelessly to turn the island's beaches to forests of tank-traps and minefields. Her panzers were drilling without sleep. Her planes were prowling the skies, sending the odd fishing raft or cargo ship to the bottom.

And then… the imp got to the _interesting_ part.

"Three cruisers?" the princess shifted in her throne, the metal groaning at her immense weight. She felt the demon pull away from her breast, its icy kiss replaced by the warm, damp heat of the tropics. She cradled it by its narrow waist, running her thumb down it's slender belly as she shifted her gaze from the grenadier to one of her orbiting condors.

In an instant, the muggy tropical breeze was replaced with the frigid wind at altitude. She felt ice claw at her skin as the bomber hurtled though the air, and miles below her she saw the foamy traces of four sprinting cruisers—no, three. And one of those overgrown Destroyers her foes were so proud of—barreling towards her island.

At first, she was intrigued. Three cruisers would hardly sate her hunger, but they might… slacken her endless thirst for a moment. If nothing else, it would give her demons a much-needed workout, they were starting to get restless waiting in port.

But then… then she recognized _her_.

The second ship in the formation, one far bigger and broader than the others. A heavy cruiser. _Hipper_ -class. _Prinz Eugen._ Only she was flying that… rancid… three-color _rag_.

The princess felt blood chill to a frozen hate. The hand resting on her sword clenched into a fist so tight she felt icy blood trickle through her talons, and she pulled her demon closer to her chest.

"Traitor." The princess hissed though clenched teeth. The mere force of her anger sent drops of oil and spit flying though the air as her rage built. Her demons would _not_ fall prey to such treason, she would not allow it.

She felt the demon slide off her lap, and she buttoned her greatcoat over her swollen bosom. The tarnished buttons strained to keep the battered fabric closed, and she felt them bite into her skin. But her anger was overwhelming, and she could think of nothing besides protecting her bonded demons from that _traitorous WHORE_.

She shifted her gaze back to the grenadier just in time to see her demon wipe the last drops of oil from its crooked maw with the back of its gauntlet. Its eyeless face was all but covered by its inky black hair, forcing the gleam of its multitude of teeth into sharp relief.

The princess hauled her enormous body to her feet with a groan of moaning metal and crumbling concrete. "You," she placed her massive hand on the demon's shoulder, running a thumb the size of it's arm down it's jaw. "Gather your sisters."

The demon's toothy grimace morphed into a smile no less malevolent. It snapped its heels together with a crash of wrought iron, and stormed to the docks as fast as it's long, slender legs and powerful turbines would take it.

The princess smirked to herself. Her demons' loyalty was unquestioning. They understood the meaning of duty, and they'd drill that lesson home until there was nothing left of that traitorous mercenary whore but a slick of burning oil.

If nothing else, it would give them some much needed exercise. They were starting to get restless in port. And as much as the princess adored them, she would like to have one solitary hour to herself.

"And you," The princess glanced at the grenadier still standing at rapt attention. "Ready a strike."

With a salute, the imp marched off to ready her jets for their missions.

The princess sank back onto her throne, ignoring the twitch in her belly. She'd gorged herself when she took the island, but while that feast was vast, it had its limits. Her hunger was gnawing at her again, and the mere thought of sending a flotilla to the bottom only intensified her ravenous need to devour.

Soon.

Soon she'd drink her fill of blood and oil. Soon she'd fill her belly with the anguish of traitorous slaves and birth a great conquering fleet.

Soon.

The princess licked her icy lips. Her victory couldn't come soon enough.

—|—|—

"Hey, Eugen," Frisco squinted at the solitary gray-green dot marring the otherwise unblemished sapphire sky. The well-tanned skin of her nose wrinkled in concentration, and her almond eyes strained to reach the very limit of her visual range.

"Yes?" The big German-born cruiser glanced over. She'd tucked her gloves into her pocket and loosened her collar as a concession to the tropical heat—although she seemed to enjoy the cool ocean breeze on her bare thighs—but her sea-green eyes hadn't lost a bit of their cool Teutonic attention.

"Bearing one-six-one," Frisco pointed at the spec, "'bout twenty-thousand feet. You seeing what I'm seeing?"

Prinz Eugen shaded her eyes with the blade of her hand and squinted into the sky. For a moment, she said nothing. Only the crash of waves against her high-cut Atlantic bow and the rustle of her even higher-cut skirt broke the silence. Then, with a curt nod she spoke. "I believe I do."

"Condor?" Frisco gave the big German with her adorable little miniskirt a quick glance. Anything to distract her from the dull ache building in her scars. Maybe it was just the muggy tropical air… but Guadalcanal was just a few miles East…

"Mmm," Prinz Eugen nodded. "I would agree with that, yes."

"We're being shadowed," said Frisco to nobody in particular. " _Fitz_ , you seeing this?"

 _"Copy, ma'am,"_ lumbered the reassuring voice of _Fitzgerald's_ captain. Yonehara, if memory served, a Nisei like herself.

Frisco hadn't met the man beyond the few words they'd exchanged at the briefing. But there was something about the way he spoke that made her feel safe. His voice flowed with all the urgency of molasses on a cold day, but Frisco got the distinct impression she should _not_ try and test him. _"Bouncing around the scope though."_

"That going to be a problem?" Frisco tried to match his relaxed dispassion. A single Condor couldn't haul that much, and even _if_ it was carrying rocket-bombs, she and her division had jammers on standby.

 _"Nah," Fitz_ 's captain's easy voice wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. _"They they try anything we'll smack 'em with a standard or six."_

Frisco giggled despite herself. She knew full well he was talking about a standard _missile_. But she couldn't shake the mental image of someone loading a quietly-fuming Arizona into a catapult. "Thanks, good to hear."

 _"No problem, ma'am."_

"Hey, Frisco?" Lou tacked a few degrees over with a smirk on her cheeky tanned face.

"Yes?" Frisco returned the smirk with one of her own. One thing she liked about being Nesai, she could _really_ pull off the inscrutable smirk.

"That bird's watching us, yeah?"

Frisco's eyes narrowed even further than usual. "That was the plan, yes." With the patrol plane shadowing them, she and her cruiser division could bait the abyssal battlecruisers right into Arizona's plodding batteries. But Lou _knew_ that. "Why?"

Lou shrugged. "No reason."

"Uh huh…" Frisco rolled her eyes.

"Figured you'd be used to it and all," said the light cruiser.

Prinz Eugen glanced from one American to the other, confusion plastered over her superstructure.

"Since…" Lou absentmindedly played with the tip of her flaming red ponytail. "You're a Cali girl and all."

It took Frisco a moment to make a connection. "I'm from _San Fran_! That's not even _close_ to LA!"

Lou opened her mouth to vocalize a retort, but her interest in bothering her fellow cruiser vanished the same instant Frisco's ears suddenly perked up. Both cruisers blinked, and glanced over at the exact same spot on the horizon.

Prinz Eugen had heard about this before, but she'd never seen it herself. And while she understood the theory behind air-search radar—she even had a set herself—she was but a humble learner compared to the Americans.

"You—" Lou was almost immediately cut off by Frisco.

"I see 'em," said the tanned heavy cruiser. "Tally…" she clicked her lips. "Eight bombers, looks like six fighters."

" _Fitz_ ," Lou didn't even glance at the destroyer. "One-nine-four, maybe ten thousand off the deck, you have 'em?"

 _"Yep. Jammers on. Weapons release on Frisco's order."_

"We got'em," Frisco heeled over in a turn, pointing her bow squarely at the howling jets. Her fingers twitched as her crew scrambled to man her five-inch mounts, and Lou was already wearing a wild grin as her 5in/38s slewed on target. "Weapons tight for now."

Prinz Eugen took a moment to fasten up her collar as her ten-point-five crews scrambled to their stations and her four-centimeter bofors guns tingled with anticipation. During the war, she'd done her sworn duty to her country with a… less than easy conscience. Now she got to fight on the side of the unambiguous 'good guys.'

"Prinz Eugen, Ready!" she called out for no reason beyond it sounding appropriate. Frisco flashed her a thumbs up, affirming her direction as the correct one.

The jets were easy to spot. Their mottled gray camouflage blended well enough with the sky, but the pillars of jet-black smoke they rode marked their location well enough. The jets peeled off to the side, probably trying to set up for a broadside shot, but Frisco heeled over to match.

The heavy cruiser kept the jets squarely off her bow as she closed the distance. Her beautiful almond eyes narrowed in concentration, and the corners of her lips twisted into a perverse smirk. "All batteries, _fire!_ "

The bark of five-inch and ten-centimeter guns thundered over the south China Sea as all three cruisers unloaded unto the swarm. Prinz Eugen's time-fused shells might not quite match the killing power of the Americans' proximity fuses, but it almost didn't matter.

The howling jets closed the distance terrifyingly fast. The Swallows came first, rolling over in pairs to hurl themselves through the flak in power dives that could've been mistaken for falling stars.

Two fell upon Frisco, stitching the scarred American's deck with thirty-millimeter fire, forcing her gunners to duck and slashing her face with hundreds of shallow cuts. She threw up a hand to shield her eyes from the onslaught, and her Bofors and Oerlikons fired wildly into the fighters as they powered into what looked like a straight-vertical zoom-climb on pillars of coal.

The other four angled squarely for Prinz Eugen. Thirty-milimeter tracers were joined by the staccato yip of unicorn-nosed fifty-millimeter shells raking her flanks. She felt her skin tear as the rounds exploded against her decks, but other than smashed spotlights and ruined boats, the big cruiser sustained more pain than actual damage.

Then Prinz Eugen screamed as a bomb slammed into her deck, mangling one of her open Bofors mounts and tearing a gash into her pale thigh. The wound wasn't deep, but it _was_ wide, and oily blood poured from her wound.

"FEUER!" She refused to acknowledged the pain, not while her friends were still in danger. A burst from her bofors found its mark, sawing off the offending sturmvogel's wing at the root and sending it smashing into the ocean.

She didn't dwell on the kill. There were still too many bombers and fighters to deal with. As the swallows arced around for another gun-run, the Blitzs winged over into their dives.

Like the rest of her division, Prinz Eugen threw her rudder hard over in an attempt to spoil their solutions. Her flanks erupted with wild barely-aimed fire. The sky above her had rapidly devolved into a mess of burning tracers, exploding flak, howling jets, and enough choking engine smoke to blot out the sun.

" _Fitz_ , release!" barked Frisco.

Instants later, the destroyer's missile deck erupted in flame. For an instant, Prinz Eugen thought the ship had taken a hit. But then a rocket screamed from its cell and almost immediately skewered a diving Blitz right though the nose glazing.

The missile'd made it almost to the wing root before its fuse triggered, cracking the bomber open from the inside like a popcorn kernel.

Prinz Eugen was distantly aware of her own giggling, just as she was vaguely aware of _something_ —a downed bomber? A near-miss?—splashing a few yards off her starboard flank.

The roar of missiles and their twisting trails only added to the confusion above, and Prinz Eugen couldn't spare the attention to keep track of it. She was focused sorely on making herself as hard a target as possible while giving everything above the surface a generous helping of flak.

And then, as suddenly as it'd began, the battle was over. The howl of jet engines vanished, the thunder of flak guns ebbed, and quiet disturbed by nothing more than waves lapping against steel once again took hold.

"Damage report," said Frisco.

Prinz Eugen took a moment to pat herself down. She'd lost one of her ten-fives, three of her bofors, her radar was damaged, and she'd have to avoid lemonade until the cuts littering her face healed. But she was still afloat and in good condition. "Prinz Eugen okay!"

"Lou's good," said Lou. "Had a minor fire, but it's under control."

 _"Fitzgerald here. Looks like most of the heat went to you."_

"Copy. Check scopes," Frisco's gaze swept the horizon with cool efficacy while Lou did the same.

"Scope's clear," said Lou.

"I don't see anything," said Prinz Eugen.

 _"Fitz has nothing,"_ said the steelhull captain. _"Still got that watcher though."_

Frisco smiled. "Good." She let out a painful fake cough as her stacks belched a gout of oily black smoke. Her bow dug in as she slowed to twenty knots and pulled the most uncoordinated turn Prinz Eugen had ever seen. She must've been steering with just her screws. "Come to new course. Cough." She didn't fake a cough this time. She just said the word. "head for Sledge."

"Nice acting, starlett," Lou rolled her eyes.

The cool, collected Frisco who'd lead the division though an air attack vanished, replaced by the easily-irritated Frisco Prinz Eugen found so cute. "I am from _San Fran!_ "

Lou just smirked and tucked a loose strand of flaming hair behind her ear.

"Besides," Frisco nodded in the general direction of the island. "It only matters that _they_ bought it."


	161. Chapter 121: Of Mice and Men

**E/N: Really dropped the ball in getting these transcribed, didn't I? Well... you guys no longer have to bother me with PMs any more. Nuker's back on the job!**

 **Chapter 121: Of Mice and Men**

The Island princess reclined on her throne, her ice-cold lips twisting into a mirthless smirk. The traitors had done well for themselves. They'd survived the encounter, and even sent a few of her jets to the bottom. But what was a noteworthy victory for them was barely worth mentioning as a setback to her.

She'd sent out barely a third of her jets, and lost even fewer. Most would make it back to the loving embrace of her runways, and the few that didn't were gratefully offered up in supplication to the Abyss. The Princess cared not. She would birth their replacements a hundredfold when she gorged herself on the traitors' blood.

No, what she _cared_ about was the cause of her jets' untimely demise. That… overgrown mockery of a destroyer had expended several of its precious missiles sending her jets to the deep. The princess' knowledge of modern warfare may not have been exhaustive, but it was extensive. She knew those missiles were worth their weight in gold, and under the industrial strain of a global war, effectively irreplaceable.

Far, _far_ more important, however, was the damage her jets had caused. The cruisers had not been _killed_ , but they'd been crippled. Slowed to a paltry twenty-two knots as they frantically limped back to their traitors' dens with that… _whore_ leading the fleet.

The princess drew a vast talon of frigid forged iron along the heavy fabric of her greatcoat. She was hungry, _ravenous_ even. Her stomach roared at her, she felt it trying to gnaw though her belly as her limitless hunger whipped itself into a frenzy at the thought of the feast she was soon to enjoy.

Her demons would be on the traitors within the hour. And she would _feast_ on the blood, gorge herself on their deaths and birth forth a yet more powerful fleet. This victory would be but the first of many in her endless quest to sate the need to devour burning within in.

A long, slender tongue darted between her lips. She was hungry, and her first proper meal in months was being prepared before her eyes.

—|—|—

Battleship New Jersey was mad. If she had any balls, they'd be as blue as the ocean she steamed through right now.

Partially because… well, she'd gone months without fucking anything, and she libidos of almost two thousand young, horny sailors driving her to levels of sexual frustration never before thought possible by mankind. She hadn't fucked anything in _months_ , and she was fairly certain if _someone_ didn't lay a nice long keel in her slipway soon, she'd blow her magazines.

And no, that attempted roll in the sheets with Musashi hadn't helped. That niggling sense of fucking _honor_ that the American still somehow had kept her back from actually fucking _enjoying_ what little intimacy the two super-battleships had scraped together. If anything, it'd only made her _more_ desperate to get something between her shaft galleries.

But, as impossible as it might seem, the lion's share of the Iowa's frustration had nothing to do with her need to fuck something. At least not _sexually_ fuck something.

She—and her division—were the backup. She could crush those candy-ass Nazi bitches with ease if Richardson would just let her off her chain, but that defeated the fucking purpose. The goal of this mission, and hence the somewhat overcompicated plan, was to give Ari and Pennsy some much-needed trigger time. The rational part of Jersey's brain, the part manned by her former officers and admirals, understood that. Neither standard had much surface-action experience, and bullying a few hapless battlecruisers would be child's play to them.

But the _animal_ part of Jersey's brain, the part manned by her former enlisted, the part capable of thinking only about tits and killing, would have none of that. Those ships were _Nazi._ And if there was any fucking thing Jersey knew, it was that killing Nazis was always objectively the right thing to do. Even her all-consuming hatred for communists paled next to her burning desire to kill Nazis in gratuitously bloody ways.

But she had to play _fucking second string._ Had to sit on her fucking ass and twiddle her thumbs up her butt while Pennsy and Ari got to play. It was like having a plate full of seventy-two ounce steaks dangled in front of her nose by a chocolate-skinned battleship wearing nothing but a frilly apron, then being told she'd have to make do with decade-old C-rats and her imagination.

And to make things fucking better, she was stuck in the middle of a fucking tropical squall. Admittedly, having a place to hide was kind of nice, and lessened the chances of having to go to the contingency "Plan Fuck Everything With The Sixteen Inch-Fifties of Freedom," but that was about all the credit Jersey could give it. She was still fucking miserable.

It wasn't even the lightly refreshing rain she'd experienced a bit further north. No, this was fucking tropical rain. The kind that almost drove her mad during 'nam until her intrepid crew turned one of her guntubs into a swimming pool. The kind of rain that's so muggy and fucking oppressive, you can't tell where your skin ends and the sky begins. The whole fucking universe was one vast continuum of sweat and fucking misery, and Jersey was stuck right in the motherfucking center of it all. And of-fucking-course, the sea state sucked utter donkey cock, because why the flying fuck would it _not._

And she couldn't even look forwards to a good battle. She was beyond frustrated. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was fucking pretty girls by the dozen atop a mountain of bleeding Nazi corpses that scraped the clouds. Occasionally, pie would be delivered, but it was always served on the naked bellies of inexplicably busty girls.

"Fuck," Jersey scowled at nothing in particular. "My life."

—|—|—

The Island princess stalked her throne room with a ravenous smile on her stony lips. Her face cracked like ice as her predatory grin twisted her features like quicksilver. The vast talons of her overgrown gauntlets tapped an impatient cadence against her hips, and her jackboots ground the shattered concrete floor to powder.

She could already _taste_ the traitors' blood on her lips. The thought of her imminent feast was enough to sate her hunger for the moment, but it only amplified the thrill of the hunt. Her body shook with a frantic, nervous energy, and she couldn't keep herself in one place for long. The ground shook with each thundering footstep as she paced.

The Traitors had spotted her demons of course, they traitorous whores, but they were hardly stupid. They'd pushed their turbines to the limit to stay ahead of her demons' relentless onslaught, but it wouldn't be enough. The damage from her airstrike had hobbled them. They'd _slowed_ her demons' closure, not stopped it.

Soon enough, the damage from her airstrike would start to compound. Water smashing in through torn hulls would smash bulkheads to pieces. Damaged machinery already gasping on its last legs would fail entirely. Crippled ships would collapse at her mercy, and she would _gorge_ herself on their terror.

The princess smiled, her talon idly stroking up her—currently—slender belly. She already had a fleet in mind, she would waste no time birthing forth her newest clutch of demons. The seas were hers to rule, and she intended to _take_ them without…

What.

 _WHAT!_

" _N͍̾̐̀͟Ỏ̵͆̔̽ͤ̍ͯ̓͠͏̬̥͍̹̪_!" the princess' voice roared with screeching fury. Her talons balled into fists so tight she felt steel piece the skin of her palms.

She'd been _tricked._

She didn't know how she'd missed it… how her Condors could have missed it… but a pack of battleships had slipped through her defenses. She counted an Iowa and a Kongou, plus a gaggle of destroyers that were all but inconsequential in the grand scheme of things breaking free of a squall.

Her Demons were no longer the hunters. In an instant, her precious children had become the hunted.

A guttural cry of fury tore from the princess' lips. She buried her fist in the concrete wall up to her elbow, barely even feeling the pain in her wrought-iron entombed knuckles. This could not happen, _would not happen._ She _would not allow it_.

With a thought, she ordered her demons to break off their pursuit. Her feast would wait, she would go hungry today… a sacrifice she'd gladly suffer to keep her demons alive.

She could not win this fight.

But… perhaps… she could avoid loosing.

Her Demons were old ships, fast but not quite fast enough. They couldn't hope to outrun the traitorous battle group. But with luck, they wouldn't have to.

If they could just… extend. If they held onto ever meter of separation they could, sold every scrap of distance for the highest price… If they could keep ahead of the traitors, her demons could make Luzon by nightfall.

They'd loose their shadows in the night, among the islands. Nobody, not even the vaunted Americans with their radar or Japanese with their night training could maintain a chase in the inky black of night, she was sure of it.

She could not, and the technology she had at her fingertips was better— _had_ to be better—than anything the traitors had access to. She was sure of it.

If they made it to the strait, her demons would break free into the Philippine sea. They'd find refuge… maybe even support from the Abandoned Princess.

The Island princess had no love lost for her counterpart in the Philippine sea… but if it meant keeping her precious demons alive, the princess would happily swallow her pride. The Abandoned Princess was her rival… but the two served the same master, and fought the same foe.

She would help.

She _must_ help.

All the Island princess need to was get her demons to the Philippines.

If she got them to the Philippines they would be safe.

The Philippines _would be safe._

—|—|—

Arizona smiled as a stiff ocean breeze washed through her coppery hair. The water below her keel was such a clear, brilliant blue that, were it not so stunningly beautiful, she would have felt _scandalized_ that so much of her anti fouling was on display.

"You know," the old standard glanced over her shoulder at the wooded island coast behind her. "I've always wanted to visit the Philippines."


	162. Chapter 122: Fight the Ship

**Chapter 122: Fight the Ship**

Battleship Arizona had always wanted to visit the Philippines, and now that she was finally there… She had to admit, the islands were even more breathtaking than she'd imagined.

The air was warm with just the right amount of salty crispness to keep from being muggy. It was like taking a bite out of a nice fresh apple, equal parts refreshing and enjoyable.

The beaches gleamed like polished ivory in the midnight sun and seemed to beg the old standard to grace them with her presence in a relaxing afternoon of swimming and sunbathing. It was an idea Arizona wasn't quite opposed too—provided she could procure sensible swimwear for herself and her friends. She shuddered to think what Jersey or Prinz Eugen might consider appropriate for bathing, and from what she gathered, Shinano's bathing suit would require special attention to keep the fragile carrier from melting down.

But that was a question for another time. Arizona knew she'd soon be steaming into battle, and she wanted to soak up as much pleasure as she could. And… she was quite certain this was _the_ place to purse that intention. The ocean below her keel felt like snuggling armfuls of plushies fresh out of the dryer underneath a fluffy comforter that was also fresh out of the dryer. It was warm, and so crystal-clear she could see her sister's screws lazily spinning with the current.

And, more to the point, it was utterly devoid of the Abyssals' demonic taint. The whole archipelago was.

The Philippine navy was small. Even their biggest ship displaced a scant three thousand tons, and the bulk were smaller still. Frigates, Corvettes, even patrol boats made these islands their home. They fought for the archipelago, and in turn the archipelago fought for them. Its countless islands, channels, and inlets gave perfect hiding spots for patrol craft, funneled Abyssal heavies into choke points, and let skilled Philippine helmsmen simply vanish into the maze the minute they wished to disappear.

Every time the Abyss had mounted an offensive, they'd been met by minefields so thick one could almost walk across them. They'd found every shoal, every rock, every twist in the coastline hid a torpedo. They couldn't go one boat length without tearing their hulls open, getting their superstructure showered with napalm, or any number of a million horrible fates devised by a people as desperate as they were inventive.

In the end, the Abyssals had simply given up in disgust. They'd contained the island and forced its valiant defenders back the the inland seas. But the island still stood as a bastion against the pacific, a wall the Abyssals were forced to detour around rather than smashing through.

Arizona only hoped her conduct in the coming battle would live up to their standard. She was an old ship, with many years of faithful service under her boot stripe. Many years of _peacetime_ service. In her twinned life as a battleship, she'd fired her guns in anger only twice.

The first was a battle that, save for the sudden intervention of a half-starved submarine, could have gone a very different way.

The second was the battle with the demon wearing _Tosa's_ face. A battle that nearly cost Arizona one of the precious few friends she had. Hiei had been all but crippled in her second engagement, and _she_ was a proper capital ship.

Now, Arizona was steaming into battle with a destroyer by her side. A _real_ destroyer, a ship of steel crewed by three-hundred-eighty brave souls and protected by little more than her captain's wit and the favor of fate.

Intellectually, Arizona knew she would win. She was a hundred miles outside jet range, and the distant buzz of Shinano's orbiting fighters was a gentle reminder of the timid carrier's quiet protection. She knew two standards were more than a match for three great-war battlecruisers, and she knew Jersey and Kongou would be standing by to assist the moment things got dicey.

She knew she would win the day. But every time she caught the camouflaged bulk of _McCampbell_ steaming proudly by her side, a tiny voice in the back of her head whispered "at what cost."

 _"Miss Arizona,"_ The tight, crisp accent of heavy cruiser San Francisco cut through Arizona's pondering like a honed blade. It was distinctly Frisco's voice, Arizona had gotten to know the heavy cruiser back when they were both stationed in pearl—although Frisco still wore her whole shirt back then—but the playful, laid-back lilt was gone.

Frisco was fully-engaged, and there wasn't a shred of her sinewy body left for mirth.

"Arizona copies." The standard reflexively brought her fingers to her scared ear.

 _"We're closing the distance,"_ said Frisco. _"Should be forty minutes out."_

"Understood." Arizona rolled her thick neck until her bulkheads snapped into place. Her turbines roared to flank and her screws bit into the water. Her wake churned to foam as the old standard roused herself for battle again. Her guns materialized at her hips as she let her hands close around their polished wood grips.

She drew the big irons from her hips and thumbed the hammers back without a second thought. Her gaze was locked on the horizon, and her temples rang with the howl of her general quarters siren.

Beside her, Johnston pulled alongside with an utterly homicidal smirk on her little face, a smile that seemed to consist only of gleaming canines. Her feathers whipped with the wind as the little destroyer practically glued herself to the big standard's hip. "Nobody's touching you, ma'am."

Arizona smiled. She'd never had the honor of fighting with a Fletcher, but she knew their reputation.

If a _Fletcher_ said a ship was safe, she was. There was no room for debate with the little firecrackers.

 _"Yo,"_ The rough-cut contralto of New Jersey rumbled through the radio. _"At 'em Arizona!"_

Arizona's smile widened, and she ran her tongue against her teeth. All canines. All sharp enough to cut steel. Perhaps that was simply what American warships did when steaming into battle.

"USS Arizona," the big standard felt the need to say something as saw the first glimmer of bloody red peek over the horizon. "Engaging."

—|—|—

The Island princess was beyond rage now, she'd left that behind her and passed thoroughly into a heart-shattering despair. Her demons, her own flesh, that which she birthed from her womb and suckled at her breast were going to die, and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop it. Caught between an irresistible force and an immovable object, they would be mauled to pieces by the traitors, and all she could do was watch.

Her stormbirds didn't have the range to assist, and even her lightings could only barely make the journey, and only if they didn't save a single drop of fuel for their flight home.

The princess roared in anguish, her vast gauntlet carving a deep gouge in the concrete of her throne room. It didn't matter anyway. Even if she could somehow mount a strike, even if her jets somehow had the fuel to fly flat-out the whole way, their engines would eat themselves from the strain, and even _then_ it wouldn't be fast enough.

Concrete shattered as she fell to her knees. If she had eyes, they'd be pouring tears down her stony face. She raked her talons along her twisted metal crown, tearing at the metal fused with her skin as a howl of anguish slipped through her teeth.

Her demons would die.

There was nothing she could do about it.

The traitors would _steal_ them from her, the only things she'd ever loved.

And after that, they'd take her island. They'd take _her._

And they could have it. If they _drowned in in their blood._

The traitors would learn the fury of a mother with nothing left to loose.

She would avenge her demons.

AND THEY WOULD ALL DIE SCREAMING!

—|—|—

Arizona brought her guns to her eyes with cool precision. The gears in her mind ticked away with the oiled mechanical grace of a fine Swiss timepiece as she plotted her firing solution. She knew, intellectually, that she wasn't alone. She knew Jersey and Kongou were standing by a scant few miles west, ready to step in the moment something got out of hand. She knew Shinano's Shidens and Jills were orbiting overhead, ready to swoop in with a strike from the heavens if need be.

She knew, but she didn't care.

It was irrelevant to her right now.

Her universe consisted of herself, her rifles, and her targets.

"Range," Arizona whispered to herself as she thumbed the hammers back on her Colt Navy revolvers, "Twenty-eight-thousand four-hundred yards."

She didn't—yet—possess the magical radar-linked computers of her sister or Jersey, but the old standard had been practicing optical gunnery with Mutsu and Hiei daily ever since she'd returned. And today, with a brilliant midday sun hanging in the middle of a cloudless sky as clear as sapphire, was a _perfect_ day for optical gunnery.

"Target speed," she squinted over the gleaming waves, her cover pulled low over her eyes like the western gunslingers of yore, and her bright red neckerchief flapping in the breeze. "Twenty-eight knots."

Arizona's fingers closed around the polished steel triggers of her revolvers. "FIRE!"

 _BA-BA-BA-BOOM!_ Her rifles spoke with perfectly-tuned harmony, the interrupter circuits turning a thunderous explosion of noise into a roaring symphony of steel and cordite. Arizona felt her guns flip in her hands as her rifles dropped to their loading angles. faeries scrambled inside her turrets, working deep inside her barrettes to haul fresh shells and powder up to the waiting breeches.

Her first volley was a miss. Towering splashes carved a vast checkerboard on the ocean, telling Arizona not only _that_ she missed, but _precisely_ how much she missed by.

One of the abyssal battlecruisers twitched over, diving for one of her splashes in a frantic attempt to spoil her solution. The other two barreled straight on, desperately trying to close the range until their own twelve-inch guns could drop shells against Arizona.

The standard wasn't worried. She knew she was far from the fastest ship afloat. The doctrine that conceived her had fallen to the scrapheaps of history, replaced by ideals prioritizing speed over sheer armor. Arizona was slow. But not even Jersey had a thicker belt.

She smiled as she felt her second volley slam home into her rifles. The breech blocks cranked closed and her twelve-gun battery answered her commands again, following her steely gaze as she stared down the lead battlecruiser.

"FIRE!" Her rifles spoke once more, hurling twelve fifteen-hundred pound shells in a tighter grid towards her target. Her first estimates had been close, she need only tighten her guesses until she found the range.

The battlecruiser didn't try to dodge. It's inky black hull burned like cold fire as it roared towards her. Its stacks belched smoke as thick and black as coal, and its wake roiled with a freezing taint.

With a crash, Arizona's second volley slammed into the ocean. This time, her bracket was tight, constructing her target like a corset of steel and fire. She'd found the range, she need only prosecute her just vengeance.

"Fun, isn't it, Ari?" For the first time since she'd come back, Pennsy wore an honest smile. Her eyes burned not with the general hatred she so often smoldered with, but a pointed, focused anger. Righteous fury directed squarely at the demons under her guns.

Arizona smiled. Far be it from her to declare brutal violence a worthwhile pastime, the old standard had lived her first life in the desperate hope that she'd pass into obscurity without firing a single shot. But… she had to agree with Jersey for a moment. Killing Nazis was good, wholesome fun. "Indeed, Pennsy."

Penny's response was a thundering barrage from her battery, followed an instant later by Arizona's own twelve-piece choir of death.

This time, she had the range. She had the angles. And her shells found their mark.

Fifteen hundred pounds of case-hardened American Iron shoved its way through the battlecruiser's deck and punched through watertight compartments like they were made of tissue paper. A half-dozen of its comrades followed suit, tearing into the battlecruiser's bow and reducing everything forward of A turret into twisted metal even a scrapyard would reject.

"Ha ha!" A raucous laugh firmly at odds with Penny's former dour behavior rumbled from her lopsided smile. "That's my lil' sister!"

Arizona blushed as bright as her neckerchief as she loaded a fresh charge into her navy Colt.

By sundown, all that was left of the battlecruisers was three rapidly-disappearing stains on the pristine ocean.

* * *

Jane Richardson examined her handiwork with a beaming smile. Sitting on the middle of the kitchen table, surrounded by construction paper shavings, globs of half-cooled hot-glue, tape scraps, and several empty bottles of white glue was an exact replica of the Sasebo summoning chamber.

Well… not _quite_ exact. Jane hadn't gone into obsessive rivet-counting detail for a simple class diorama, but it was pretty close. She'd copied the Japanese calligraphy from the wall-hanging scrolls as best she could—it took her seven tries, and she was really proud of how they turned out. She'd made little paper figures of her dad and Jintsuu to watch over the summoning pool, and she'd even built the diorama around a Tupperware container. It could even hold water!

A smile passed over the girl's face, as a sudden realization dawned.

Maybe she was just being silly, but…

Jane bolted for the garage with the frantic energy only a small girl who'd consumed her own body weight in sugar products to fuel her artistic efforts could produce. Before long, she was back with a can of Iron filings—which were as messy as they were fun to play with—a battered bottle of three-in-one oil, and a few rounds from her dad's nine-millimeter.

She hadn't touched his _gun_ of course, Jane knew far better than to do that. Although she would like it stated for the record that she was a better shot than him, mostly due to Arizona's teaching. She'd just tore into one of the open cardboard ammo boxes and grabbed a handful of cartridges.

If this didn't work, she'd put them back, but she was sure she'd need them.

"Ahem," Jane said. But before she could continue, she realized she was missing something. She darted over to the wall and turned the lights out, and scrounged up a few matches. They weren't incense sticks like the Shinto priests used, but it was probably close enough.

Jane struck one of the big matches against the box and held it carefully between her fingers. "Ahem. Steel—" she dumped some of the iron filings into the pool. "—fuel—" she dribbled the 3-in-1. It wasn't fuel oil, but it was the closest she could find on short notice. "—Ammo—" she let the bullets slip between her little fingers one at a time.

"This we offer to the deep," Jane bowed her head to her little mini-summoning chamber. "In tribute to…" she tapped her toe against her chair and tried to remember the words. "In tribute service gladly rendered. And humbly, um… request a return to service."

The girl closed her eyes and blew out her match.

When she opened them, she wasn't alone.

Standing quietly on the surface of the little pool was Mutsu.

Only she wasn't Mutsu, she was a four-inch-tall version of the battleship Jane had decided her father was going to marry. This Mutsu—who Jane decided would be called Minimu—had a head nearly as large as the rest of her body, a tiny torso that was almost perfectly triangular, and tiny, stumpy limbs that hung quietly at her sides.

"Eeeeee," Jane giggled and slammed her chin against the table in her haste to be at eye-level with Minimu. Not that she cared, she was too excited to even notice the pain. "Hi!"

"Mu~" said Minimu with a gentle wave.

"You're cute."

"Muuu"

"You hungry?"

Minimu nodded.

"Stay right there!" Jane darted off her chair, only to come back and give the tiny battleship a quiet one-fingered pat on the head.

"Muuuuuu~"

Jane giggled, and darted off to the kitchen. She wasn't sure what the little battleship would like, so she settled on a nice crisp apple. Jane liked candy, but she liked apples too. They were always delicious and made her want to _do_ things.

Also, the one she'd picked out was bigger than Minimu's head, and that was funny.

"Here!" Jane handed the apple to the tiny battleship, who had to strain her tiny arms to hold onto it.

Then, the girl just watched as Minimu enjoyed her meal. It took the little thing a few minutes to even figure out how to bite into the apple, but before long she was happily nomming away with her chubby little legs splayed out on the kitchen table.

"You're so cute!"

"Mu!" Minimu snapped a noise of protest as Jane squished her chubby cheek, but it was soon replaced by a contented "Muuuuu~"

Jane giggled. She couldn't _wait_ to show Mutsu-mama!


	163. Chapter 123: Armored Fury

**Chapter 123: Armored Fury**

The Island princess fell to her knees with a thunder of shattering concrete and a wail of anguished fury. Her talons clenched until rivers of icy blood oozed between their beaten iron plates. A despairing cry tore itself from her lungs, and if she had eyes she knew they'd be streaming with tears.

She was a minor princess,a nobody in the Abyssal Hierarchy. Her tiny island was important only out of an accident of geology. Her position was merely to hold what the other great queens had taken. She was small. Weak.

She had no great fleet, no army of thousands answering her every word, just her three demons. The flesh of her flesh, forged together in her loving womb, suckled and nurtured on her very breast… they were as much a part of her as her own body was.

And those _traitors_ had _taken_ them from her.

Murdered them.

Torn them into scrap like so much flotsam, reveled in their pain, gloried in sending her _precious children_ to the depth without a single hesitation. To them, this was just… _sport._

They'd torn children from their loving mother's breast, and they were _proud_ of it.

The princess was beyond enraged. For the first time in her life, she didn't care about victory. She didn't care about expanding her territory. She didn't care about growing her fleet. She didn't care about surviving. She didn't even care about her constant hunger.

She was consumed by a roaring, hateful fury that cared only about making those that hurt her _suffer._ She wanted, needed, her foes to _hurt_ for what they'd done to her demons. What they'd done to _her._

"Ready the jets." She spat out each word with a spray of blood and spit. The traitors were drawing close. Soon even her stormbirds would be in range. And when they were, she would blot out the sky.

—|—|—

Arizona felt her blood run cold as jets by the dozen blackened the horizon with pillars of coal-dark smoke. Her breath caught in her chest, and her muscles shook as she forced herself to stare down the hateful things bearing down on her faster than any aircraft had any right to. Her hands were cold fists at her side, her knuckles white under the supple leather of her gloves.

All the logic in the world couldn't stem the primal terror gripping at the old standard's mind. The part of her mind that knew Shinano's Shidens, Jersey's secondaries, and the great host of friendly destroyers were all looking out for her was hiding behind bolted doors while the rest of her bridge crew stood frozen in abject horror.

Even if she could bring herself to do something, it wouldn't have mattered. Arizona lacked the vast secondary batteries of Jersey, she lacked the graceful agility of Kongou or the cruisers…

All she could do was hold her course and trust her escorts to defend her.

And she _did_ trust them.

But all the trust in the world meant nothing in the face of her irrational terror.

"All Ships!" Jersey's thundering contralto muscled through the standard's petrified musing with the same graceless force as the battleship herself. Yet… Arizona wasn't sure if she was projecting, but for a moment she almost thought she heard a tiny catch in the bigger battleship's voice.

"Weapons fucking free!" snapped Jersey.

In an instant, the vast horde of twinned five-inch mounts bristling along her shapely hips snapped to attention. Barrels by the hundreds trained on the black stain blemishing the horizon, thousands of faeries crowded the seemingly limitless forty- and twenty-millimeter gun tubs mounted to nearly every flat surface _on_ the American warships.

The jets would be in range _awfully_ soon, and Arizona couldn't shake the creeping dread that even this gratuitous display of anti-aircraft artillery wouldn't be enough to stop the horde.

"AEGIS boats!" Jersey barked out another order. Her mirrored shades glistened in the evening sun, and her half-gloved hands were balled to tight fists by her massive thighs as she bellowed orders. "BRING DOWN THE SKY!"

Arizona glanced over at the lithe form of _McCampbell_ just in time to watch the valiant little steel-hull destroyer explode. She only saw it for an instant, but her terror-stricken mind filled in ever gruesome detail. The standard gasped in horror as tongues of fire belched from the ship's deck and shrouded it in smoke.

A magazine explosion, it had to be. Arizona watched in mute horror as flaming debris climbed skyward on pillars of smoke, remnants of a once-proud American warship.

But then the standard noticed something.

Jersey was grinning.

And her smile consisted of nothing but glistening canines filed to a razor edge.

Arizona glanced back at the destroyer and her horror turned to awe. What her terrified mind had seen as flaming debris were actually _missiles._ The standard felt a happy whoop slip through her lips as the missiles arrested their skyward climb and with one mind cranked over in a hard yaw and threw themselves at the oncoming jets.

"HELL FUCKING YEAH!" Jersey's roar thundered over even the sound of her own secondaries erupting in sheets of fire.

The three Fletchers unleashed their own rifles only an instant later, and every last one of them wore the same gleefully predatory smile of their amazonian minder.

Arizona had read about the awesome power of an American battlegroup. But never in her life had she experienced being in the _thick_ of it. It was more than she could ever imagine. The constant thunder of flak pounded at her chest until she more felt than heard it. The air around her burned with cordite and steel, and the horizon glowed with a constant dawn of burning tracers and exploding proximity shells.

Anything that made it past the AEGIS destroyers' rippling tidal wave of missiles crashed into the solid wall of iron her escorts threw up.

Missiles streamed all but exploded from the steel-hull destroyers, only to hurl themselves into the maelstrom with almost giddy eagerness. Battleships and cruisers alike turned the sky to steel, while over head Shinano's Shidens effortlessly danced around their firing solutions to smack down any jet that came staggering through the impossibly thick barrage.

Arizona felt a smile grace her lips as she let the rolling thunder wash over her like a wave.

This wasn't war.

This was a _symphony_ of fire and iron. Rifles thundered out a pounding chorus, punctuated by the staccato chatter of auto-cannons, the shrill howl of rocket motors, and the occasional whine of massive radials.

Arizona closed her eyes and let the music of battle unfold around her. Her own guns stood manned and ready, but they were anemic compared to the ludicrously overdeveloped flak farms carried by Jersey, Lou, and even the Fletchers. What little damage she suffered were mere papercuts.

Scrapes from errant cannon rounds skipped over her armor and left almost imperceptible trails of red on her face. Bombs hastily dropped by shaken pilots slammed harmlessly against her massive belt.

She was safe in the maelstrom.

Every barked order, every howl of glee, every crash of burning metal against saltwater drove home a twin-trusted point.

Arizona was steaming through hell. And not all the demons therein could _touch_ her.

She was a battleship. This was where she was born to be.

—|—|—

She'd lost. The princess was certain of it. She'd spent her last jet in a futile attempt to stall the coming storm, and all she'd gotten for her price of blood was scratch damage at best. Her attack had barely even slowed the traitor fleet down, and while she _had_ forced them to expend more of their precious missiles, that small victory rang hollow next to its crushing price.

Her demons were gone.

Her jets were gone.

Now battleships, cruisers, carriers, and infantry in their thousands bore down on her lonely island and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop them.

She should be… something. Scared that her island—her very life—was about to be stolen from her. Furious that she'd allowed herself to be so bested. Enraged at the foes that had so callously slaughtered her own beloved children.

But all she felt was despair.

She'd lost.

She'd lost and there was no one else to save her.

Even if the archipelago princess could send reinforcements in time, she couldn't spare the hulls. Not with battlecruisers from Australia smashing down her front door. Perhaps… if the archipelago princess could hold the Spratlys, she dispatch a fleet to retake the princess' island home.

But the princess knew she'd never live to see it.

Her foes would take her island. That fact was irrefutable.

But at what price?

The princess had nothing left to loose. Nothing left to feel but rage and despair. They would take her island, but they'd have to drown it in their own blood.

Behind every blade of grass would be a rifle barrel.

Around every corner and behind every building would be a tank.

When the traitorous battleships shelled her, she'd retreat to her bunkers beneath the earth.

But the moment the first marine set foot on her soil, she would inflict such terrible horror upon them it would be spoken with hushed tones for the short remainder of human civilization.

Forget victory.

The princess wanted _vengeance._

—|—|—

Captain Richard Knight was an armor officer, and a _Marine_ armor officer at that. He was practically legally required to treat the navy as nothing more than a glorified, inexplicably homosexual taxi service that hauled the _real_ heroes and took far more than their fair share of the credit once the dust settled.

After all, he was a tanker. He was lucky if he got a warm engine deck that wasn't encrusted with sand to sleep on with a day-old MRE congealing in his stomach. Sailors got to go home to a warm bed and a hot meal fresh from the mess every night. And while Knight accepted them as an important part of the amphibious-assault doctrine, he also accepted his asshole as an important part of his digestive tract. That didn't mean he went around showing it off to everyone.

That said, watching the sun rise on a proper gun-line of proper battleships formed up to properly shell the everliving _fuck_ out of a Nazi-occupied island awakened something in him not even the thunder of a one-twenty sabot could.

He'd never even seen a battleship fire a full broadside, the _Bonnie Dick_ had hung back with that timid Japanese carrier during the battle. He hadn't seen, but he didn't care. Just watching the sun rise on that much steel put a smile on his face and a raging freedom-on in his pants.

"Rick," Nate Hawk, Knight's gunner and would-be identical twin if not for the tattoos spiraling up his arms onto his back, shot Knight a smirk. The gold-rimmed aviators he'd found… somewhere gleamed almost as brightly in the morning sunlight as his smirking teeth.

"Nate." Knight stuffed his hands into his pockets and smiled at the battleships limbering up for their bombardment.

It was strange, really. The rational part of his mind _knew_ he was looking at floating castles of steel almost as big as ol _Bonnie Dick_ herself. It knew he was just seeing turrets slew on their mounts, radars scan on their masts, and vast hulls heave with the gentle roll of the seas.

But the rest of his mind didn't care. With every twitch of a turret, he saw a young woman shrugging her shoulders and cracking her fists. Ships who were also girls. Who would've thought?

"I'm excited," said the Marine. "You know why?"

Hawk shrugged, and cracked open a can of rip-it with his teeth.

"No fucking ROE," said Knight. Rules Of Engagement were the bane of a Marine's existence. Constantly second-guessing yourself and everyone around you, fighting an enemy who hid in a crowd when every mistake would be broadcast large to a public ready to pass judgement was hell.

But not anymore.

Now him and his Marines were fighting Nazis.

Not just Nazis. Literal demon Nazis from the very pit of hell itself. The Dalai Lama himself wouldn't think twice about putting two through the chest of those bastards.

"You know why _I'm_ excited?" Hawk slammed back the rip-it in one long gulp.

Knight just smiled at his gunner.

"Big. Motherfucking. Guns."

Knight's smile only widened. The rational part of his mind saw the battleship _Arizona_ training her rifles at a tiny rock in the middle of the South China sea. But he _saw_ a young woman with copper-red hair and a cover pulled low over her eyes like an old-west gunslinger staring down the island with pure hate as she slowly thumbed the hammers back on a pair of navy colts.

 _BOOM!_ Arizona's rifles thundered, followed an instant later by the rippling choir of Pennsy, Jersey, and even Kongou. The other ships fired too, of course. None of the cruisers or even destroyers could let a chance to shell Nazis slip through their fingers.

But it was the battleships who owned the stage. Every roaring volley sent a hammer blow of sound crashing into his chest, forcing him back a half step with each volley.

Hell yeah, battleships!


	164. Chapter 124: Laska a Cute

**Chapter 124: Laska a Cute**

There were times when large cruiser Alaska wished her breasts were just a little more filled out. Not because she was insecure or anything, though. The large cruiser was honestly quite contented with her distinctly svelte silhouette. It made her stand out next to the other cruisers—and even the Kagerou triplets—she served with, and she had a much easier time finding clothing that fit.

Alaska knew that because Atago had shown her _all_ the websites while trying to coax Alaska into buying something 'sexy' for her beach 'date' with Cameron. The large cruiser hadn't so much refused as she'd sputtered with an increasingly red face at the increasingly minimal amount of fabric she was supposed to wear until Atago gave up. But that was beside the point, which was that Alaska was perfectly happy with her current figure.

She didn't want bigger breasts for her.

She wanted them because… well, because resting your head against Atago's cleavage was like taking a nap in a giant pile of fluffy kittens who'd been basking in the sun all afternoon. It was warm and soft and the gentle rhythm of Atago's heartbeats combined with the steady swell of her breathing was a better lullaby than anything short of Texas' singing.

It was Alaska's opinion that everyone should snuggle her best friend's bosom at least once in their lives. Or at least have a busty friend to take naps on. That was why Alaska wished her upperworks were a bit more built up, she'd like to be that friend for _her_ friends.

Hamakaze and her sisters worked so hard… the deserved someplace softer than her lap and tummy to curl up on for their midday nap. Nachi too. She knew the old cruiser had a prickly exterior, and usually kept to herself. But… well, Alaska just couldn't believe that she wouldn't like a little nap every once in a while.

And then…

Then there was Cameron.

Alaska wasn't sure if it was ever going to happen, but… but every time she thought of her boyfriend's messy hair resting against the soft cushions of a bosom she didn't actually have she smiled. She hadn't done much with him, beyond a little bit of cuddling on the truck after their date, but…

But every time he touched her a shiver shot down her spine, and a dopey smile she couldn't hide for the life of her bubbled up onto her face.

She liked Cameron, and she would like to cuddle him sometime. And, even though she knew this was years in the future and probably never going to happen, she sometimes caught herself daydreaming about her wedding.

Atago would be her maid of honor, of course. Even if Alaska could think of someone, her best friend had already claimed dibs for Alaska's eventual wedding. Atago seemed very certain that Alaska would eventually a husband, which confused the large cruiser to no end.

The Kagerous had all offered to be her bridesmaids too, and Alaska'd even gotten an e-mail from Eldridge—a destroyer escort based on the East Coast—asking if the spot of flower girl was already taken. Alaska wasn't quite sure how ships so far away knew so much about her idle daydreams, but she was pretty sure it was Atago's fault.

Not that she minded. After all, it got Akron to volunteer as DJ for the reception. Alaska thought that was a splendid fit. The cheery airship had the best taste in music.

And…

Alaska felt silly for even thinking about it…

But…

Well…

A small, tiny, almost non-existent part of her would sometimes daydream about living with Cameron. And… having… getting…

Alaska wanted kids, dangit!

It made her blush every time she thought about it, but the large cruiser really, _really_ wanted babies. She'd love them and play hot-wheels with them, and… And honestly, that was the extent of her plans.

Alaska would not be a very good mother.

But… maybe she could be a good friend.

Which brought her back to her original topic.

No, not her breasts. The topic she'd started pondering her breasts in a frantic effort to distract herself from.

The cell phone resting in her hand. The phone into which she'd dialed the number of her boyfriend. The man she loved and wanted to—as unrealistic as it might be—spend the next portion of her life with. She'd got her swimsuit all picked out, it was supposed to be nice and sunny at the beach… she just had to push that button and ask him.

Just… had to push it.

The button.

Push it.

But Alaska couldn't silence the little voice in the back of her head that worried he'd say no. She'd never asked anyone out before, and… And the large cruiser was painfully aware that she wasn't anyone's first choice. She couldn't gunfight as well as a real battleship could, and anything _else_ she could do a _Baltimore_ or _Des Moines_ could do cheaper. It was one of the reasons she and her sisters had such a short life.

Even the navy in all its wisdom couldn't find something useful for her to do.

What if—

"'Laska?"

"AH!" Alaska shrieked as her best friend's sing-song voice shattered her already frayed nerves. She jumped off the floor in fright, only to slam down hard on her sneakers and fall squarely onto her stern. "'Tago! Don't DO THAT!"

Atago just giggled, and bounced through the half-open door into Alaska's room and flung herself on the large cruiser's messy bed. "Did you call him yet?"

"Um…" Alaska glanced at her phone. Her shock-induced twitches must've hit the button for her. "A-apparently?"

 _"'Laska?"_ Cameron's voice crackled through the phone's speaker so quietly the large cruiser could barely hear it. But barely wasn't the same as didn't, and Alaska still heard enough of his kind southern accent to send a giddy shiver up her spine and a blushing smile across her lips.

Unfortunately, that also delayed her reactions long enough for her best friend to swoop in and steal the phone right out of her hands.

"Panpakapan!" Atago giggled and put him on speaker. "'Laska's office speaking, how may I help you?"

 _"Oh. Hey, 'Tago."_ Cameron chuckled through the phone. If Alaska hadn't already been sitting with her legs splayed all over her carpeted floor, she knew her knees would've given way. _"what's up?"_

"Oh, nothing," Atago ruffled Alaska's snowy hair with a smile. "Alaska's trying to ask you out."

 _"Oh is she now?"_

"Tagooooooo," Alaska moaned.

"Mmmhm!" said Atago. "But she's really bad at talking to boys."

""Tagooooooo!"

 _"Let me guess,"_ Cameron's laugh sounded like how Texas' honey-drizzled cornbread tasted, only somewhat less destructive to Alaska's waistline. _"Now she's pouting that you won't give her her phone back."_

"Ta—" Alaska blushed, and buried her nose in the furry collar of her parka. "Not pouting."

"She says she's not pouting," said Atago.

 _"Uh huh. Put me on with her."_

Atago beamed, and squished the phone against Alaska's snowy cheek. "Say hi."

"Uh…" Alaska coughed. "Hi, Cameron."

 _"Hey, 'laska,"_ said Cameron. _"How's my very favorite snowball doing?"_

"I'm doing fine," Alaska chose to ignore her hours-long moment of indecision. "I, um… are you free this weekend?"

 _"Yeah, actually. I, uh…"_ Cameron coughed. _"We're— my family and a few of the neighbors are having a barbecue if… if you want to come. 'Tago can come too if she wants."_

"Oh…" Alaska thought for a second. She really did want to go to the beach, and… maybe having people around would keep Atago from trying to play matchmaker. "I.. I'd like that."

 _"Awesome!"_ Cameron let out a breath of relief that crackled through the phone. _"Is 'tago coming? "_

"Um," Alaska held her phone against her chest. "Tago!"

"Stop pouting!"

"I'm not pouting!" pouted Alaska. "Cameron wants to know if you're coming to the barbecue this weekend."

"Barbecue?"

"Mmm," Alaska nodded. "On the beach."

"On the beach you say?"

"Mmhm."

Atago bounced to her feet, her upperworks lagging behind just enough to set them jiggling like jello cups only less tasty. "I'll need a bathing suit!"

Alaska held her phone to her ear. "She says she'll need a bathing suit."

 _"Oh Lord."_

"I know…" Alaska winced as her best friend tore over to her closet and started tearing ever skimpier bits of swimwear out of drawers. "I think this was a bad decision."

 _"Probably,"_ admitted Cameron. _"You, uh… should bring a swimsuit too."_

"Oh," Alaska smirked at the cute little black and blue number hanging up over her collection of hotwheels and legos, "I have one."

 _"Well…"_ Cameron coughed. _"Uh. I'll look forward to seeing you in it."_

"Kay." Alaska had figured out travel allowances to get her and 'tago down to the beach—two cruisers are _heavy_ —and hung up before she realized just what he'd said to her.

He was waiting to see her.

In a swimsuit.

She didn't stop giggling for hours.


	165. A Certain Lady Part 32

**Certain Lady Part 32**

Admiral Richardson let out a sigh as he hung his cover on the hat rack above the pair of shelves used for shoes. He didn't really care one way or another about wearing his shoes indoors, but constant exposure to the practice had left it's mark on him. There was also the minor detail of the disapproving looks sent his way by almost every other individual who lived in his home when he failed to do so.

So with the image of an disapproving Jintsuu at the forefront of his mind, he obediently removed his shoes and set them on the topmost shelf right next to Mutsu's.

He paused to look at the inconspicuous wooden assembly and gave a short snort of laughter.

A year ago. No, maybe even not even that long ago. Whatever the time was, he was certain that he'd have never even thought to imagine this.

He crouched down to look at the assembled footwear. Each pair was settled above a nameplate made of wood and decorated in Jane's untidy handwriting.

Jintsuu.

Hiei.

Mutsu.

Jane.

Daddy.

They were the oldest nameplates and the last two older by a significant margin. He idly wondered if his daughter would ever update them so they were more legible. Probably not. He wouldn't either.

But now there were more names.

Arizona.

Shimakaze.

Albacore.

Richardson smirked at the last two. Jane had done them up in a jiffy the moment it became clear in her mind that she had two new sisters. He wasn't really sure how Arizona and Shimakaze going shopping had worked out, only that afterwards the speed obsessed destroyer had decided she liked being around Arizona a whole lot more than being alone. Jane's attachment was practically inevitable after that.

And Albie was a given.

When she was around that is. He could really only tell by the presence of something swimming in his coffee or the sudden absence of many things. And always at least one pair of pants was part of that.

All shoes excepting Shimakaze, Arizona, and Albacore's were accounted for.

"They'll be fine." Yeah. They'd be alright. He just needed to keep telling himself that. He doubted he would ever be free of the anxiety that gripped him when he sent a member of his fleet out to battle. But it lessened as time went on and the girls were better able to wage war. And that little bit of self assurance helped him more than he cared to admit.

Even Pennsylvania held a place in his hopes.

He might not like Arizona's sister, but he wouldn't wish an ill fate on her.

But he had doubts she'd have a nameplate here anytime soon.

Richardson stood, ignoring the creaking in his knees. Dammit. He wasn't that old. But all the desk-work had been leaving him more and more stiff these days. Maybe he ought up his usual workout to compensate.

He refrained from calling out his arrival. There might be lights on, but it was quite late. He didn't want to wake up anyone who had gone to sleep if he could help it. Everyone was doing their utmost in one capacity or another and what rest could be obtained was best left uninterrupted.

Sock-covered footsteps carried him to the living room. There was only one light on and only one occupant visible to him.

"Dammit, Mutsu..."

It was plainly obvious to him that she was asleep and had dozed off while going over yet another set of reports. Ever since the fleet had set out to turn islands and demon Nazi things into ash and dust, Mutsu had been going at full tilt. If a piece of equipment or installation needed inspecting, she was on it. And then twice over to make absolutely certain whatever it was operated at peak performance.

Richardson would put money down that by now she knew more about the anti-air batteries on base than the people who designed them.

She wasn't the only one working nearly non-stop.

Everyone was doing something to keep the gears in this war machine greased and it was draining on all of them. Whether it was inspecting, cooking, shelling, scouting, or whatever the order of the day was. It didn't matter. Everyone was giving it their all.

And right now he was looking at someone who had decided falling asleep with a report in-hand was better than trying to slog herself into a bed. Or even a comfortable position on the couch she was already using. The way her head lolled to one side could not have been comfortable. And he knew from far too much experience just how much of a wreck you could put your back into if you fell asleep in the wrong position.

At least she'd changed out of her uniform and into something more comfortable.

Though if it weren't for the fact that there was a cold cup of coffee on a nearby table and the sheafs of paper covered in official reports and her own well practiced penmanship, he'd swear she chose that white sweater just to tease him.

Richardson approached the sleeping battleship and began methodically collecting all of the papers, pens, and notes laying about. He could have taken a photo for blackmail given how silly she looked. But he really didn't think it was worth it. Not now.

He wanted to rebuke her. To wake and tell her off for not taking better care of herself. However it never was more than a fleeting notion. Partly because he knew he'd have worked himself into the same state. Hell, he'd done that more times than he could count.

Yet there was something else stopping him.

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Richardson felt himself frozen at the sight of battleship Mutsu.

He knew she was a beautiful woman.

There was never any doubt of that.

But there were times like this when she took his breath away.

The house was quiet enough that he could hear the soft sound of her breathing. Her soft lips parted slightly as she mumbled something unintelligible.

Before Richardson could stop himself, he reached out and brushed one of the many stray locks of her brown hair out of her face. His hand came to rest against her cheek and Mutsu leaned against it as though it were a pillow. All the while, his heart raced in a way it hadn't in a decade.

As he gently removed Mutsu's hair band antennae, his mind wandered. Though, he would agree that she looked best with a hair band of some sort. Not that she was any less beautiful without. The hair accessory just suited her. Well enough that it seemed odd when she wasn't wearing one.

His thoughts drifted to the past. A past where he was he was courting and being courted by an eccentric model builder. Langley had crashed into his life in a very literal way. Thanks to her poor fortune with wiring, he'd found himself one of the luckiest men alive. He treasured her memory and the legacy she'd left him in Jane. Those years they had together would be with him forever.

Even now, both his ring and hers hung about his neck on a simple steel necklace.

So many memories in so short a time.

He still laughed whenever he recalled all the trouble she got him into with her planes. One particularly fond incident involved a visiting admiral and one of her Avenger models. The man hadn't been pleased about his car being torpedoed, but commended Langley on her aim if nothing else.

A melancholy and regretful expression clouded his face as he realized he was thinking of one woman while caring for another.

A woman who was also a battleship.

Try as he might, he couldn't help but be drawn to her. Be attracted to her. Fall for her.

Mutsu was a kind and loving soul. And a powerful one at that. Then again, so were all of the other shipgirls who had made their home here. Both under his roof and under his command. And he loved them. But he loved them in different ways and to differing degrees. Some like friends. Some like daughters. Others even like a commander might care for a dutiful subordinate.

Jintsuu was a dear friend and a terrifyingly competent individual. The kind of retainer as lord would be blessed to have. Even if her love of cinema baffled him to no end, he would not trade her for anything. And heaven help anyone who tried to take her.

Arizona had entered his life with all the subtlety of her class. For all her faults and weaknesses, she soldiered on with a dedication to do whatever it took to accomplish her mission. He could respect that. And in the short time she had been here, she had bludgeoned her way into an irreplaceable part of his life.

And Hiei...

...was Hiei.

The first shipgirl under his command and the one who had become as much a part of him and his life as his own flesh and blood.

Not even Langley had accomplished such a feat.

But maybe it was because of that closeness he and Hiei had never taken a step in that direction. Theirs was something... he could not put into words. And something he would never try to.

And here was Mutsu. The loving, teasing, beautiful, headache-inducing, and caring battleship who had made him realize he needed to draw a line. Do something to distance himself in some way. A distance that would let him keep the status quo. Keep his life cemented and allow him to focus on everything that wasn't the woman who had made him feel emotions left dormant since his wife had passed.

That same line had been eroding almost from the moment he'd finished drawing it.

A line he'd tried and failed to redraw dozens of times.

"John."

Richardson didn't so much as twitch when Hiei spoke.

"Don't you think you've waited long enough?"

He remained silent, listening even as Hiei silently walked towards him and embraced him from behind. His heart clenched as she reached into his shirt and withdrew the necklace holding his and Langley's rings. There was no hesitation in her action. There never was. Not between the two of them.

"She's going to kick your ass at this rate, you know."

"Yeah. I know." Richardson whispered back with a grimace. "It's rude to keep a lady waiting. And here I am, spinning my wheels. She always did hate it when I did that."

"Only because you did it with the silliest of things." Hiei fingered the gold bands gently as she rested her head against Richardson's back.

Richardson let his hand fall from Mutsu's cheek.

"Hiei?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

"You can thank me by making sure that snoozing battlewagon is so happy she doesn't know her screws from her guns." She tucked the rings back into his shirt and patted them reassuringly. "And by giving Jane lots of siblings."

"Kind of a tall order for an old man like me." Richardson grinned.

"Tough." Hiei released Richardson and moved into his vision with a mischievous smile. "You fell in love with a battleship, Admiral John Alfred Richardson. Now you have to face the consequences."

"I suppose I do, don't I."

Hiei sighed with mock despair.

"Oh, my poor admiral. He doesn't have a clue. His poor innocent self may not survive."

Richardson rolled his eyes.

"Besides, you have a lot of expectations to live up to." With a flourish, Hiei withdrew a small stack of cards from her pocket. "And there's more than a few people who are a little bit tired of you taking your time."

"What ar-" He blinked as the first card was thrust in front of his vision, obscuring Hiei and Mutsu from sight.

Was this... a love letter?

It was.

It was sappy and questionably written, but it was a love letter nonetheless. From Mutsu. But the fact the rather terrible handwriting was definitely not Mutsu's told him this was a terrible forgery. One that made no attempts at hiding that blatant detail.

He gave Hiei the most unamused expression he had in his arsenal as she continued placing card after card into his hands. There was one from almost every single shipgirl in the vicinity of Sasebo. Some of the more well behaved and respectable girls had joined in on this ridiculous stunt.

Even _Kaga_ had sent one!

"Oh, and Jane has a message from New Jersey. She's asleep, so she asked me to give it to you."

"God help me..."

"SECNAV approved. So, no." She cleared her throat and adopted what had to be one of the worse attempts at imitating the littlest Richardson. "If you doesn't lay your keel in Mutsu's slipway, the poor girl's gonna blow. Again."

You could hear a pin drop.

"...I'm going to fucking ship her back to the states on a Russian passenger liner." It took every sliver of self-control to not shout in outrage.

"Oh, how cruel. Even for you." Hiei's grin was playful as ever, nearly a rival to Mutsu's own. The makings of a laugh tugged blatantly at the corners of her mouth.

"Quit screwing around and help me out." Richardson grumbled irritably, the mood so thoroughly destroyed. He knelt before the still sleeping Mutsu. She must have really overworked herself to be so tired. Sleeping through all of that nonsense. "I'm not going to let her sleep on the couch all night. Help me carry her to bed."

"How lewd. But at least you're taking that message to heart."

"Goddammit Hiei."


	166. Chapter 124: Smolbote is Smol

**Chapter 125: Smolbote is Smol**

Jane Richardson enjoyed the nights when her dad was busy working. It meant she could stay up as late as she wanted watching television. Which was good, because History Channel was running a week-long _Warship: 360_ marathon. According to her dad, History Channel had been getting worse and worse until the abyssals attacked, when they suddenly discovered that history made great ratings.

Jane didn't know what to think about that. Besides, she was too busy watching the latest episode of _Saratoga: 360_ to care. Jane liked Saratoga, which wasn't saying much because she liked _all_ the ships. But still, she had a big pile of the _Changing Destiny_ books by her bed—and even more that she'd loaned out to ship as far as Yokosuka. Jane really wanted to meet Saratoga some day.

And hug her.

She seemed ideal for hugging.

"What do you think?" Jane looked over to her tiny tv companion.

Minimu glanced up from the jumbo-sized marshmallow she'd been attempting to eat for the past hour and a half. So far no progress had been made, the itty-bitty battleship would just smash her face into the giant confectionery and gnaw on it with her tiny teeth for a while, then pull herself away and mumble an angry "MU!" in the hopes of intimidating it into cooperating. And then the process would repeat again to similarly unimpressive results.

Jane giggled, and ruffled the little battleship's short hair with her finger. "I think we have some smaller ones, you know."

"Muu!" Minimu pouted in defiance and shook the giant marshmallow in her hands.

"Do you want some or not?"

Minimu glanced from the marshmellow to the tv then back to the mashmellow, then back to the tv again. Then she sadly let it fall from her teeny hands and slumped her shoulders in defeat. "Muuuuu~"

"I'll be right back!" Jane chuckled and bolted for the kitchen with all the energy of a nine year old who'd been consuming nothing but sugar and sugar-related products while sitting on her butt watching History Channel for the past several hours. Shimakaze didn't have _anything_ on her.

Jane dragged over a stool to check the pantry when she heard a noise. A rustling from the box of two-dozen Krispy Kremes sitting on top of the refrigerator.

And yes, jane did specifically mean a _box_ of donuts.

The littlest Richardson assumed the box had been full at some point, but by the time a very ashamed Arizona arrived at the doorstop, only two were left. Jane had pretended not to notice the guilty look on Arizona's glazing-speckled cheeks. It was her informed opinion as a shipgirl researcher that donuts belonged inside Arizona's tummy. It only made her cuddliest mama-boat that much cuddlier!

Besides, Arizona was clearly happy to be so very full of tasty donuts. And anything that made Ari-mama happy made Jane happy too.

"Hello?" Jane poked the box with her finger. Hmm… she already had an inkling of what had happened, but she wanted to be certain before she got her hopes up.

A tiny noise floated up from the box. It sounded like a very small voice, but it was too muffled by the cardboard to make out. Jane also thought it sounded like someone was trying to speak with their mouth full, but Ari-mama had taught her very clearly that that wasn't a ladylike thing to do.

Jane flipped open the box, and found what could only be described as a smol Arizona. Yes, "smol", not small. This Arizona was barely six inches tall, with little stumpy legs that splayed out on the bottom of the box and little stumpy arms that somehow clung to a donut big enough for her to lounge in.

Interestingly, the only donut left in the box was the one the girl Jane decided would now be known as smolzona was trying to eat. She could've sworn there were two in there last time she checked. "Where did the other one go?"

Smolzona glanced from the tiny nibble marks in her current donut to Jane, then to her itty-bitty feet. "zona," she mumbled.

"I thought so." Jane giggled, and picked up the tiny battleship by the scruff of her neck. Smolzona did not seem amused. In fact, she stared at Jane with tiny impotent rage, but there wasn't much the miniature standard could do. "You know, all that sugar's not good for you!"

"Zona!"

"What about some nice fruit?" Jane held Smolzona in one hand while fishing around in the refrigerator to find some grapes. "There," Jane put the grapes in a bowl. "Much healthier, right?"

Try as she might, Jane couldn't resist the urge to poke Smolzona's tummy like the Pillsbury doughboy. Smolzona giggled, then instantly reverted to staring at Jane in scale-correct annoyance.

Jane just giggled at set the little battleship down inside the bowl while she went looking for marshmallows for Minimu. Smolzona didn't seem to mind, and she was soon nomming her way though a grape like it was a watermelon. But before she could find what she was looking for, the phone rang.

Jane pounced and tore than handset from its cradle with childish energy. "Richardson residence," she said as she fell to the floor with a crash. "Jane speaking."

 _"Oh, Jane! It's nice to meet you, dess!"_ Kongou's happy voice was punctuated by the rolling thunder of naval rifles. _"Is your father or Mutsu home?"_

"No," said Jane. "Dad's at work, and I think so's miss Mutsu." After a moment's pause, she added, "Um… what's that noise?"

Kongou waited until the latest volley of shellfire died down. _"Nothing, dess. We're just shelling an island for the Marines."_

"Oh," Jane wasn't sure what to think. It made a lot more sense that Kongou would call her during a lull in the action like that, but… Jane had sorta been hoping her friends had been in the middle of an active engagement. That would've been so cool! "Do you need me to take a message?"

 _"Please, Dess!"_ said Kongou. _"Could you please tell Mutsu that I'm giving up my dibs, dess?"_

Jane scribbled it down with the only gel pen she had left. "Giving… Up… Dibs. Okay!"

 _"She'll know what it means, dess,"_ said Kongou.

"Okay, I'll tell her!"

 _"Oh, and Jane?"_

"Hmm?" Jane idly drew little boats on the notepad.

 _"Tell Mutsu that if she doesn't have a ring on her finger and a bump on her belly by the time I get back,_ _ **there will be words**_ _, Dess."_

Jane giggled. She knew what _that_ meant. "I will!"

Cameron was looking forward to seeing 'Laska in a swimsuit.

Partly because it was _'Laska_ in a _swimsuit_. Cameron liked to think he was pretty good about being a proper gentleman around girls, but even the most proper of gentlemen would have to admit that girl had the most perfect body any girl could ever have: All legs and hips and smiles, with just a smidgen up top to round her out.

She would look stunning in any kind of beachwear, although Cameron was quietly hoping she'd go for some variety of bikini. He'd never seen her belly, but from the times they'd cuddled, he could only assume her tummy was of the fit-and-trim variety that'd look stunning in something revealing.

But… for the most part, Cameron was looking forwards to seeing her just because it meant he got to see her. Alaska might be, as established earlier, stunningly hot, but that never seemed to matter when they were together. He could never look at her sashay when her smile was glowing like a lighthouse.

When she laughed it sounded… honestly, the best analogy he could think of was that her laugh sounded like what a dozen fat puppies chasing after a tennis ball looked like. Uncoordinated, inelegant, but bursting with undiluted happiness. That was really 'laska in a nutshell. Not totally sure what she was doing, but having the time of her life getting it done.

"Cameron?" his mother knocked on the half-open door. "You busy?"

"Nah," Cameron spun away from his laptop and bounced to his feet. "You need something?"

"Dishes are done, mind putting them away?" His mother chuckled at the content of his room. The laptop was open to at least two Wikipedia tabs on a certain large cruiser of the US Navy, and what seemed like the entire naval history section of the local library sprawled over his desk. "Light reading?"

"Uh," Cameron blushed, "D-dishes, right?"

"Cam~er~on," his mother teased in the way only a southern mother really can.

"Right…" He coughed. "Uh, she's special. You know?"

"Mmm…" His mother just smiled and tousled her son's hair.

"Mom," Cameron tried to shake her off, but with his earnest blush it didn't really work. "It's… she's a special girl. I… I barely even… She's the kinda girl where you have to put effort in."

"So, high-maintenance?"

Cameron scoffed. He wasn't sure _what_ 'Laska was, other than whatever the most extreme opposite of "high-maintenance" was. You could give her a single hot wheels car and she'd be entertained for hours. It was one of the reasons he was so in love with her, that limitless sense of wonder and joy at even the most mundane of circumstances. "No… I mean… I _want_ to put the effort in."

"Oh, so you're in love," his mother laughed.

"I… yes, mother."

"You know—"

"Mom," Cameron chuckled. "I've heard this story before." It was one of his favorites. Back when they were dating, his dad spend months learning enough Mandarin to sweet-talk his mom. Only afterward did it occur to him that her family was from _Hong Kong_ , and thus the only Chinese she spoke was Cantonese.

"Go get 'er, Cameron."

Cameron coughed something about dishes and bolted to the kitchen as fast as he could.


	167. Chapter 125: FMB

**Chapter 125: Full Metal Bitch**

For Captain Rick Knight, USMC, the universe was noise. For three days, the constant thunder of booming naval rifles had kept him company like the chimes of some very destructive cuckoo clock. Now the thunder of five roaring gas turbines shoved past the meager attempts of his CVC to block it out and rattled him to his very bones.

His tank, an M1A2 Abrams by the name of _Baneblade_ , vibrated with caged energy atop the pounding deck of a sprinting LCAC. Knight knew the tiny rock his men were assaulting had been thoroughly worked over by four battleships, one of which had anger issues that'd make the hulk seem timid and one who'd repeatedly grumbled that she was bored out of her fucking mind. But he also knew his Abrams was, by world-war two standards, a _medium_ tank.

He didn't know how the leveling effect would work on tanks, nobody did except maybe the Chinese, and they were all dead by now. But a tiny voice in the back of his head kept whispering "you're in a medium." He didn't want to risk it, _Baneblade_ was getting hull down the instant that ramp dropped.

"HEY!" Knight yelled over the roar of the LCAC's turbines and propellers, waving frantically for one of the navy crewmen. He wasn't sure if his voice even made it past his tank's skirts, but his wild gestures seemed to get the point across. "GET MY TANK FREE!"

The sailors were quick to release the tie-downs holding _Baneblade_ on the landing craft's deck. Knight supposed they weren't any more interested in hanging around a possibly-contested beach than he was. Probably less so, at least _he_ had armor, even if its effectiveness remained an open question.

"Driver ready!" Knight hunkered down in his open hatch, using his crossed arms as a wall to hide his face behind. He couldn't bring himself to trust his optics, not after the unending series of disasters the navy had with their radars. He was going to fight this battle old-school, from the open hatch of his tank.

"Mmm." His driver was a quiet fellow, but he could make a seventy-ton main battle tank dance like it was a little Italian sports car. Hell, give him a big enough tarmac on a wet day, and he'd drift the damn thing. Although, of course, Knight would plead the fifth if asked how he knew.

"Load Sabot!"

"Sabot up." His loader was a good ol' boy from Iowa, so big and fat he barely fit into the Abrams' turret. But the man could toss one-twenty-millimeter rounds around like they were made out of Styrofoam.

Knight hissed a breath through his teeth, and put three gloved fingers to the picture of his family taped inside the hatch rim. There was a time when he'd scoff at superstitions like that. That was before he was fighting literal Nazis from hell alongside warships incarnated into pretty girls. For a moment, he felt an almost zen-like calm come over him. A sense of purpose so pure it made everything else fade into the distance.

Then the LCAC's ramp dropped, and it was time for war.

"ALL TANKS!" Knight thundered over the net. "PANZER VOR!" He claimed it was from _Achtung Panzer_ , but his gunner knew the real origin of that line.

 _Baneblade's_ turbine roared as seventy tons of American Iron hurled itself off the landing craft's deck and landed with a crash on the soft sand. The tank lurched as its tracks scrambled for grip, only to finally catch and send it roaring forwards over the dunes.

His driver was already angling for a berm a few hundred feet ahead, and Knight allowed himself a moment to check on his other tanks. But when he glanced at _War Pig_ off his right flank, he swore time froze.

He could actually follow the shell's progress as it slammed into the Abrams' turret cheek and muscled aside the steel and composite like it was made of tissue paper. The gun buckled as one of its trunions crumpled, and a moment later the turret bustle erupted with gouts of fire as the stored ammunition exploded.

"Fuck!" Knight cursed. "Driver, fucking _MOVE_!"

 _Baneblade_ roared and clawed for one of the heavy concrete pillboxes the Chinese had set up. Knight crouched low in his hatch and scanned the blasted forest and burnt-out buildings, trying to find the— there.

Konigstigers.

Knight grabbed the commander's override and slewed the turret roughly on target. "Engage Sabot!"

His gunner fined-tuned the aim, somehow managing to dial in a perfect bead as the tank lurched over the dunes in a frantic attempt to get into cover.

 _BOOM!_ "On the way!"

Knight watched the depleted-uranium shell cover the distance in an instant and smash into the King Tiger's front slope. And then he watched it harmlessly ricochet away like a crumpled lawn dart.

He cursed under his breath. His tank was under cover—barely. But the Marines behind him were packed depressingly tightly on to the open beach. If the Nazis weren't mounting a counter attack at this instant, they'd do it soon. Artillery was already falling on the beach. There wasn't time for the Harriers and Cobras to do their job. It was down to him and his tank.

"Driver, advance!" Knight scowled as his tank lurched over the berm and crashed down behind a shattered structure that'd once been a SAM bunker. If he could get around them…

"There, road direct front." It was just high enough to hide hull-down behind. If he remembered his map right, he could run along then hook back through the bombed-out jungle to get in flanking position. "Follow it east."

The tank lurched, its turret slewing around to aim over the engine deck. The Tigers were already starting to push out from their fortified position, while quad-barreled flakpanzers alternated between swatting away bothersome CAS birds and pouring suppressing fire into the Marines.

 _Baneblade_ smacked one of the SPAAGs with a HEAT round before the big Abrams roared into the forest. Knight didn't know how fast it was going, and to be honest, he didn't want to. Gravel sprayed behind him as the tracks scrambled for grip, and his driver couldn't be bothered to slow down as the tank hurled itself into turns so violent the rear kicked out like a street drifter.

It'd taken barely more than a few panicked heartbeats, but _Baneblade_ was now thoroughly in the enemy rear. A platoon of panzergrenadiers spotted him, and a few raised their panzerfausts in defiance. Knight grabbed the fifty-caliber, but his driver found some extra reserve of speed and plowed the Abrams squarely into the infantry formation.

Bone cracked under the tracks, and the torso of a soldier torn in half at the waist crashed against the turret roof. It was a soldier, but not a man. The… thing's eyes glowed with burning red, its face the mauled skull of a corpse left to rot in the ocean depths. It shrieked, fumbling with fingers closer to clawed talons than human hands for a stick grenade in its belt.

Knight drew his sidearm and emptied the magazine into its skull in what felt like one single motion. He shoved the corpse off his tank and let it crash to the bombed-out ground. He'd deal with that bit of mental trauma later, right now there were big cats to kill.

"Gunner, Fi—"

 _BOOM_ "On the way!" A sabot round screamed from the Abrams' barrel and punched clean through the rear slope of a Kingtiger. Knight had barely even registered the metal sickly black explosion hurling spinning metal shrapnel into the sky when his loader offered a calm. "Sabot up!"

"Fire at will!" Knight barked. "Driver, Move!" The cats were stunned, but some were already bringing their guns around to point at him, and Knight did _not_ want to personally experience the fury of a long-eight-eight. _Baneblade_ got off another shot—this time into the turret flank of a Tiger—as it bolted for cover behind a warehouse.

The sky roared with jet engines and streaming rocket fire as Harriers, Cobras, and even Shidens tore into the Nazi column from above. Knight was under no illusion that he'd somehow saved the day. He'd just stalled and confused the enemy advance long enough for the Marines to regroup and air cover to do its thing. But he'd killed his share of demon nazis from hell, which was nice.

—|—|—

By midnight, the island was tenuously in American hands. There were still a few pockets of abyssal infantry, but the enemy had bet everything it had on its first counter-attack. When the Marines broke through, they took all of the enemy armor and most of the enemy infantry with them.

But while the fight had been short, it was equally fierce. _Bonnie Dick's_ magazines had been exhausted by constant CAS runs, and according to reports, poor Shinano kept clutching at her belly whenever she thought nobody was looking. But brutal or not, the battle had buoyed spirits throughout the fleet. For almost two years, this war had been a series of desperate retreats, of last-stands and defiant battles to hold the line. Now, for the first time since that fateful day the armies of man were _advancing._ Territory that once belong to the Abyss was back under American control.

Spirits on the island were high, but they dimmed the closer Colonel Wallace got to the vast bunker that served as the Enemy's headquarters. His Marines had run up the stars and stripes, but the stain of the bloody swastika had not been washed away. The bunker oozed malevoulence, and the Colonel felt air turn to ash in his mouth as he got ever closer.

"S-sir. " Gunnery Sergeant Callaghan was a rock of a Marine, but his weatherbeaten features wore the horrified fear of a PFC in his first firefight.

"Gunny," Wallace scowled. He didn't know what he was going to see. None of his Marines could describe what was in that bunker in any depth beyond "You have to look at this."

"Brace yourself, sir." Callaghan lead Wallace through the bunker's yawning gate and into a cavern of concrete and iron. Grimy spotlights hung from the girders above, and chains hung silent from gantry cranes. A pool, step-sided and lit from below with oily green light, stood in the center of the room like a miniature graving dock or a giant's bathtub. Smaller pools flanked it, each with its own gantry crane and suite of welding torches and cutting tools.

The colonel grimaced as his boots squelched on the floor. Every surface was covered with blood-soaked oil. Even thicker trails streaked from the foot of the larger pool to the smaller ones, like someone had dragged a body away. In one corner, a deep bit was full of cast-off metal scraps that twisted and bent like chopped-up limbs.

"The fuck," Wallace growled in an attempt to hide his horror. He didn't know why, but something about this place felt eerily familiar. Like a half-forgotten memory reflected in a grimy mirror. It wasn't until he'd almost reached the door that he realized it.

He was walking through a maternity ward.

But before that thought could haunt him any further, Callaghan lead in deeper into the compound. Into what was unmistakably a throne room.

The corpse of a woman easily a dozen feet tall slouched on a throne of twisted metal and shattered concrete. Where her hands should be were vast gauntlets of black, wrought metal with talons as big as a man's arm. A crown of iron burst tore through her skull, covering where her eyes would be with burnt metal and a bleeding gash that was the only touch of color to her otherwise bone-white face. Blood as black as coal dripped from the corner of her mouth.

Her greatcoat strained over the vast size of her swollen bosom, and the fabric spread over a belly thick with post-partum distention. Whatever she was… she was a mother.

"Get," Wallace coughed to cover a painful crack in his voice. "Get every thermite grenade we have. Every phosphorus round the destroyers can spare."

"Sir."

"I want her ashes burned."


	168. A Certain Lady Part 33

**A Certain Lady Part 33**

"Please, allow me."

Mutsu giggled as her admiral made a bit of a show of pulling out her chair for her.

"Why, thank you."

She took the offered seat with a bit more tease in her motion than normal, allowing John to catch a generous flash of leg as she did so. The long, wine hued dress wasn't adorned with fancy patterns or extraneous baubles to draw attention. However the slit that ran up the side all the way to her hip made absolutely certain to keep the eye captive. To say nothing of how the dark red material hugged at her curves.

It was perhaps the most dangerous article of clothing she owned that wasn't some form of undergarment. An article she had been saving for just the right occasion. And an unexpected, but hardly unwelcome dinner date with her admiral seemed more than appropriate.

She smiled coyly when he coughed into his fist and futilely tried to make it seem as if he hadn't been staring.

John might have 'been there and done that' as he had so stated whenever some of her teasing backfired quite spectacularly, or when asked why he didn't seem fazed by one taunt or another. But she could still get plenty wonderful reactions out of him. Even through tactics that he claimed to be immune to.

Mutsu let the playful look on her face fade into a more relaxed expression as John took his seat opposite her own.

"It's not a fancy restaurant, but I did what I could." Admitted the dark haired man with a slightly crooked grin.

"I think it's wonderful." Mutsu smiled and took stock of their surroundings once more.

He'd gotten out his best dishes and silverware. The napkins and tablecloth were of a set she'd only seen him take care of, never used. And in the center of the table stood a single candle. It was only strong enough to cast a warm glow around them, not nearly enough to illuminate their surroundings. Perhaps that was his intention, to hide away the rest of the room and cast their setting into something a little more mysterious.

That would be just like him. Always a bit of a showman. Whether it be grandiose or subtle, she knew he liked to make things a bit more interesting if he could.

But there was something in his body language. Something that told her he was on edge. Coiled like a spring. Or a dam, ready to burst. A tenseness in his actions that hinted greatly to her that there was something heavy weighing on his mind.

And it couldn't just be the battles unfolding in the south.

The slight creak of the table brought her out of her musings.

"Well, maybe the table needs a little work."

He chuckled and shrugged.

"I'm surprised it's lasted this long." Richardson tapped the surface. "Breakfast alone would break a lesser table. And that was before we added another battleship and a submarine to the guest list."

"My my. Are you insinuating something, John?" Mutsu teased back with a playfully dark tinge to her voice. Did he really want to play that game? She wouldn't mind if he did, but he'd have to be ready to pay the price.

"I might be. The question is what you think I'm insinuating. Want to take a gamble?" His eyes seemed to dance in the dark.

"Hmhmhm~ What do I win if I guess right?" Mutsu leaned forward even as she felt her heartbeat begin to race, resting her chin on the back of her hand with a half lidded gaze to accompany the pose. She wasn't about to let him off so easily. If he was going to dangle such obvious bait, then he had better be prepared to follow through with it. Of course that also played to the risk of not being able to handle the sprung trap.

Still. Regardless of what sort of trap might or might not exist behind John's words, she'd still have fun with it in the end. Even if it managed to reduce her to a stammering and blushing wreck. Or if it sent her spiraling into the sort of hysterical laughter that led to being dragged from the room because she couldn't stand anymore. It was their fun.

Before Richardson could formulate a reply, a figure approached the table.

"Oh my." Mutsu couldn't hide the amazement in her voice as the candlelight illuminated a sharply dressed Hiei. It was rare to see Hiei dressed up. Even more rare was when she decided to pull out all the stops when doing so.

Hiei bowed formally, not making any sort of playful or extravagant motion.

"Sir. Madam. Thank you for choosing to dine at our establishment tonight." Hiei righted herself and spoke in a smooth, highly professional manner. Her gaze held the sort of warm politeness someone might expect from a waiter at a high-class restaurant. One who took the time to do their best for the customer. "My name is Hiei and I will be your server this evening. In addition, I will also be your chef."

Richardson smiled at Mutsu before turning his attention to Hiei.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mutsu saw the ghost of amusement flash across his stern visage. So even whatever was weighing on him tonight couldn't quite stave off the entertainment Hiei was providing with her act. That was a relief.

"A chef and a waiter. You must be busy tonight." Richardson's quip drew a giggle from Mutsu and a look of confidence from Hiei.

"I assure both of you that I shall put every bit of my spirit into making sure the evening goes perfectly for you." A grin far more familiar to Mutsu spread across Hiei's lips before she continued. "And I have some assistance."

"Then, Miss Hiei," spoke Mutsu through her stifled giggles, "What is on the menu tonight?"

"My talented assistants and I have crafted a wonderful pizza for you. An inch deep and stuffed with three different meats, red onions, bell peppers, and four kinds of cheese." Hiei accentuated her description with a proud expression. "With a thick crust and homemade sauce, I am confident this is the best pie our home has to offer."

It took Mutsu a great amount of willpower to not drool at the description.

And from the looks of it, her admiral was suffering a similar problem.

"That sounds delicious." Thankfully her stomach decided to not voice its agreement. She smiled with amusement. "Hopefully it will last long enough for us to savor it."

"I assure you, there's more than enough for you to enjoy."

"Enough for a hungry battleship and an admiral?"

"Without question." Hiei nodded resolutely before grinning. "This would keep an Iowa up and running for days."

Mutsu was not sure what to make of the twinkle in Hiei's bright, blue eyes. A trick of the lighting maybe?

"I have it out for you in a few minutes." She waved her hand before vanishing into the shadows. "In the meantime, please enjoy a bottle of our finest wine."

Neither had to wait more than a minute for the delivery of said beverage. And it wasn't long after a miniature version of Mutsu, dressed in a maid outfit of all things, had served them each a glass and taken her leave that both admiral and shipgirl were laughing and making merry. Their jovial banter was interrupted only when Hiei made a reappearance carrying the promised pie. But the break was short lived as they began to dig in with gusto.

"She wasn't joking when she said this was the best in the house," joked Richardson after he liberated a second slice from the sizable plate. Thick ropes of cheese had attempted to bind his food, but they were no match for a hungry admiral.

"Mmhmm!" Mutsu made a sound of agreement as her mouth was far too occupied to speak properly. It was incredibly delicious. And it made conversation difficult. It was rather hard to joke with your date when your mouth was filled with piping hot dinner. Rude, too.

Swallowing the tasty bite, Mutsu wiped her lips clean with a napkin and looked up at Richardson.

She was rather glad she'd finished her bite before doing so. John had managed to find himself locked in battle with his slice and yet more of the cheesy trappings. Only this time the potential victim was his suit. A blush colored her cheeks rapidly as she loosed a snort of laughter at the scene.

One became two and two became three as Richardson's plight grew ever more silly with each passing moment.

With a broad smile on her face, Mutsu reached over and lifted away a dollop of sauce laden cheese that had been moments away from making a mess on Richardson's clothes. Without thinking, she popped the morsel into her mouth.

That was when she froze and her boilers began to scream.

A long ribbon of cheese drew a line from her lips to a supporting finger to the troublesome slice held by John. She blinked while following the line further to his mouth.

Try as it might, the logical part of her mind could find no means to silence or even calm the more emotional side. Trying to draw parallels to a famous movie scene did not help in the slightest. The only things really registering to her were the facts that she was finally having a fun, romantic dinner date with John and that their lips were currently connected via a hot piece of pizza.

She wasn't sure if she looked like a cherry or a ghost in the candlelight, but she was fairly certain she'd lost the ability of higher thinking.

Maybe.

Certainly her gaze hadn't left John's for some time.

Both swallowed their respective mouthfuls as the binding cheese broke and dripped down, falling on the plate and remaining pie.

Richardson set down what remained of his slice and methodically wiped his hands and mouth with his napkin.

Mutsu felt herself mirroring his movements, albeit in a more mechanical manner. An anxiousness grew in her chest. Something that built even more rapidly when she took notice of his returning tension from earlier. Whatever had bound him up earlier had returned in full force.

Neither said a word for a few moments.

Moments that felt like minutes and hours and even days to the second Nagato.

Mutsu could not even draw on her usual battery of humor or sultry teasing. Her mind was awhirl in nothingness and all manner guesses. But at the same time, she was fine with that.

No thinking.

No lines.

Just...

Just her and John.

A warm smile finally made its way past her stupor.

And she could tell that despite the tension, John was happy as well.

It was the little things. Bits she'd found out over time or catching something someone had said. She knew she couldn't claim to know him as well as Hiei did. But that didn't matter.

What mattered what how well she knew him. How well she knew John Alfred Richardson. The man. The father. The admiral. The pain in the stern who tried too hard. The fool who tried to give things the worst names imaginable.

She leaned forward and rested her chin in the palms of her hands.

This was the idiotic man who had taken her heart.

And for once, she didn't feel her boilers threaten to burst. Just a steady hum. The feeling of having finally realized something she hadn't really been able to admit to herself. Something she'd known for a long time. Felt for a long time. But now had finally accepted.

"Mutsu, I-"

Mutsu smiled and brought Richardson's words to a halt.

"Yes, John?" She spoke her words with a sort of contentment. It was like everything she was feeling was being mixed into her words. It didn't make sense. Even for her. But she didn't quite care. Did love have to make sense?

Before Richardson could open his mouth again, a harsh tone blared out.

Without even seeming to think, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his smartphone in a manner not dissimilar to drawing a holstered gun.

Mutsu's expression immediately turned into one of distinct professionalism. That tone was the emergency line. Something well reserved for when someone needed John as of yesterday because the base was exploding.

But that didn't stop the despairing cry in the back of her mind.

What shattered the image of an impending attack or other, similarly dreadful incident was when she witnessed John's face screw up into an expression of the deepest irritation and fury she had ever seen.

"I am going to demote that woman to a seaman recruit and have her hull shipped to Russia."

Mutsu stood from her seat and walked over to look over Richardson's shoulder.

What she saw made her blush all the way down to the tips of her toes.

"My my, New Jersey's certainly being... direct."

"That's one way to put it." Richardson put a palm to his forehead and sighed in exasperation. "Fuck."

As if his words were the trigger, yet more messages poured out onto the phone's display.

"That seems to be what she's demanding to know." She tried to play it off with a nervous laugh, but the language and the descriptions New Jersey was using were well above what she was capable of imagining. "Oh my. Oh my my... I don't think that's even physically possible."

"Godammit..." Richardson let the phone slip from his fingers and fall to the table with a clatter.

"John?" Mutsu questioned with concern.

"Okay. Fine. No more tiptoeing the line."

Mutsu blinked in confusion and then started as Richardson stood from his seat.

She gasped when he placed both hands upon her shoulders in a firm grip. It was not tight, not in the slightest. Yet just strong enough to tell her he was dead serious and wanted her full attention. Attention she would have given to him regardless. But she had a feeling he needed to do it this way.

"Mutsu," began Richardson. "Mutsu. Second of the Nagato-class battleships. My XO and lieutenant commander for the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force."

She remained silent, beckoning him to continue with a look. This was no small thing he was trying to do. And her heart raced as she imagined what it could be.

"I love you."

And her world erupted.

"I'm not going to dance around it any more. I'm not going to draw lines or hold back." Richardson released Mutsu and stood at attention, drawing himself up into the best image of himself he possibly could be. "You have been a trusted friend. A loyal confidant. A dedicated subordinate. You have been a mother to Jane and cared for her as if she were your own. You give me the worst headaches sometimes and there are days your teasing, taunting, and downright seductive nature drives me up the wall. But I love you for it. For all that and more. I feel like there is a balance in my world when you're around. No one else brings that to me and my life. No one else is as wonderful, beautiful, irritating, caring, kind, and Mutsu-like as you are."

Mutsu could only stare in shock.

"For all that and so much more, I love you, Mutsu."

Was this a dream?

Was this really happening?

"That was part of why I set this whole thing up."

"E-Eh?"

"I wanted to work up the courage to tell you that." He sighed irritably. "Christ. I feel like I'm back in high school..."

Mutsu giggled as she all too easily imagined John in his younger years. Less worn, but doing just what he had done. Well, maybe a bit more awkwardly.

"And the other part?"

"I did honestly want to have a nice dinner date with you."

Mutsu clasped her hands behind her back as she regarded him with a playful gaze. It wasn't more than a few moments before she smiled joyfully. This wasn't a dream. This was real. The man she had fallen for so strongly had just confessed to her. A fantasy had just become a reality.

"You don't know how happy that makes me, John." She had been granted a second life as a warship who was also a woman. She had been granted a happiness in the family that was the Richardsons, her sister, her friends, and so many more. Could she really be this selfish? Could she really accept all this joy in her life?

Was there anything holding her back?

At all?

Where was the other shoe?

Was there a catch of some sort?

"You... You're an ass of the highest caliber. A fool and a jerk." She giggled once more at the irritated look he sent her. "But there are more than enough pros to outweigh the cons."

"You're not going to give me a straight answer are you?"

"Not. At. All~"

"Dammit, Mutsu." Yet he said it with a smile.

Mutsu took a step forward, looking Richardson in the eyes all the while reaching out to embrace him. Her heart skipped a beat as he took her in his arms and held her as though she might vanish. This was... this was a bliss she did not want to give up.

A bliss interrupted by a radio channel coming in to her communications room.

It took great effort to not frown at the latest pause in what was becoming one of the most wonderful night of her new life.

It was a telegram.

Sent from Hiei.

"Kongou's... giving up dibs?" she spoke, barely above a whisper. "And..."

"Mutsu?"

Mutsu paused before she made her decision. The was the path she wanted. The course she would chart. And she would see it all the way through to the end. She looked John in the eyes and spoke with the clearest, most commanding and most loving tone she could muster.

"John."

Her eyes were alight with emotion and a realised desire in the candlelight.

"Love me."

He smiled and leaned in.

"As you command."


	169. Chapter 126: What is Love?

**Chapter 126: What is Love?**

Battleship Kirishima felt horrible. And she felt horrible _that_ she felt horrible. From their first explosive meeting, Kirishima had been hopelessly in love with Wash. From the moment she returned alongside her beloved oneesama, she'd prayed every night to whatever god had allowed her to return would give her a second chance to win the love of the love of the battleship who stole her heart.

And it had ended with Wash falling hopelessly in love, just with the wrong person. Kirishima wasn't mad, of course. Gale was a beautiful young woman, and she would make Wash very happy. But the Japanese-born battleship couldn't help but feel a little jealous, and that made her miserable. Her best friend, her roommate, the love of her life, the battleship who's fleeting appearance out of the dark had graced dreams was happy as could be! And Kirishima could only think about herself!

And… and to top it all off, Wash was spending the weekend at Gale's quarters. And maybe more then that! Kirishima didn't mind the two living together—she hoped it would result in adorable mini-battleships soon enough, she had a bet with Hiei after all—but it meant _she_ was all alone in their shared room. And Kirishima, like all battleships, _hated_ being alone.

Battleships were meant to steam in fleets, to be escorted and screened. And yes, she'd contemplated borrowing a few destroyers. But when she came to ask, Tenryuu was passed out with a full clutch of American and Japanese destroyers sleeping peacefully on her tummy. Kirishima couldn't, in good conscience, take them away from their mama.

And that was why she found herself at the door to doctor Crowning's office. He was always a calming person to be around, and… he had such a lovely voice. Maybe… she could get him to read her a bedtime story.

The battleship coughed and tugged her skirt smooth. "Doctor Crowning?" she said, in what she hoped was a strong voice.

"Come in, Kirishima."

The battleship took a heartbeat to make sure her outfit was just so. Her skirt was smooth, her sleeves hung just so off her slender arms, and her golden rope necklace was positioned properly between her breasts. "Doctor," she said, striding into the room with what she hoped was graceful ease.

"Kirishima." Crowning smirked at her. One hand held a steaming cup of coffee, the other angled a tablet so she couldn't see it. "How're you doing this morning?"

Kirishima almost told him the truth. She hadn't slept a wink last night. The Wash-shaped hole in the bed next to her was a constant remainder of how alone she was in her room. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the same image as before. A battleship emerging out of the darkness. Only this time… it was… _evil._ But she stopped herself. He didn't need to know any of that. She couldn't burden him like that. "I'm quite well," she said. "It's a beautiful morning."

"Mmm," Crowning smiled and glanced over the glistening waters of the Puget Sound. The ever-present Washington rain had drizzled the window and soaked the asphalt until it gleamed with myriad of tiny puddles. "So," he said. "Yeoman Bowers sent me an e-mail the other day."

"Oh?" Kirishima crossed her legs and put on a look of polite interest. But inside, her radar was twitching. Something was wrong, something was dangerous.

"A blog," said Crowning. "An internet writer. Calls herself audiophile415."

Kirishima kept her face even through herculean effort. That was _her_ blog. _Her_ writing. How could he… no! No, it was just a coincidence. It had to be. She'd even used a pseudonym and everything!

"There's some good stuff here," Crowning made a show of scrolling through his tablet. " _Love at first beat._ "

Kirishima gulped.

"The story of a young Japanese roadie named… Kira," Crowning stifled a chuckle. "And her pursuit of a gorgeous American Rock star… Georgette." This time he did chuckle. "That's quite clever. Took me a moment to figure it out."

"Thank you!" Kirishima beamed, than realized what she'd admitted and pretended she hadn't said anything.

"It was very heartwarming when Kira accepted that Georgette was in love with another woman." Crowning paused for effect. "Sally Storm sounds like a nice girl."

"I…" Kirishima blushed, but said nothing more.

" _Vignettes_ ," said Crowning, "is a different matter."

Kirishima's blush reached new levels of red. How had he found that! That was supposed to be her secret smut stash!

"I might send this one to Jersey," said Crowning. "She might appreciate reading about an Indiana-Jones type getting captured by an Amazonian warrior goddess to sire the next generation of priestess-paladins."

Kirishima kept her face level solely by repeating the phrase "admit. Nothing." over and over and over in her mind.

"I know it was you, Kirishima," said Crowning.

"How!"

"Audiophile415?" Crowning rolled his eyes. "We _all_ know about your enthusiasm for mic-checks."

"But I put a number in there!"

"Your commissioning day?"

Kirishima's cheeks puffed up as she built up steam, only for her to clamp her mouth closed with a huff. "You weren't supposed to know that."

Crowning chuckled, and leaned over to ruffle the battleship's sea-gray hair. "Trust me, it's far from the worst I've ever read."

"T-thank you," said the battleship.

"So," Crowning set his tablet down. "What can I do for you."

Kirishima paused. She took a deep breath, and held it in while she formulated her response. She didn't want to be needy, but… but she was a grown battleship with needs. "I had a request to make of you."

"Of course," said Crowning.

"I would like a bedtime story," said the battleship. "I… ever since Wash has been spending time with Gale, I've…" She trailed off, upset that she couldn't form her words properly.

"You've been alone," finished Crowning. "I know, Vestal told me how battleships get when they're not escorted."

"R-right," Kirishima coughed. "Um… I've heard… you're supposed to be really comforting. Just to be around. If you wouldn't mind… sleeping… No. Not sleeping, but—"

"Kirishima," Crowning put a hand on her bare shoulder, and the warm weight of his touch instantly soothed the battleship. "What can I do to help?"

Somehow, she didn't feel scared anymore. She didn't feel flustered or worried. His touch instantly made all that melt away, until she felt totally at ease. "Doctor Crowning. Would you please watch over me while I sleep?"

He smiled at her. "It would be a pleasure."

—|—|—

Warrant Officer Sarah Gale had intended to take a shower. She had her towel slung over her shoulder, her bath caddy with its selection of soaps and shampoos was resting by her side, and she'd gotten as far as stripping down to her underwear when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Her workout routine had made short work of the bit of post-holiday plump her belly had accumulated. Even Vestal couldn't look at her nicely toned tummy and thing Gale had a boat or two on the slips. Which, normally, would make Gale quite happy. She worked hard to stay in shape. She wanted to keep herself trim and slim, partly because she felt a battleship as hardworking as Wash deserved a pretty girlfriend to come home to, but mostly because Gale honestly liked the feeling of being in shape.

But… somehow Gale couldn't move from where she stood. She couldn't stop staring at her own reflected stomach, slowly drawing her fingers around its circumference and occasionally puffing her belly out as far as she could. Gale never really thought about kids. Once she came to terms with her sexual orientation, she'd given up on ever having kids, and that had been that.

But now… now that a family might be open to her again… It was strange. Gale was fully aware of the ravages pregnancy would put her body through. The cramps, the mood swings, the bloating, the pain of giving birth… Gale _had_ convinced herself that her sexuality had saved her from those trials.

So why couldn't she get the image of Wash cradling her belly out of her mind? The image of falling asleep next to Wash with their baby snuggled quietly between them. She'd never wanted kids before… or had she? She'd given up on it long before it was even a possibility…

And then Gale felt the cool touch of another pair of hands on her bare skin. She felt something warm and soft squish against her back, and felt the gentle caress of a certain battleship nuzzling her cheek from behind. "Hi."

"Gah!" Gale almost jumped through the ceiling. "Stop DOING that!"

Wash flashed one of those innocently serene smiles of hers. "What?"

"Sneaking up on me!" demanded Gale, although she couldn't bring herself to put much fury in her voice.

"I didn't," Wash leaned in to nibble on Gale's ear. The battleship's fingers twitched, digging into what little fat fluffed out Gale's toned belly. "There _was_ a mirror."

Gale scowled. Wash was right, the mirror _should_ have made the battleship's approach obvious. Only it didn't because Wash was the kind of person who did what she wanted, and made such petty things as perception and reality cower before her queenly gaze. And also, the way Wash was touching her made her too happy to be mad.

"I…" Gale squirmed as Wash pressed her hips against the sailor's rear. It should have been lewd, but Wash's calm bearing made it seem almost… ecclesiastical. Less a carnal act of flesh and more a grateful tribute to a goddess of the waves. "W-wash…"

"Hmm?" Wash slid her hands up to cradle Gale's waist, her fingers gently kneading the sailor's belly.

"I…" Gale coughed. Even now, this sounded like such a silly thing to say. Vestal _had_ said she might be able to have Wash's babies… but… "Uh… What do you think about babies?"

For an instant, Wash froze. Then the battleship slowly slipped back. Her hands trailed down Gale's flanks, leaving goosebumps in their wake until they finally parted from her half-naked body partway down her thighs. The battleship's face was as unreadable as ever, but her posture was almost more closed than usual. "So… you know."

Gale blinked. "W-what?" She turned around, and noticed Wash's gaze flicking up from the vicinity of her butt to her eyes. The sailor preened for a moment, happy her figure had distracted the normally stoic battleship.

"I…" Wash bit her lip and settled her broad stern on the side of the tub, only to stand back up when the porcelain-covered metal groaned under her immense weight. "Kirishima and I bought some pregnancy tests."

"And?" Gale was suddenly fully invested. She didn't know how she felt about carrying their child herself, but if Wash was the mother… that was a level of adorable that words simply couldn't explain.

"It said I was a boat."

Gale blinked, waiting for Wash to drop the joke and give her a real answer. But after several minutes, the sailor accepted that that was all she was going to get. "A… a boat?"

Wash nodded.

Gale sighed. Then something occurred to her. "Wash…"

"Hmm?"

"We've never had sex."

Wash blinked. "And?"

"Well…" Gale blushed. It sounded silly now that she was saying it. If you accepted that two women could have a baby together, doing through hand holding was a much tinier leap to take. And, just bringing up the concept of sex felt horribly awkward now. Gale scowled at herself. She wasn't some blushing teenage virgin, she was a sailor of the US navy. This shouldn't be a difficult thing for her to say. "Uh…"

"Perhaps we should," said Wash.

Gale blinked.

"I would very much like to bear your children," said Wash. "If… you'll allow me."

Gale smiled. "Wash," she ignored her blush as she draped her arms around the battleship's neck. "I'd like nothing more." The sailor giggled as Wash suddenly grabbed two very firm hand fulls of her rear.

Wash didn't say a word. Her mouth was too busy kissing Gale with a long, passionate kiss that tasted of buttermilk with just a hint of the gritty bite of cordite to finish it off. Gale leaned into the kiss for what felt like hours. Her heart beat in time with the rhythmic orchestra of Wash's purring boilers. Her hands cradled Wash's broad back while the battleship kneaded her butt like fresh dough.

Then, finally, Gale pulled away from the kiss with a dopey smile on her face. "You know…" she said with a lascivious grin, "I was going to take a shower."

"Hmm?" Wash smiled back at the sailor, still holding her close enough for her bosom to cradle Gale like warm nutmeg-scented pillows.

"Maybe…" Gale tried to give her hips a flirty twist, but all she managed to do was grid into Wash's delicious shaft galleries. "You can help wash me down?"

Wash smiled. "I… I'd like that." The battleship let go, and slowly started loosening her shimmering silk scarf while Gale slipped out of her underwear. The sailor made sure to face squarely away from her battleship lover as she stepped into the tub and turned on the water. Warm droplets ran like rivers down her curves, describing her figure for Wash, and Wash alone.

"Okay," Gale purred, and slowly pivoted on her heel "Why don't you—" She froze. Her mind just barely registered that Wash was pointing a fire hose at her when a sledgehammer of freezing saltwater crashed into her face with for force of a dozen sugar-starved destroyers. "Bughghghghgh!"

"Are you washed down yet?" Wash angled her hose to make sure Gale was thoroughly rinsed off. After all, she loved Gale, and wouldn't use anything but her most powerful hose to make _certain_ the love of her life felt clean.


	170. Chapter 127

**Chapter 128: Sisterhood**

Battleship Arizona chuckled to herself at the vast logistical operation sprawling over most of the beach. And she wasn't talking about the MEU unloading supplies and weapons to shore up defenses. That was mere child's play next to the intricte enterprise that was Shinano playing in the sand.

Making sandcastles on the beach is not usually considered a logistically intensive operation. However, when the main agent in the construction of said sand castles is a timid, painfully self-conscious little carrier in the body of a six-three knockout with a bustline that puts even Mutsu to shame, things become far more complicated.

She'd tried to excuse herself from the sand she so plainly wanted to play with by claiming she'd forgotten her swimsuit. Jersey, however, had packed a spare one-piece for the littlest Yamato herself. The battleship even roped in all three Akizuki sisters to guard the tent while Shinano changed. Of course, getting Shinano _into_ her swimsuit turned out to be the easy part. Even once she was dressed for bathing, she still had to be coaxed out of the tent.

Arizona had been too hungry to stay and watch the whole thing unfold. But Jersey was there when she left to collect her meal. And the big Iowa was still there when Arizona returned, still cooing gentle, almost motherly coaxing to the shy carrier. Arizona was astonished Jersey could be so gentle and soft, especially when she _had_ to be fighting back a raging belly ache.

Eventually, Shinano was coaxed out of the tent and herded towards the beach. Jersey was by her side every step of the way, although Arizona couldn't help noticing the battleship clawing at her belly every few paces. It was only once Shinano had actually picked a spot and started digging that Jersey excused herself to get her much-delayed dinner.

Of course, the logistical miracle didn't end simply because Shinano was playing in the sand. No, Arizona was certain that would be too easy. All six destroyer girls formed a protective cordon around the carrier while Naka vetted Marines in twos and threes, careful to make sure Shinano never felt overwhelmed.

The Marines didn't seem to mind the wait, but they certainly enjoyed playing with the big carrier. Some offered polished brass casings as "knights in shining armor" to help defend the slowly-growing castle—eliciting a squeal of glee and a hug every time. Others proposed improvements to the castle's defenses. Still others were trying—so far fruitlessly—to teach crabs to charge. So far, they'd mostly succeeded in teaching them how to wield lances against their would-be masters.

Arizona smiled, and hopped off the concrete barricade she'd been sitting on. Watching Shinano play… it reminded her of Jane. The battleship let her coat flap behind her in the warm tropical breeze as she strolled down the beach. She would like to be a mother some day. She closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her scarred skin as her bare feet squished into the soft sand.

It was a strange sensation, feeling the grains of sand squish between her toes and compact under her heels. Arizona hadn't felt anything like it before. She'd imagined walking on sand would feel something like the rough jolt of running aground, but it didn't. It felt… pleasant.

But before the standard could ruminate any further, she felt a large clod of sand crash squarely into her face.

Arizona blinked and wiped the sand from her eyes. What she was somehow more confusing than the utter lack of knowledge she had before she opened her eyes.

Prinz Eugen was stripped to her underwear—her uniform lay in a neatly folded pile atop her shoes—and her American-flag bandanna tied sweat-slicked hair back out of her eyes. The heavy cruiser stood in the middle of a perfectly cubical hole in the sand. Arizona was quite certain the edges were so sharp and crisp she could split a diamond without much effort.

"Prinz Eugen?" Arizona couldn't even find it within herself to get flustered over the cruiser's state of undress. Prinz Eugen's slender body was so drenched with sweat forcing her into any more clothing than she currently wore would be cruelty.

"Mustdigmustdigmustdig," Prinz Eugen didn't seem to notice the standard as she furiously expanded her hole, still somehow keeping the edges perfectly straight and true.

"Prinz Eugen?" Arizona spoke a little louder now. "May I ask what you're doing?"

The cruiser glanced over, and wiped a hand across her sweat-laden brow. "A-according to Reichstandards," her normally crisp German accent was breathless and exhausted as she spoke. "Beachdigging is only a satisfying experience if two cubic meters or more of sand is displaced."

Arizona blinked.

"I have documentation." Prinz Eugen pointed a finger at a foot-high stack of paper covered in very small writing and official-looking stamps.

Arizona blinked again.

"Every activity," Prinz Eugen stopped to draw a shaky breath. "Needs careful documentation. Otherwise it doesn't count."

Arizona could do nothing but blink. She couldn't even form a coherent sentence, because the moment she recovered long enough to even contemplate constructing a message she noticed Prinz Eugen's division mates.

Frisco was laying on her back, sunning herself in nothing more than cut-off denim shorts and a bikini that was scandalously small even by the standards of the time covering her nonexistent chest. But at least the Asian-American cruiser was wearing _something_ on her lithe figure. Lou lay on her back with nothing beyond her own flaming hair to cover her olive skin.

This… this…

THIS WOULD NOT STAND!

Arizona felt steel groan as she balled her hands into fists. Her chest swelled with rage and her cheeks glowed a brilliant crimson. This was no way to act, especially in front of foreign ships! What kind of an example were the cruisers setting for Prinz Eugen? For the destroyers? Arizona might… _tolerate_ Mutsu's lewd costuming, but to see her own countrywomen parade themselves like buffets of flesh and steel!

The standard was so enraged she couldn't speak. Her jaw was welded shut by the shear force of her burning fury. She tasted molten steel and burnt teak, and she was certain her boilers were going to overheat.

"Ay, Ari!" Jersey's rough contralto rolled over the beach like the report of a dozen mortars. Yes, Jersey. The battleship would know what to do. She might be born of a different era, but the amazonian Iowa had shown herself a reasonably competent officer. Surely she'd back up the standard's indignation.

Arizona pivoted on her heel and felt her spirits crash. Jersey was wearing a flag-print bikini and those scandalously short shorts. But not only that, she was groping herself with both hands with an intense look on her stern features. And she looked… less than completely in possession of her faculties. The big Iowa always swung her hips when she walked, but now her gait looked less like an elegant sashay and more like a drunken shamble.

"Do my tits look bigger than usual?" Jersey puncutated the question with a full-bodied squeeze on said feminine protrusions as a breath stinking of pizza grease and sale beer wafted from her mouth.

Arizona fumed at the battleship, to apologetic with rage to even try and put together a sentence.

"'cause I fucking swear my top wasn't this snug before." Jersey pried her hands off her chest and preened, either oblivious or uncaring to the standard's moral outrage. Arizona couldn't even tell if Jersey was slurring her words. For all the Iowa's amazonian tone, she barely find the effort to speak at the best of times. Her lazy, rumbling drawl _always_ sounded like a tall glass of aged whiskey. "Ever fucking since we left Washington my tops've been getting snug around the middle. Think it's my kai?"

Arizona sputtered something beyond incoherent.

"'Could've just washed my shit wrong," Jersey sighed and planted her hands on her broad hips. "With my luck, that's what it fucking is. But a girl can hope, right? Get a rack to balance out this glorious American ass?"

"Commander." Arizona bristled.

"Heh," Jersey chuckled to herself. "Maybe even pass the fucking shirphobia motel." She shrugged those massive shoulders of hers and met the much shorter Standard's fuming gaze. "'sup, Ari?"

"Commander!" Arizona waved at the sunbathing cruisers. "You… you tolerate such _impropriety_ among your girls!"

Jersey bent at the waist to look around the fuming standard at Lou and Frisco. "I do when they've got asses like that."

Arizona's face turned a brilliant shade of red, and her eyes almost glowed like coals fueled by the rage of a thousand furious schoolmarms.

"Ari…" Jersey planted a hand on Arizona's shoulder. Or tried too, it took her a few attempts to land the touch just right. "I'm like… twelve fucking beers down already, so imma be real fucking blunt here. She picked it up in Brazil and she likes it." The big battleship let herself fall to the sand in a heap of long legs and toned muscle.

"Yes, but—"

"Ari." Jersey slipped her shades down to lock her icy blue eyes on the plump standard. "For the first fucking time since this goddamn war started, we've actually fucking won something." She pounded her fist against the sand. "Not fucking _held_ shit. Not fucking traded lives for fucking minutes while everyone run for the goddamn hills. Fucking _won._ Let people enjoy shit."

Arizona puffed out her cheeks and frowned. She couldn't quite fault the drunken Iowa's logic, but still! So much flesh on display! It just wasn't proper!

"And Ar~i~" Jersey's picked up a drunken lilt that sounded terrifyingly like Mutsu's scheming giggle. "Dun' forget I'm your CO. You keep acting like a sourpuss I'm putting you in a sling bikini."

"Jersey!" Arizona flushed at the mere thought of parading around in such little fabric. "You can't—"

"Can," said Jersey. "I'mma Commander. I can set the uniform of the day."

Arizona's jaw clamped shut. She'd expected a childish insult or off-color joke from the Iowa. But manipulating the letter of the law to get her way? Arizona was equal parts impressed and terrified by the fast-battleship's professionalism! Now if only she could harness that energy into _fighting_ lewdness instead of enabling it.

"Oh. Ari?"

"Yes?" Arizona clasped her hands behind the small of her back and threw out her chest. New Jersey might be a slouching, scantily-clad battleship of the modern age, but Arizona took pride in bringing a level of old-fashioned class and decency to the table.

"'saw Pennsy brooding by the end of the runway," said Jersey. "You should go talk to her."

Arizona blinked back the first inkling of a tear and forced herself to stare at the twin steel titans that were Jersey and Shinano's massive hulls sitting at anchor next to the much smaller guided-missile destroyers. "Jersey, I— she…"

"Ari," Jersey pulled herself up into a sloppy cross-legged sit. "I would give everything I have… everything I'd ever have for thirty seconds with Wiskey. Go talk to your sister."

Arizona couldn't find the words to express how she felt. She satisfied herself with a small cough, and pivoted on her heel to march inland with steps as hesitant as they were purposeful. Jersey watched her go from her spot on the sand, trying and failing to ignore the way her curvy hips and chubby bust swayed and bounced with each step.

"Love," a chipper Australian accent belonging to a manifestation of pure malevolence that steadfastly refused to give Jersey a moment's peace sounded next to the tipsy battlewagon. "You need ta' get fucking laid, mate."

"Fuck you, Victory." Jersey scowled at the grinning little man-o-war. She'd dressed for the occasion in a frustratingly tiny Union-jack print bikini, although her massive-ass Admiral's hat was as cocky as ever over he jaunty eyepatch.

"Mate," Victory plopped down onto her slender legs next to the massively huger American. "If I thought it'd help, I'd offer. But I'm a figment of your imagination, 'meber?"

"Go fuck yourself," Jersey scowled and fell back onto the sand with a howl of impotent rage.

"No," Victory chuckled and prodded Jersey's breast. "Fuck _yourself_. I'm just in your head, mate."

"Why are you fucking here?" Jersey threw a punch at the tall ship's skinny middle, only for her hand to pass clean through like Victory was made of smoke. "There's always a goddamn reason you're bothering me."

"Mate," Victory adjusted her hat. "I like the sun and the sand. That a crime?"

"It is when you have an ass I could fucking play pool on."

Victory made a show of examining her lithe bottom. "'s not _that_ flat, mate."

"Have you _seen_ my fucking ass?"

"Love," Victory chuckled. "I'm pretty sure the whole hemisphere's seen your… hemispheres."

For a moment, the two warships stared each other down. Both were the queen of the seas in their time, the most powerful surface warships their nation field. Decorated and proud, and both with the same utterly awful sense of humor.

"Aaaaaaay," Jersey finger-gunned at Victory, who did the same with her one remaining hand. "That was fucking clever."

"British wit," said Victory. "You know, I like drunk Jersey better."

"I am not fucking drunk you tea-drinking cunt."

Victory rolled her eyes and let Jersey's playful haymaker coast through her face. "Ooh, right on the nose."

The battleship just chuckled and let her massive arm flop back onto the sand. "So, why are you _really_ here?"

"'cause I hear there's a battleship in desperate need of a good dicking."

"Victory, not this again…"

Victory scowled. "Not _you_ , you selfish Yankee."

Jersey picked her head off the sand just long enough to shoot an angry look at the tall ship. "Then fucking—" and then it dawned on her. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Fuck, that's tonight, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Mate."

"Fuck me, Richardson's as dense as a fucking log."

"Ya-huh." Victory nodded.

"Shit… shitfucking… fuck," Jersey scrambled to her feet. "I gotta… send a message."

Victory made a show of sending the big Iowa off. "Truly, the sisterhood of horny battleships knows no borders."

"Hardy-fuck you." Jersey barked out of the corner of her mouth while she fished her phone from her shorts pocket. She hated typing on the damn thing, but Mutsu's virginity—or taking thereof—was at stake. She fumbled in her lock code, and frantically opened up her text-messaging app.

 _Admiral Richardson, sir. It's Jersey._  
 _I know you outrank me, but here me out._  
 _*haar_  
 _*har_  
 _*her_  
 _FUCK ME IN THE SHAFT GALLERIES_  
 _*hear_  
 _um_  
 _anyway_  
 _See, you outrank me. But that's not always all of it._  
 _Like, a medical officer can pull authority even if he isn't rankng._  
 _*ranking._  
 _It's like that._  
 _See, you're the admira_  
 _MOTHERFUCKER_  
 _*admiral._  
 _But Im a battleship_  
 _and more to the point, Im a horny as fuck battleship_  
 _Like seriously_  
 _you do not want to know what its like having the libido of two thousand horny sailors_  
 _it sucks_  
 _in that there is no sucking going on_  
 _or blowing_  
 _or any kind of sex thing_  
 _seriously its hell being so fucking horny all the damn time_  
 _it fucking hurts_  
 _but that's not the point_  
 _which is that I'm not the only horny battleship_  
 _Mutsu's too_  
 _you might not know_  
 _because, with all due respect, you duuuuuuuuumb_  
 _but sersly that boat neeeeeeds your admirally dick_  
 _like, bad_  
 _if you don't violate at least one of her holes by sundown the poor girl's gonna blow her turret._  
 _again._  
 _and… like.. not in a fucking fun_  
 _way that's not a sex meatphor._  
 _*metaphor_  
 _she's too pent up with stress and shit._  
 _her turrets gonna literally blow there will be like, shrapnel and stuff._  
 _anyway_  
 _fuck_  
 _your_  
 _battleship_  
 _wife_  
 _she needs it_  
 _bad_  
 _don't even have to use a hole_  
 _there's this nip thing_  
 _where you take tiddy_  
 _and wrap it around your dick_  
 _and then fuck that it's called like_  
 _fucking_  
 _pizzarea or some shit_  
 _I don't fucking know, ask mutsu_  
 _better yet, do it to mutsu_  
 _because_  
 _as we've established_  
 _THAT_  
 _BOAT_  
 _NEEDS_  
 _YUR_  
 _*YOUR_  
 _DICK_  
 _FUCK_  
 _THE_  
 _MUTSNAIL_  
 _IN A SEXUAL WAY_  
 _'cause… seriously I am getting negative fucking action here_  
 _the least I can do is make sure she gets some._  
 _oh, and admiral?_  
 _I have a bet with jane there better be babies_

Jersey glanced at her string of messages with a smile. She'd done her part. She could only help the most deserving battleship on the planet had the least restful night a person could have.


	171. A Certain Lady Part 34 Birthday Special

**E/N:** Made in celebration of a certain snails birthday.

 **A Certain Lady Part 34**

 **By OldIron**

As the morning sun rose into the sky, a slender hand reached out from beneath disheveled bedsheets.

It groped and searched in vain for a bedmate who was no longer there. A bedmate ho had taken their leave some time ago if the lack of warmth was any indication.

Slowly, the owner of the hand pulled herself free from the rest of the sheets and sat up with a bleary expression. Her sleepy green gaze gradually made its way over to the other side of the bed to confirm what her hand had already attempted to tell her. She was, without question, alone in bad.

"Too early..." Mutsu mumbled before flopping over onto her side. She absentmindedly pulled the sheets around her as she tried to make herself comfortable enough to fall back asleep. Just because she could go from a deep sleep to combat ready in moments should the need arise, did not mean she wouldn't luxuriate in the opportunity to relax away in bed.

Unfortunately, her mind had decided that waking up and facing the day was better than enjoying the calm and comfort of bed. Moreso now that she had discovered John was almost assuredly up and about.

With all the agility of her nickname, Mutsu sat up and freed herself from the sheets.

"Mmmmnn..!" She moaned and reached for the ceiling. Her back arched and popped, letting steel ease itself into place along her keel, while toned muscle stretched themselves out of slumber's grasp. Beneath the sheets, she splayed out her legs and spread her toes as far as she could. Oh, the pleasure of a morning stretch almost made up for having to leave the confines of bed.

Almost.

Mutsu loosed a breath and shook her shoulders, finally returning to the realm of the waking in full.

"May as well start the day." She hummed aloud.

"You might want to relax a bit more."

"Wha!?"

A giggle from the door drew her attention to an all too competent and stealthy cruiser entering the room.

"But you should probably put on at least a shirt if nothing else." Jintsuu pointed to the flimsy piece of cloth that barely qualified as an undergarment currently doing slim to nothing to conceal the battleship's upperworks. "At least before Arizona or Jane see you. Would you like me to grab one for you?"

"Yes, please." Mutsu had a feeling there would never be a day when she was able to see Jintsuu coming. Not when the woman didn't want her presence known. She idly tugged at the sheer fabric of her top while Jintsuu rummaged through her wardrobe.

She didn't have to wait long before a neatly folded short was handed to her. Along with a pair of panties.

Mutsu blushed brightly and looked to Jintsuu, who merely smiled knowingly.

"Thank you..." Honestly.

"You're very welcome." Jintsuu glanced towards the door and nodded. "You might want to hurry up. I think everyone's waiting on you now."

"On me? What for?" Mutsu blinked as she mentally went through the day's itinerary. There wasn't much to go through however. Mostly because today was-oh! Her eyes widened in realization. "My, I'd almost forgotten. Wait. You didn't."

"Oh, but we did. Now hurry up. I'll even turn around if you want me to." There was a teasing tone in Jintsuu's voice that Mutsu recognized as one she so often used. Particularly when the opportunity for fun was at it's highest. And especially when she could make John or Ari turn redder than a tomato.

Mutsu rolled her eyes and chuckled, simply choosing to dress herself in the offered garments right then and there.

"Alright. I'm done." She smiled with amusement at the faint dusting of red on Jintsuu's cheeks. Even you have your limits~

"Now then..." Jintsuu turned to the door and called out, "She's decent!"

With the horn sounded, the door to the bedroom was all but thrown open as the entire household and then some marched in. Each proclaiming a happy birthday as she entered.

"My, oh my! I didn't expect this." Mutsu couldn't hold back the surprise on her face or in her voice. Maybe something simple, but not a full blown operation!

"Ou! We wanted to make this one a big one." Shimakaze declared as she stood next to Jane and in front of Arizona, a parcel in hand.

"We did kinda miss out on your last birthday. So we're making up for it this year." Hiei grinned while holding a present of her own. "Breakfast in bed for the sleepyhead and presents afterwards."

"Everyone..."

"We all pitched in, Mutsu-mama." Declared Jane with a broad smile. She held up a tray filled near to overflowing with assorted muffins. "Hope you're hungry!"

"I'm sure she's quite hungry." Arizona held up her own plate of food offerings with one hand while the other patted Jane on the back. There was a twinkle in her eye that would have made Mutsu balk had she the time to appreciate it.

"Well, we can stand around all day. Or we can pamper the birthday girl until she can't stand it anymore." Richardson's voice rose above the din and a path was cleared so he could carry a rather sizable tray over to the bed. He smiled warmly at Mutsu. An expression that was returned tenfold. "Happy birthday, Mutsu."

Her happy expression was all but glowing.

"Thank you, everyone."

As everyone began serving her and offering up gifts, Mutsu had herself one of the best birthday's she could remember.

And Albie snuck a silly hat onto her head without anyone noticing.

She also stole Richardson's pants.


	172. Chapter 129: Snow on the Beach

**Chapter 128: Snow on the Beach**

Large Cruiser Alaska wasn't quite sure how to describe the vexing sensation gnawing at her stomach, which would have worried her if she wasn't already so wound-up. She'd had a light breakfast—only a few dozen pancakes with just a _small_ drizzle of syrup—in anticipation of the barbecue, but she'd been hungry before. This wasn't hunger she was feeling deep within her slender tummy, it was… it was…

What was it?

On the one hand, Alaska was excited to see Cameron again. The Kagerou triplets had enthusiastically cautioned her to avoid using the words "I love you" in case that drove him off, but… But Alaska _did_ love him! Every time she saw his smile it felt like fireworks were going off inside her chest, but in a good way. The sky was always a little bluer and the air a little sweeter when she was around him, and Alaska could honestly say she'd never been happier than when he had his arm around her.

The large cruiser liked to think she wasn't clingy—although she wasn't sure how true that actually was—but every moment away from Cameron felt just a little dimmer. Not… _horrible_ just… not as bright and sweet as it could've been.

And… well, Alaska might not know much about anything. But she'd been home to over fifteen-hundred seamen once, many of whom were Cameron's age. Alaska knew the affect a pretty lady could have on a young man, and she couldn't wait to show her love the swimsuit she'd picked out.

It was a really cute two-piece affair in the same crisp-white color as her snowy hair. The top was a high-necked cut that gave her distinctly indistinct chest lots of coverage without hiding much of her well-muscled back. Her hair did that well enough, and if she just _happened_ to brush it away while Cameron was looking… couldn't be helped, right? Alaska put a lot more thought into picking out the bottom half of her swimsuit.

She was fully aware she was prettiest below decks, and she was _also_ aware of how pleasant a well-proportioned tush like her own shapely aft was to a young man. She wanted to show off for Cameron, but… not _look_ like she was trying to show off. She'd finally settled on a nice pair of snow-white boyshorts that hugged her legs and gave her shaft galleries just the right amount of tantalizing coverage.

And, if that was the end of the story, Alaska would have known how to describe the feeling in her belly. Happiness! But Cameron wasn't the only person Alaska would be meeting. She also had to make a good first impression on his parents, or… or…

Alaska didn't want to think about it. If she made a fool of herself… if his parents didn't like her… if… if they forbid him from seeing her, she knew he'd acquiesce. He was a good boy, an honest, obedient, hard-working boy. It was why she loved him so much, but it was also why she was so utterly terrified. What if they hated her! What if they thought she wasn't good enough!

Alaska was too scared to put her thoughts into words, so she settled for planting her face between the comforting softness of Atago's bosom and moaning out a pitiful "'Tagoooooooo~"

Atago giggled and idly stroked her best friend's snowy white hair. The heavy cruiser had been almost as excited about the beach party as Alaska was, and she'd spent _hours_ picking out just the right outfit. She'd settled on an—in Alaska's educated opinion— _adorable_ little bikini in the same coral-blue color as her greatcoat. "'Laska, you're cute."

Alaska just burrowed her head deeper into her best friend's comfortingly warm cleavage. "'knooooow."

"You'll do fine," Atago chuckled and let her hand slide down Alaska's sinewy back. The American wasn't nearly as plush as she was. Where Atago's body was mostly soft with just a hint of the steel underneath, you couldn't _find_ a place on Alaska where you couldn't find twitching American muscle lying like sleeping pythons under skin as beautiful and unblemished as fresh-fallen snow. "He likes you."

Alaska huffed something into Atago's cleavage and pulled her head free with a grunt. Before she could elaborate, the screech of howling air brakes and straining metal filled the air. A sudden reminder that while she might _look_ like a sinewy young athlete, Alaska was one _fat_ boat.

Atago giggled, and her tummy jiggled a bit in mirth. "Too many pancakes, 'laska?"

Alaska blushed bright red and folded her sinewy arms over her itty-bitty titties. "'m not _that_ fat."

Atago just chuckled to herself and clambered aft to the door. Her chest swelled as the big cruiser sucked in a massive breath, her cheeks puckered with a smile and she leaped to the sand with a thundering "Pan-papapapanpaka~pan!" to properly herald her arrival. "Atago is here!"

Alaska smiled and stepped down the ladder as casually as she could. Cameron's family—and most of their block, if Alaska's count was at all accurate—had already set up over most of the beach. There were grills and smokers galore, and it took herculean effort on the cruiser's part to keep from drooling all over her fresh new swimsuit. "Hi," she said with a wave to nobody in particular.

Cameron was the first to react. He hurled a tennis ball to the horizon, sending a huge golden retriever that seemed to be made up almost entirely of floof and happiness bolting into the surf. Alaska wanted very much to hug that dog. She wanted it so much in fact she _almost_ didn't notice Cameron's shirt.

Or rather…

lack thereof.

"H-hi Cameron," Alaska hoped her voice wasn't audibly faltering as badly as her brain was. She'd never seen Cameron shirtless and… well… it was making her feel things she'd rather not have mentioned in her log, at least not yet.

"Hey, 'Laska!" Cameron trotted over and—much to the large cruiser's glee—swept his gaze over her from stem to stern. Mostly stern. Alaska even remembered to throw out her hip a bit to give him a better angle. "You're uh…"

"Do you like my outfit?" said Alaska with an innocent smile. Genuinely innocent, actually. Seeing Cameron again made her so happy she'd totally forgotten the vamp routine Atago made her practice on the way over.

"I, uh…" Cameron's eyes drifted to her tummy only to snap back to her ice blue eyes when he noticed what he was doing. "'Laska, you know I'd say that about _anything_ you wore."

"Heh," Alaska giggled as a dopey smile forced itself onto her face. She loved Cameron _so much._ Just being around him made her happy. "Gimme a kiss?" she asked hopefully.

"Anything for the lady." Cameron stood on tip-toes to bring his lips to her cheek for a quick kiss. On the soft grass, he had to steady himself by putting a hand around her slender waist. Alaska enjoyed that part immensely. "Atago, do you—"

Atago was already most of the way down the beach, with about nine boys—and two girls with brightly-colored hair—all competing for the privileged of showing her which way the water was. The big heavy cruiser was clearly enjoying second of it.

"Um…" Cameron chuckled.

"Yeah," Alaska scooched closer until her hip touched his. "She does that."

Cameron put his hand around her waist, and the large cruiser shivered when his thumb brushed against the soft muscle of her belly. "Hey, Ma!"

"Coming, Cameron!" A slender Asian-looking woman wearing a dazzle-pattern bikini and cuttofs walked over with the kind of smirk on her lips Alaska'd grown used to seeing on Texas. Or Kat, for that matter. Alaska hadn't seen Kat in a while, which was something she should remedy. Kat was nice and enjoyable to hug.

"Mom," Cameron gave Alaska's waist a gentle squeeze, just to let her know he was there for her if she needed him. "This is Alaska. 'Laska, this is my mom."

Alaska wasn't sure if she should bow, curtsy, or just offer a hand. So she just kinda figited in place for a few moments then blushed. "N-nice to meet you!" Alaska hoped her voice hadn't cracked as obviously as she was certain it had.

"So you're the girl who stole my son's heart, hmm?" Mrs. Young smiled at Alaska, but her gaze soon started creeping downwards. The woman soaked in every detail of Alaska's sinewy build with her knowing gaze, but Alaska could tell she wasn't being leered at. More… sized up. Was Mrs. Young deciding if she was worthy wife material for her son? Alaska puffed out her humble chest in the hopes that that would somehow help.

"Sweetie, turn around would you?" Mrs. Young drew circles in the air with her finger.

Alaska obligingly did a circle in place.

"You've got quite the aft there, honey."

"Thank you," Alaska blushed. "But… really you should tell New York Ship."

Mrs. Young's lip twitched in disgust at the mention of that Yankee sate, but a smile replaced it a moment later. "You know, you'd look _amazing_ in a nice drop-waist gown."

"Really?" Alaska perked up.

"Mmm, strapless with a little bit of ruffle." Mrs. Young smiled at the large cruiser. "It's look beautiful with that hair of yours."

"T-thank you!" Alaska beamed. Moments later, the compulsion to hug Cameron's mother entered her mind, and Alaska had learned long ago she was powerless to resist her body when it decided hugs were on the menu. It turned out to be a good decision, Mrs. Young was almost as soft as Kat.

"Ain't nothing, sweetie." Mrs. Young returned the hug with one of her own. "Come by the shop sometime, I'm sure I've got something in your size if you want."

Alaska squealed with joy. She liked playing dress-up almost as much as she liked playing with toys. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Young!"

"Call my Christy, sweetie." Mrs. Young—Christy—ruffled the cruiser's hair.

Before Alaska could respond, her belly let out a terrifyingly loud roar and the cruiser caught herself cradling her poor starving middle. "Uh…"

"Ribs are right over there, honey." Christy waved at a park table overflowing with food—most of witch was in some way meat-derived.

Alaska decided another hug was in order, but only a short one. She _was_ hungry after all. "Thank you!"

The large cruiser darted over to take her place in line, and before long a massive creature who identified himself as Bill Young, Cameron's dad, was heaping ribs, brisket, and even piles of barbecue shrimp onto her plate. Alaska was reasonably sure Mr. Young was a person, but she wasn't willing to rule out the possibility that he was in fact a hastily-shaved bear.

He seemed to have no face beyond bushy eyebrows the color of granite and an equally bushy beard, but somehow Alaska could tell he was smiling when he rumbled off his name. "Thank you, Mr. young!"

"Bill," said the monstrously huge man-bear-thing manning the grill.

Alaska giggled. She liked him already. This was going to be a good day!

—|—|—

On the other side of the world, Battleship New Jersey was having a decidedly less pleasant day. The sun had already set over the tiny rock in the china sea—although someone had rigged up a few floodlights to make sure Old Glory stood proud and clear on a pole that'd days earlier been flying a Nazi swastika. Most everyone on the island was asleep, save for a few Marines standing watch and the taffies going around handing out rip-its and candy bars.

How many of said rip-its the destroyers had ingested before embarking on their good-will tour was the kind of question Jersey didn't want to know the answer to. She didn't need to know what the little shits put into their tiny bodies and she didn't _want_ to know. As long as they stayed out of her luxurious strawberry-blond hair, she didn't really care what they got up to.

Especially now that she had problems of her own.

The amazonian battleship stomped up and down the beach with a scowl on her face. Every few steps she'd alter course and grind her massive thighs against each other, trying to alleviate the pain festering under her bikini.

"Pick up," Jersey glared at her phone. "Pick up you fucking coal-burning _bitch._ "

The battleship had been painfully horny when she weighed anchor for this mission, and that was days ago. Watching Ari and Pennsy with their overbuild Standard upperworks jiggling with every wave and step had driven her close to madness, and things had only gotten worse once she'd made landfall. Jersey _might_ have been able to block out the Standard tiddly, but hundreds of sweaty Marines digging trenches while stripped to the waist? That'd drive any woman mad.

"Pick _up_ you cocksucking cuntboat!" Jersey roared in anger, trying to ignore the pain between her legs. It was like she was fucking a goddamn rasp, and it fucking _hurt._ She'd tried to address the problem, but… well… when she _offered_ to help Pennsy work through her issues with a good old-fashioned railing, the standard just got prissier than usual. Jersey'd been forced to take measures into her own hands.

Which had been an un-fucking-mitigated disaster, as per fucking usual.

 _"Repairship Vestal,"_ The ancient auxiliary sounded even grouchier than usual over the tinny speakers of Jersey's phone. _"If you're drunk it's your own damn fault."_

"I'm not drunk," Jersey squirmed and collapsed onto the beach.

 _"Oh,"_ Vestal's voice perked up a bit. _"Hey, Jersey. What's going on?"_

"I'm horny as _fuck_ and there's not one fucking willing officer on this goddamn rock."

 _"You try uh…"_ Vestal coughed. _"Getting yerself off"_

"That's why I'm fucking _calling._ " Growled Jersey. "How the _flying fuck_ do I get sand outta my fucking shaft galleries!"

Vestal's response was to howl with laughter for thirty consecutive minutes and then hang up.

—|—|—

"Wait a second." Alaska almost dropped her half-finished watermelon as a shocking revelation occurred to her in a flash.

"Hmm?" Cameron glanced over at her. "'laska, you got a little…"

"Huh?"

"On your cheek."

"What?"

"Some sauce," Cameron pointed to the offending smear right by Alaska's lip.

"Oh." Alaska didn't bother wiping it away. She just closed her eyes and puckered her lips.

Cameron rolled his eyes, but obligingly gave the large cruiser another kiss. "So, what'd you realize?"

"Well…" Alaska scooted her hips to be closer to her love. "Your mom works at a wedding store, right?"

"Bridal, but yeah," said Cameron.

"And she's sizing me up for a dress, right?"

Cameron wrapped his hand around Alaska's middle and idly stroked at her sinewy tummy. The large cruiser had to have eaten close to her own volume already, but the only evidence was a tiny, almost imperceptible, softening to her abs. She was still as slim as ever, still as cool to the touch as ever. It was like cuddling a fresh ocean breeze, only cuter. "Yeah."

"That means…" Alaska trailed off into a wordless squeal of glee.

Cameron chuckled and gave her belly a little pat. "'Laska…" He trailed of, not sure of what he should say. He knew what he _wanted_ to say. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, and that… that the moment he graduated, the moment he got a job that could support such a fine woman-who-was-also-a-boat as her he'd want nothing more than to marry her. But… he didn't say any of that. Even if he could find the words, well… He… it was just a silly fantasy anyway right?

"Um…" Alaska blushed and suddenly bolted to her feet. "I… gotta talk to your mom about something."

—|—|—

Warrant Officer Sarah Gale smiled to herself and chuckled at the absurdity of it all. To think, there was a time she thought of Wash as a supernatural goddess of beauty and grace. A time when she thought the seagoing spirit was the avatar of feminine grace, a lofty standard that even in her wildest dreams a lowly sailor could never hope to reach.

That was before Wash attempted to help her shower using a fire hose. Before the big battleship had demonstrated her eager ignorance of all but the most basic elements of love. Before Wash had sheepishly let herself be guided through the process of making love amidst of pile of mussed blankets and straining bedframe rails.

Of course, Gale still thought Wash was supernaturally beautiful. It was one reason she was more than happy to share her bed with the titanically heavy battlewagon. Wash's russet brown hair spilled over the pillow like a great sea of molten copper, splaying down the covers and nearly getting into Gale's face. The smell of nutmeg and oil filled the room with its sweet aroma, and Gale idly stroked her fingers along the battleship's tight stomach.

"Wash?" Gale leaned over and nibbled at the battleship's ear.

"Hmm?" Wash let out a quiet hum. The big battleship had been eager to please, but that was nothing compared to how readily she took to Gale's talents. It was a wonder the bedframe was _only_ as badly damaged as it was.

Gale opened her mouth, but no words came out. She'd given up on ever having kids before she even accepted her sexuality. Maybe she'd adopt but… she knew she'd never carry a child within her, right? But that was before demons-who-were-also-boats rose from the abyss, only to be stopped by ships-who-were-also-girls. And as she idly stroked at Wash's belly, she couldn't help but picture the battleship with a bun in the oven.

It was a nice picture.

"Mmm?" Wash rolled over to face her love. Something that was much easier said than done, considering her immensely plush chest. But somehow, Wash managed to complete the motion without putting Gale's eyes out with her main battery. No doubt the several dozen faeries sitting atop the headboard with tiny semaphore flags helped.

Also, it meant Gale could get a solid grip on Wash's ample aft, which was always welcome.

"Um…" Gale was momentarily distracted by the deep hazel of Wash's eyes. The battleship was so gorgeous, even if you _didn't_ count her amazing rack and jaw-dropping aft. "I… you ever thought about, um… children?"

Wash's eyes rolled shut and she leaned in to nuzzle Gale. "A little," she said between kisses to Gale's neck. "Sarah, I don't want kids."

"Hmm?" Gale shivered as Wash's hands worked over her back.

"I want _your_ kids." Wash pressed herself against the sailor and smiled.

Gale couldn't come up with a response to that, so she just kissed Wash firmly on the lips. "I'm not sure it works that way," she said, knowing full well the realm of ships-who-were-also-boats was so far beyond her experience it wasn't even in the same universe. "But…" she rolled atop the big battlewagon, "I'll give it a try."

—|—|—

"Um… Mrs. Young?" Alaska held her paper plate in both hands. She'd originally planned to offer her aid with the dishes as an excuse to have some 'girl time' with her boyfriend's mother. But that plan kinda fell apart once she realized they were using paper and plastic. She kept holding onto the plate though, it gave her hands something to do.

"How can I help you, sweetie?" Christy glanced up from her own meal and smiled at the blushing cruiser.

"Um…" Alaska rubbed her foot against the muscle of her calf. "Can… can I talk to you for a moment?"

It only took a heartbeat for Christy to catch the cruiser's meaning. She smiled, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and excused herself from the table. "Of course, honey." She lead the cruiser to a more secluded part of the beach and put a comforting hand on Alaska's shoulder. "What's up?"

"Um…" Alaska flopped onto the ground with her long legs sprawled out on the sand. "Are… are you really sure I'm good enough for Cameron?"

"Alaska…" Christy planted her hands on her hips and gave the cruiser a look. "Honey, what's gotten into you?"

"Well… what you said earlier," said Alaska. "About… a dress and…"

"A _gown_ Alaska," said Christy. "For a wedding."

"That's the point," said Alaska with a quiet sniffle. "Do… do you know much about my class?"

"Can't say I do." Christy settled onto the sand next to the quietly despondent cruiser and wrapped an arm around her snowy middle. "Why?"

"We're… we're not good for anything," said Alaska. "We're not battleships my—" she patted her toned tummy—"My belt's only nine inches, and I don't have _anything_ below the waterline."

Christy shot a meaningful glance at Alaska's very well proportioned aft, but said nothing.

"If you need a battleship, you'd use an _Iowa_ ," Alaska sniffed. "And— and if you wanted a cruiser… a _Baltimore_ does everything we can for a lot less money."

"And…?" Christy ruffled Alaska's snowy hair.

"Jus'…" Alaska sniffled. "Are… are you sure that I'm… you know… enough for him?"

Christy looked at Alaska and started to laugh. Quietly at first, but soon she was clamping her hands over her mouth to try and contain her mirth. "S-sweetie… you don't know how he looks at you, do you?"

Alaska glanced over with a look of puppy-dog curiosity on her face. "Huh?"

"Cameron…" Christy chuckled. "Bless your heart, child. Cameron doesn't want a battleship or a cruiser, he wants _you._ "

"He does?" said Alaska with more surprise than she liked to admit.

"He does," said Christy. "A mother knows these things. I've seen the way he looks at you… the way he checks out your butt every time you turn around."

Alaska giggled. So her swimsuit _was_ working! She threw her arms around Christy and buried her face in the slender woman's belly. "Thank you!"

Christy smiled and tousled the cruiser's hair. "You're welcome, sweetie. Now… why don't you go play with your boyfriend. You've hardly touched the water all evening."

—|—|—

"This seat taken?" Kirishima swished her hips inquisitively, letting the frilly fringe of her high-waisted—and correspondingly _extremely_ short—skirt rustle against the pale skin of her supple thighs. She held her tray with both hands, angling it to keep her mountain of pancakes from brushing against the golden chain hanging between her small but well-appointed pagodas.

"Of course." Crowning glanced up from his own, far more meager breakfast of oatmeal and milk. "You're up early."

Kirishima shrugged, and settled into a chair right across from the intriguing academic. A part of her was amazing Jersey ever found him interesting. He was so… _not_ her. So quiet and reserved, so gentle and kind of nature. Nothing like the bold, brash American.

But at the same time, there was a kind glint in his eyes that Kirishima couldn't help but be comforted by. Whenever she was talking to him, or even _with_ him, the littlest Kongou felt safe and secure. She could only imagine how much more appealing that security might be to Jersey. Kirishima did't like to spread rumors, but… in her opinion Jersey's fragility was pretty obvious. The poor girl'd been through a lot.

"Kirishima?"

"Huh?" Kirishima belatedly realized she'd been staring, and a blush colored her cheeks. "Sorry. I… I'm not actually up early."

A single eyebrow crept north on Crowning's face, and he took a bite of toast in an interrogative fashion.

"I didn't sleep at all last night," Kirishima poured herself into the chair and sighed. She knew she should be happy—and she _was_ —but… still…

"Oh?" Crowning said. It was a quiet acknowledgement of her situation, but not _quite_ a question. It left her just enough space to explain if she wanted, while making it easy for her to ignore if the situation was to private to reveal. Kirishima appreciated his candor.

"I'm… trained for night battles," said Kirishima. "Part of that is honing my senses and learning to be aware of everything. I don't have radar as a crutch. And last night…" The battleship scowled. Be happy for her. _Be happy for her._ "Wash and Gale, um… kept me up."

"I'm sorry." Said the quietly serene voice that could only belong to one battleship.

"GAH!" Kirishima jumped so high she almost hit her head on the ceiling. "Wash! Stop _doing that!_ "

Wash just blinked in serene innocence. Crowning scarfed down a slice of toast to hide his laughter.

"Sorry," said Wash.

Kirishima huffed. "A-apology accepted, Wash. Did… did you have a nice night?" She didn't want to know the details. Really… _really_ didn't want to know. But at the same time, she loved Wash and wanted to make sure her friend was being treated well.

Wash nodded. "Very much, yes."

"Good," Kirishima sighed.

Without a word, Wash vanished as suddenly as she'd appeared.

"Someday I'm going to figure out how she does that," said Crowning with casual nonchalance.

Kirishima chuckled, almost more to herself. "Doctor?"

"Arthur," said Crowning reflexively.

"Arthur." Kirishima corrected herself. "Do… do you think you could take a look at something for me?"

"Sure," said Crowning. "More writing?"

"A new story, yes." Kirishima handed him a slim notebook. "It's… uh… an old knight finds herself on a strange shore."

"Always an interesting start."

"Thank you," said Kirishima. "She… um… falls in love with the magician."

Crowning shot her a knowing smile.

—|—|—

Pleasantly warm water of the Mexican Gulf washed against Alaska's tummy as she waded out up to her hips. Her belly was full of every kind of meat imaginable, so full that every wave that crashed against her slender body sent her dinner sloshing around inside her, eliciting a fury of giggles from the big cruiser. She was so full, in fact, that her tummy was noticeably less tight than usual. It was a very pleasant experience for the cruiser, and she would very much like to enjoy more of Christy's cooking soon.

"Hey hey," Cameron waved at her and playfully splashed saltwater at her face. Alaska didn't bother retaliating. Mostly because getting splashed with saltwater was all she ever did, but mostly because Cameron was shirtless and soaking wet, which made it impossible for her to focus.

"Hi," Alaska threw her arms around him and kissed him. They were far enough from the shore that she didn't feel quite so self-conscious about being affectionate. Also, he tasted like salt and boy, which made her happy.

Cameron braced himself against the sudden assault. His grip on her hips was firm, but gentle enough for Alaska to giggle with glee. "Someone's happy."

"'m always happy around you," Alaska nuzzled at her boyfriend's face and wrapped her arms around his strong back. The gentle motion of the waves jostled her hips, pressing them against Cameron's with each swell. Alaska enjoyed it too much to bother trying to stop.

Cameron chuckled and steadied the weak-kneed cruiser. "Me too," he said. "'Laska, I… uh…" he blushed. "Look at that sunset."

Alaska pivoted, her well-proportioned aft brushing against him as she settled into his arm. "Wow." The sea was on fire with the glimmering colors of the sun. Alaska closed her eyes and let the evening rays wash against her salt-dampened skin. "This is nice."

"It is, isn't it." Cameron pulled her a little closer, and Alaska wrapped her arm around his shoulders. She really, _really_ wanted him to hold her a little lower, but his hand stayed steadfastly around her waist. Which was okay, she guessed, but she'd really like to have him touch her aft. Just once would be okay.

"Um…" Alaska rested her head against his shoulder. "Do… do you wanna go ashore?"

"Mmm…" Cameron idly drew circles on her tummy with his finger, eliciting a few dopey giggles from the cruiser. "Do you?"

"Not really," said Alaska.

Cameron smiled. Then glanced at his feet through the choppy water. "Screw it."

"Hmm?"

"'Laska." Cameron shifted. Instead of standing side by side with the cruiser, he let his hands hang loosely off her hips and looked her square in the eyes. "I… know I'm not supposed to say this, but…"

"I love you," said Alaska. The large cruiser smiled that dopey, lidded smile she wore around him and leaned in for a kiss. "'m not supposed to say it either."

Cameron smiled. "I love you, 'laska." He closed his eyes and met her lips in a long kiss. He wasn't sure if he stepped in, if Alaska did, or if it was just the waves, but the next thing he knew the cool kiss of her skin was touching his. Her soft breasts tickled at his chest, her tummy brushed against his stomach, and her cool lips danced with his.

He knew he should probably be thinking about how hot the woman in his arms was, or something like that. But he wasn't. All he could think about was how happy Alaska was, and how happy _that_ made him.


	173. A Certain Lady Part 35

**Certain Lady Part 35**

Mutsu's expression was all but glowing as she walked the halls of Sasebo Naval Base's command center.

It had been some days since that absolutely wonderful evening and she hadn't been able to stop smiling. Whether she was reading reports of new enemy activity, running through gunnery drills, or simply enjoying breakfast, her joy simply refused to be contained. Not that she wanted to in the first place. But decorum was a little harder to maintain when you practically had hearts floating over your head.

But she had obtained it.

Obtained it and held onto it with all the force she could muster.

The joy and happiness as someone who had their love returned.

It irritated Yamashiro to no end, and Ashigara if the rumor mill was to be believed, but she didn't care one whit. John loved her. John really loved her. And he'd gone to great lengths to make sure she understood that. On every level possible.

A naughty expression covered her features as she recalled the events which had led to the ultimate demise of the coffee table. They'd both gotten quite a good laugh when it had given way. Fortunately John's bed had fared far better. The fate of the sheets had been of little concern.

She hummed a happy tune as she rounded the corner, nearly bursting into a fit of giggles in the process. It was becoming far too difficult to contain herself.

"It's been a few days, but you look happy as ever."

Mutsu spun about to see the smiling form of Jintsuu approaching from behind. There was a distinct lack of brightly colored traffic cone-like clothing on the light cruiser, instead replaced by a professional looking NWU. She would have once wondered how Jintsuu could make something so basic and generic look like it had been tailored for the brass, but she learned quite quickly that Sendai-class cruisers were infinitely more than they seemed.

"Is it that obvious~?" She couldn't help but allow her well-known teasing lilt take over her voice.

"I'd have to be blind to not notice it." Jintsuu sidled up next to Mutsu and leaned against the taller warship before they began walking again, a look of amusement on her features. "And the Admiral isn't doing much better than you are at hiding it. But I suppose the betting pools and leering isn't helping."

Ting.

"My, but didn't you and Hiei make out like bandits?" questioned Mutsu while giving her friend a sidelong glance. She was quite well aware of the multitude of bets surrounding her love life. And John's. Especially John's. If there was one thing you could count on where a flag officer's personal life was concerned, it was bets about who he or she was breaking beds with.

"Maybe?" Jintsuu pointedly looked away from Mutsu, making it plainly obvious to the battleship that the won sum was not insubstantial.

"You little fiend." She poked Jintsuu's cheek playfully. "You two had plenty of insider information. Think of the poor sailors' pockets you emptied."

"I did." Jintsuu protested weakly and without any hint of remorse. "...I thought of how I could make better use of those funds than they could."

"Oh, Jintsuu... You stray further along the path to the dark side with every passing moment."

There was an ominous pause.

"You don't know the power of the Dark Side."

The two managed to maintain their composure for a rather impressive minute before finally giving up and laughing like fools.

"But you do look quite happy. I'm really happy for you. Both of you." Jintsuu wiped a tear from the corner of her eye when she regained control of herself.

"Thank you." Mutsu felt her cheeks color as she smiled.

Clang.

"Alright. I know I heard something that time."

"Heard what?" Mutsu gave Jintsuu a quizzical look. What was she talking about? The only sounds she could hear were the ambient noise of the base and rather loud conversations from behind closed doors. Well, that and their own footsteps. "I don't hear anything out of the ordinary."

Clank!

"Ji-wha-?"

"Hush!"

Mutsu could only stare in bewilderment as Jintsuu held her fast and pressed an ear to her uniform covered tummy. Had she lost her mind?

"Off with that blouse!"

"Wh! What are you talking about!? We-" She had her protests cut off by a sharp look from the cruiser. The outburst was startling enough, but the expression was nearly heart-stopping.

"Here or in the washroom. I don't care which, but that shirt is in the wa-"

Clonk. Bzzzzzt!

"-And If you didn't hear that, then I will have you signed up for a full checkup."

Mutsu would admit she'd heard something that time. What exactly? She wasn't quite sure. But it was definitely there. Very, very faint however. Almost enough to write it off as background noise.

"Alright. Alright. We'll go to the ladies' room and check it out."

She didn't have much of a chance to say anything else as Jintsuu grasped her hand and began dragging her off. This wasn't really necessary. She could get to the washroom herself. But Jintsuu seemed really worked up about whatever this was. Sure, she was curious herself now. But not to the point of panicking.

And bes-

"How did we get here so fast?"

Unless she'd somehow had a serious malfunction of every piece of detection equipment she had, she had been in the hallway just a moment ago. And the nearest washroom was most definitely not a moment away. But her green eye were not deceiving her. This was definitely their destination...

"That is of little importance right now." Jintsuu was suddenly making quick work of Mutsu's uniform, undoing buttons with a precision and speed that was almost mind-boggling.

There was little doubt in Mutsu's mind that the cruiser was shaken on some level and wanted that shirt gone. But not so much as to simply tear it away. For that, she was thankful. But Jintsuu's actions did worry her more and more with each passing second. And now those sounds were getting louder. Louder and more frequent.

Jintsuu leaned over and placed her hear against the revealed tummy of the battleship with a determined look upon her features. Her eyes closed and her entire presence became one of calm focus. Her hands were slowly placed upon Mutsu's sides.

It took a lot of effort for Mutsu to not giggle or even keep a straight face whenever Jintsuu's soft brown hair would tickle her exposed skin. It was even worse when her hands would twitch just slightly. Oh, she'd definitely be exacting some sort of retaliation upon her friend for this when all was said and done. But for now, all she could do was be silent and bite the knuckles of her hand to keep from laughing.

She did not have to wait long for Jintsuu to remove herself.

"Well?"

Jintsuu swallowed visibly and there was a glint in her eyes that made the hair on Mutsu's neck stand up. It was as if every post was suddenly on high alert. An anxiety not dissimilar to the anticipation of combat, but decidedly lacking in the lethal overtones. She felt so charged that she was half tempted to see if she could zap someone with her hairband antennae

Mutsu's eyes widened when Jintsuu reached into her right breast pocket and withdrew a small box.

"Should you be carrying that around on duty?" Mutsu blurted out without really thinking. She shook her head. Wait. Hang on. "No, that's not it. Why do you even have that in the first place?"

"For situations like these. Hiei's been carrying one around just in case it was her that ran into you first and noticed something unusual." Jintsuu's expression softened and a small smile returned to her face. "Now that you and Admiral Richardson have finally been honest with yourselves, we figure it's only a matter of time."

"Well, that's true..." Mutsu frowned and folded her arms. "And so far aw we know, there's never been a pregnant shipgirl. So who knows how it'll work. We don't even know how some of our most basic functions work."

Jintsuu giggled.

"You're thinking too hard now. Battleship Washington tried one of these stateside and it showed a boat. She's not expecting, so it might still suffice for us?" She moved around and began nudging Mutsu towards one of the stalls. "Besides, don't you want to know? Know if you and John laid one down?"

Mutsu's face colored again and she placed her hands to her cheeks.

The gravity of it had finally hit her.

Whether due to a lack of experience, a lack of comprehension, or simply being too high on happiness to really thing about it, she now realized that critical piece of information.

There was a very strong likelihood that she was going to be a mother. A mother to a child she had conceived with the one she loved with all her heart. A child she would love, care for, and raise with ever fiber of her being. Through hardship and joy. A child who would be a brother or sister to Jane and perhaps even an older sibling to others who might come after.

This would be her's and John's child.

"Mutsu?"

"M-My, oh my... I..." The now known noise had reached a fever pitch and Mutsu had begun to draw lines. She gingerly touched her exposed tummy. "Is, do you really think?"

"I do." Jintsuu gave her friend another light shove. "Now get in there and see."

Mutsu nodded and entered the stall she'd been guided towards.

She looked at the box in hand and withdrew the contents.

Shouldn't these things be heavier? Something along the lines of carrying the weight of the future? This one little device could change her life in such an astounding way. But maybe she was too happy about the possibilities of the future. Perhaps it was that which was driving off any negative thoughts.

She had no idea how to be a mother. Well, no more than what she'd learned by taking care of Jane. But this was starting from square one. The very beginning. With so many unknowns between now and what she did know. And that did not even begin to scratch the surface of what the child of a shipgirl like herself would be like.

So far as she knew, this was a beginning unlike any other in history.

She took a deep breath.

"Battleship Mutsu. All ahead flank."

The instructions were simple enough. Generic and illustrated so there would be no possible means of screwing it up. Well, short of grievous failure to follow said instructions. Or failure of the device.

But the deed was done and all she had to do was wait.

As she exited the stall with the test, Jintsuu stood there like an ever observant sentinel. She seemed to relax a bit when she offered a smile. No words seemed to come forth and her companion did not seem all that inclined to converse either.

So while they waited, she washed up and made herself presentable again. It wouldn't do to keep walking around like this.

Even so, she took her time.

She could dwell more on the what-ifs and maybes after she had an answer.

But it was taking so long. Maybe it was broken? She was confident she'd followed the direction properly. Oooh, it ought to hurry up!

A change caught her eye as she paced.

Mutsu held the test up to eye level and took a good, long look at what it displayed.

"What does it say?" There was a not insignificant amount of impatience in Jintsuu's voice. Enough to make professionalism impossible. The woman was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"There's a crane."

"A... crane?"

"And the number two."

Indeed there was a crane and said numeral displayed quite plainly on the test in a rather old-fashioned typeface.

A series of taps, metal on metal, sounded out. They were barely discernible, but definitely there. Certainly enough to get the attention of both women. Especially given they were originating from Mutsu's belly.

\- Construction begun two ships STOP  
\- Est delivery nine months STOP

Mutsu's jaw dropped as the sounds faded into the background of her mind.

"T-T-Twins?"

"Oh, oh my. Oh my. My, my!"

Mutsu threw her arms around a now cheering Jintsuu and spun her around joyously, a smile bright as the sun adorning her face as she laughed.

"Aha! Hahaha! I'm going to be a mother!"


	174. Editor's Announcement

_**A Note From the Editor:**_

Due to a personal lack of interest in keeping up with the story, I have fallen out of reading Belated Battleship and by extension transcribing it. For those interested in following the story, you can find further updates on the forum Spacebattles or it's sister forum SufficientVelocity under the Creative Writing or User Fiction sections, respectively. Should my interest return, I may go through and transcribe further chapters but for now I cannot. My apologies for any who have been kept waiting.


	175. One More Thing!

Old show reference. Anyone remember that show? That was a good show...

Anyways, I have been informed by user CabooseHelpsU that during my absence he has received permission to rehost the story from the author and has done so on FFN under the title "The Battleshippening". So if you don't want to bother with SpaceBattles or SufficientVelocity... well, there's your options.


End file.
